The (Un)Christmas Spirit

I often wonder what goes through people's minds, especially around the holidays.

I woke today and turned on the news. Lead story: Gunman in Santa Suit Kills Three at L.A. Party. I won't dignify the title with a link to the story, because it's just wrong. What could have been so wrong with this person? As I left the apartment today, I found myself asking the same question about people I ran into on the street.

I left my apartment at 1:30 and made my way to the 2:20 p.m. showing of "Slumdog Millionaire." I had my iPod on and turned up louder than usual... maybe it was because I really loved the song that played on 'shuffle' mode, maybe because I was subconsciously tuning out the rest of the world. I made it to the end of the block and a white pick-up truck was approaching. A 20-something year-old man slowed down and waved a bouquet of roses at me. I turned around to see who was behind me. He kept yelling something, but I couldn't hear. I shook my head and held up one finger - the universal 'one minute' signal - so I could turn down the music. Maybe he was looking for someone? Maybe he was lost and needed directions.

As I took the earplugs out of my ears in enough time to hear him yell, "...ungrateful bitch! Merry fucking Christmas!" just as he threw a bouquet of one dozen roses at my head. The roses landed in the middle of the street and I just stared at them.

Stunned and confused, I picked up the roses in hopes of finding a card with an address. No card. No address. I placed the roses on the snow bank and walked off. There was something so un-friendly about the beautiful bouquet that I couldn't take them with me. I could have given them to a homeless person, but something stung inside and I couldn't bring myself to walk with them.

I walked to the movie theater wondering what could have possibly happened that this man thought it was OK to throw roses at me and call me an ungrateful bitch. Maybe his girlfriend just left him. Or his wife. Maybe he had a fight with his family. Maybe there was no one else to give the roses to. Maybe he should have just thrown them out.

I arrived at the movie theater and found a quiet spot on the left side near the wall. It was a row with only two seats, so I was either going to get lucky and have the seat next to me for myself, or have to share the row with a stranger. Enter: the stranger. He was a nice enough older man, and we made small talk for three-minutes until the lights went down.

The theater went dark, and I began to cry. I don't know why. What a year it's been. I'm tired. Maybe I was crying because I miss my family. Maybe I was crying because I don't. Maybe I shed a few tears because the first time I received flowers from a man this year, he was a stranger in a pick-up truck who called me an ungrateful bitch. There was a part of me this year who craved a warm body next to me in bed. Many of my friends say I have a life they envy - carefree and no strings attached. There is a simple pleasure to being unattached, but that same part of me wished I woke up this morning to a loved one handing me a gift. Instead, a stranger threw thorns.

I had a voicemail after the movie. It was one of my cousins in New York calling to tell me she missed me. I miss her, too. I don't regret not driving to New York this year, but I will make a concerted effort to get there more next year.

I'm home, safe and sound. I have a bottle of Barolo breathing and an amber candle scenting my apartment. I'll throw in a frozen pizza for dinner and enjoy the comforts of my home, sweet home.