This Christmas

This Christmas By J.M. Snyder It’s December 24th. Christmas Eve. Ned Matthews stands in the frozen foods aisle of Wal-Mart, the only place still open despite the fact it’s barely five o’clock in the evening. Afternoon really, no matter what the gathering darkness outside has to say. Tinny music blares through the store’s speaker system, some rock mess that’s bothered Ned from the moment he entered the store. Then it was George Michael, bitching about giving his heart away last Christmas; now Britney sings, going on and on about Santa sending her someone to love. Good luck with that, Ned thinks bitterly. It didn’t work for him but hey, maybe the jolly old elf has a soft spot for pop princesses, who knows? He stares at the ice cream display through the freezer door as if anyone else will really give a s**t if he settles for Neapolitan instead of Rocky Road. Neapolitan is his favorite—he’ll eat it stripe by stripe, starting with the strawberry, then moving onto the chocolate, and finishing with the vanilla when that’s the only flavor left. But Rocky Road has more crunch to it, more substance, and if he’s going to make a meal out of it, he should get something he can sink his teeth into. In the frosted glass case, his pale face stares back at him, a skinny ghost in baggy clothes who haunts the ice cream aisle. Disheveled mousy brown hair, dark rimmed glasses, a red bow of a mouth where his lips draw together in consternation. Decisions, decisions… A bright laugh washes over him and then he hears his full first name shouted out in greeting. “Kennedy!” Annoyed, he starts, “It’s Ned.” But when he turns to find Bobby Cratchett heading his way, the words dry up and he has to clear his throat to speak around them. “Bobby. Hey.” Bobby comes up to him so quickly, Ned’s sure the guy will breeze right through him, just keep on walking, but no. Stopping at the door beside the ice cream, Bobby leans against the freezer and gives Ned the same lopsided grin he used to dream about back in high school. In college now, it surprises Ned when his stomach still flops over at that smile. “So you’re staying through the break?” Bobby asks without preamble. Before Ned can answer, he adds, “Me too. My parents gave each other a Caribbean cruise for Christmas. They won’t be back before New Year’s. No use going home to an empty house, you know?” For a moment longer, Ned stares at that crooked grin. Then he turns back to the ice cream case as if dismissing Bobby. “Hmm. Sounds like fun.” An arm nudges his—if he weren’t dressed like the Michelin Man in his bulky winter coat, he might have felt Bobby’s hand in that touch. As it is, all he hears is the sound of nylon rubbing together. “What about you?” Bobby asks. “You going home for the holiday?” “It’s Christmas Eve,” Ned reminds him. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” If his response is chilly, Bobby doesn’t notice. In the reflection off the freezer case, Bobby looks like a black hole beside Ned—his dark hair, tan skin, and moody eyes seem to suck in all the light until he shines with an almost ethereal glow. In high school that hair was worn long, all one length to his chin, a curtain Ned dreamed of running his fingers through or nuzzling his face against. So thick and strong—on the soccer field, Bobby wore it tied back in a ponytail like a girl’s, but that only made him even sexier in Ned’s eyes. When Ned came to State five semesters ago and found Bobby already a year ahead of him, the first thing he noticed was the hair—it’s now cropped short, a few black inches that stand up as if shocked Bobby had the audacity to cut it down. With the length gone, Ned can now see Bobby’s eyes, a deep, clear blue that look like contacts but aren’t. And his grin, the way one corner of his mouth rises just a fraction of an inch higher than the other to show off the twisted eyetooth in an otherwise perfect smile. With considerable effort, Ned forces himself to open the freezer door, if only so he won’t stare at Bobby’s reflection. It’s been seven weeks since he broke things off with Jake and he won’t let himself look at another man, not yet. Not ever. Even if that man is his old high school crush who lives across the commons from him in the student townhouses and is probably the only person left on campus besides himself this time of the year. Who’s always been nice to him but never flirtatious, never interested. If only he’d go away, Ned thinks as he reaches for the Neapolitan. He grabs the Rocky Road instead. Just go away and let me wallow in all this goddamn Christmas cheer. Was that asking too much? Overhead, Britney fizzles out and some boyband tells him he doesn’t have to be alone this Christmas. As Ned lets the freezer door slap shut, he tucks the ice cream in his hand basket and turns his back to Bobby. But when he takes a step away, Bobby falls in beside him. “You heading back to the dorm?” Ned shrugs. The answer is yes, of course he is…where the hell else would he go? And why don’t they play traditional holiday songs any more? Rudolph and Frosty and “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” s**t like that. Nothing sappy, nothing about unwrapping true love or kissing under the mistletoe. Get real, Ned thinks, staring at his shoes and Bobby’s keeping stride with them. You want true love? Sing about calling up the guy back home you’ve been dating forever and having another dude answer the phone. Sing about stumbling upon your boyfriend’s weblog and finding links to amateur porn sites where he’s posted pictures of himself f*****g someone else. Sing about confronting him only to be cussed out for snooping. Sing about sitting in an empty dorm room on Christmas Eve, eating ice cream by the gallon and trying not to cry because men suck and life’s so damn unfair. Sing about that in your Christmas carol. That’s my grown-up Christmas wish. At the end of the aisle Ned turns, hoping to shake Bobby. But a hand on his arm stops him. “It’s really too cold to wait for the bus.” Bobby watches Ned with those blue blue eyes, waiting. When Ned doesn’t respond, he tries a different tactic. “You have a car, right?” Ned shakes off Bobby’s hand. So that’s why the guy’s talking to him. Of course. “You want a ride.” “Only if you don’t mind.” Bobby gives him that crooked grin again, as if he knows exactly what it does to Ned inside. “Look, I really appreciate it, man.” Ned sighs. “I was just leaving.” That smile brightens. “Great!” As Bobby follows him to the checkout, Ned wonders what exactly he said that sounded like yes.