If they were two separate mugs, rather than two sides of the same mug, Jake would get the naughty mug, and Tony the Nice one.
And here's a little excerpt of my boys as they take a little trip down memory lane...
“Here we are,” Tony says, startling me out of my reverie, as he pulls into a field of trees.
I take a quick look around and feel myself frowning. It seems anti-climactic. But really, what was I expecting? It’s a tree farm. That’s what they’ve got here. Lots and lots of trees.
Once we come to a stop, Tony sets the brake and hops out of the vehicle. I do the same. The sky above is overcast, the temperature is dropping pretty quickly—nothing strange about that. That’s just how the weather works here.
All the same, I huddle deeper into my jacket, shivering slightly. Reminding myself that there’s no cause for alarm. Even a forty degree change in temperature, between morning to night, is not unusual for this time of year.
I still don’t know what we’re doing here, however. So I glance at Tony, only to find that he’s watching me expectantly. “What?” I ask cautiously, aware that I’m missing something.
He nods towards the trees. “I guess the place looks a little different than you remember it, huh?”
Yeah, because I don’t remember it, I think. Still, I look around again, trying to humor him, trying to pick out something, anything that might spark a memory. And then… “Wait….these trees. These aren’t… I mean, this isn’t…is it?”
There’s nothing coherent in the clumsy words that fall from my lips, but Tony nods as though they made perfect sense. And the sad, reluctant smile he gives me leaves me with no doubt. He knows what I was trying to ask him. And the answer is yes.
“Wow.” I lose my breath a little bit as I contemplate the trees again, trying to see them as they once were, those very first seedlings the two of us planted together. “They got big, huh?”
“Yeah. They did.”
“Aw,” I say in a desperate attempt to downplay my emotions. “Our first babies. All grown up.”
“That tends to be how it works,” Tony replies dryly. He’s always been much better than I at hiding his emotions. Still, he brought me here, didn’t he? I mean, he brought me here—and made sure I knew it. That’s got to mean something.
I glance around again. “So, which one…? I mean, do you know…?”
“No.” Tony sighs. “I have no idea.” And, for just a moment, he looks like maybe he regrets that, too.
“So, what’re we doing with ’em today?”
Tony shrugs and looks away. “Oh, you know. Just a little last-minute shape up to make them look nice.”
Last-minute? Oh, shit. I draw in another quick breath and ask, “You mean, before they’re cut down.”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” It’s a tree farm, I remind myself. A. Tree. Farm. That’s what they do here. That’s why we planted them in the first place. “That’s some Circle of Life shit right there, innit?”
“Yep.”
Reaching into the vehicle, I grab gloves and shears. “Okay. Show me what you need me to do.”
And maybe it’s not the reconciliation I was hoping for, but as a way of bonding and finding closure with one another, it doesn’t suck.
You’ve heard this story, or one just like it, so many times before. It’s the one about the cranky workaholic who dies, is turned into an angel, and gets sent back to earth to save some other poor schmuck from suffering the same unhappy fate.
Typically, it’s billed as a rom-com, or a dramedy or a supernatural, holiday romantasy; perfect for those cozy, “stay at home with the family and try to pretend that compromise is fun” nights.
Which is ludicrous. Even Dickens, the man who invented cheesy Christmas stories, knew better. His Marley was clearly miserable, as who wouldn’t be in his situation? Which, as it happens, is also my situation. Lucky me.
Hi. My name is Jacob. I’m a Christmas Angel. And this is my story.
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