the true meaning

Fingers numb, ears primed for flipping, above is lead so diffuse that details below are erased. But there is a smell to the greyness, or a feeling, that takes him back to one of the sources of his unhappiness. He thinks he must have this in common with everyone of his generation, maybe in common with everyone who live in relative comfort. He casts the smell to conjure a pleasant memory. He stages it as a flashback in a Christmas movie about what was or what might have been. Fading into view, he sees himself aged closer to his disbelieving in Santa than to his questioning of the stories told of Jesus. He sits with his back in a corner of his grandparent’s giant living room for protection from the chaos of his loud cousins, too many to number or remember by name, and he tries to recall the feeling that he’s lost. What was it, and why is it not in him? Did the ignorant desire for anything other than the gifts he received overwhelm its weak force? What was the force? Was it magic, mystery, family, familiarity, a sense of being truly home? Pointless to think about it now; it’s long gone but he feels like it was important. His first “true meaning of Christmas” was toys, trees, the smell of cedar and the taste of dressing. The next “true meaning” was preached at him in church where he learned the particulars and where he dressed up to stand shivering as a shepherd in the live nativity scene as cars passed by on their pilgrimage to the shopping mall. He didn’t discover the “true meaning” that suited him best until he found himself in the grand ballroom of an antebellum mansion during a Boar’s Head Feast. He was enthralled by the real pine garlands with deep red silk ribbons and the medieval music being expertly played on replicas of ancient instruments. He didn’t care why this time traveling had spirited him away into the “true meaning of Christmas,” he was simply happy to be there. He thinks on this for a moment with some degree of pleasure before he remembers that he’ll never live that moment again. He looks around at his featureless surroundings, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and continues on his way, not knowing the where or why of it.