Cold. Dark too. The power’s out. “Some Christmas,” I mumble, but there’s no one around to hear. Not that “we” planned to do anything anyway. She called it off, even before It happened.
     “Let’s not do anything this year,” those were her words. My mother’s. I don’t know why they shocked me really; we did less and less every year since Dad died. He was our light. Our smiles. That faded as he did. But we still went through some of the motions. The tree, for instance: two feet tall, pre-lit, a star with half of the built-in mini-lights burnt out, a few meager ornaments. We even had a ‘special’ supper: burnt chicken and garlic bread, too, if there was any left over from that week’s pasta. This year, we were just going to exchange presents. Were.
     I grab my car keys off the counter where they lay right next to a pack of my mom’s cigarettes. I haven’t thrown them out yet. In fact, I haven’t gotten rid of anything, really; it’s only been a week. Too soon. I still almost expect a call: I met someone. Will you be OK on your own?
     Yeah, sure.
     It’s even colder outside –wind and snow. Ice too, I have to be careful where I step. I’m not going far; there’s a 7-11 down the street. I’ll just get a hotdog and a hot chocolate to warm myself up.
     Christmas Supper.
     When I buy my ‘special’ meal, the cashier greets me “Happy holidays,” not “Merry Christmas.” Politically correct.  
     Not offensive. Equal.
     I wanted to stay in and eat where it was warm, but the manager threw me out, just like he did to the bum minutes earlier.
     Not offensive. Equal.
     I offer some of my hot dog to the person (looking at the face I’d guess it’s a she, but I just can’t tell) but they just wave me off, pacing. Pacing to keep warm. So we stand there a while in the silence. Well, I stand anyway. She paces. I turn to walk away –I never liked the cold –when I hear a sickening crunch. I spin quickly, almost falling in the process. There was blood everywhere. My guess was she hit her head on the propane cage. I just froze, but luckily someone inside saw. They called an ambulance. All I could think of was my mother.
     With my mother, there was no blood.
     They found her last week in an ally. OD’d on pain killers, they told me. Said there was a note, but they had to keep it for the investigation. It only had three words, anyway, so what did it matter? Marie, I’m sorry.
     She didn’t even wait till after Christmas.
     Hearing my name was what brought me back to reality.
     “Marie?” A male’s voice. Friendly, but concerned. “Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
     I looked around. The 7-11 was gone. I must have run. I was more than a mile away, and my pants were soaked. My cheeks were as well, it seemed.  I looked at the face that called my name. Brian. From English 104.
     “No family to go to.” I mumbled, hating myself. What must I have looked like? A crazy woman running around, crying, doing god knows what?
     “No family?” He asked. It was rhetorical. He looked around, thinking. “Well, then, come to my place. My mom’s in town and she’s a great cook."
     I nodded meekly. Anything was better than here.
     His house was a short walk. I stopped to look at the house from afar, judging weather or not this was a good idea. While Brian seemed like a nice guy, you never really knew. But the house was bustling. People everywhere. Laughing, singing. The house seemed to give off a happy glow. It was cheery. Inviting. Warm.