Second Try: For Uncle Vid

Friend,

I imagined, at night, as I walked the lamplit backstreets of my mind, I found myself at home on Christmas day. A day that always in my memory ran faster than I could follow, this night slowed down that I should watch it in its gorgeous passing. Merry Christmas.

It began like every other, adjusting my new black cashmere sweater standing at the door. Waiting for the kings and the Sheppards. Tiptoe into the frigid rush of the open door to greet the line of familiar faces. Try not to let my look two-time the feelings of anxious awkward that rush in my head. A familiar face, one hug, two kisses, an eternally weary flash of teeth. Merry Christmas. Let the feedfest begin. How afraid that any relative might see the writhe of tedium I'm clutching so tightly behind my eyes as they devour. One more hug, two more kisses... Merry Christmas.

I'm supposed to be so close to these passing bodies, I think, but they seem so far away. The sun drops heavily to the ground to bring the crackling dusk. Oh to be anything but so crook-sweatered and so alone in the threshold. The march of the expected repeats itself ever and again. Merry Christmas.

The spectral puppeteer of the unreal place of my mind picks his moment carefully.

Merry Christmas gives way to half-breath shutter-eyed shock. I know you, that next man in line. I lost you in the river, beyond my reach. Those gentle eyes and overreached hair, that careful walk and strong shoulders. All shoots to the depths of me. A shield built from bits of new-year regret falls to the crashing ground that I might throw my arms around you in choking celebration. Hold your incomprehensibly beating heart so close to mine and weep as if for the very first time.

Tedium is gone from my fingers, that I might clutch you instead. How could I ever let you go again? I raise my head from where it rests on your shoulder to kiss you once on either cheek. This time, the tradition of the awkward is forgotten. After so much waiting, I do not pause: I love you.

Everything that was lost has been returned.

Regards,

Jonas Briedis