It was Christmas and there we all were, gathered in our living room. My brother Bill, thirteen, knelt near the Christmas tree, with a hopeful look on his face. Dad sat on the couch, engaged in what appeared to be friendly conversation with our Mom and her new husband, Bob. There was my Grandmother’s sister, Aunt Edith, my favorite because she was always so loving and cheerful—-she could have easily passed for Mrs. Santa Claus. Then there was, of course, Marnie, our maternal Grandmother, who was in the kitchen preparing dinner as she always had for as long as I could remember, but just never in our house, the house my brother and I and our Dad lived in. Christmas had always been held at Marnie’s. But not this time, for some reason that was never explained. There was also my Grandmother’s other sister, Aunt Gertrude, and I’ll get to her very soon. And there was me, eleven years old.
In the living room there was a Christmas tree, decorated by Bill and me, with a few presents scattered around it. Other little seasonal things, like paper angels and popcorn strings, candles and cut out snowflakes, were positioned about the room, small things just adequate to the task of creating an atmosphere of joy. We had never had Christmas at our house before, so we didn’t have a box we could pull down from the attic full of holiday stuff.
Everybody was talking, lightly and cheerfully, adults with cocktails, Bill and me mostly listening, wondering when we were going to get to the presents, and doing our best to filter out a confusing tension filling the room. And then suddenly, a loud crashing sound came from the kitchen. We heard Marnie say, “Oh, Gertrude, look what you’ve done!” You see, just before this crash took place, we could hear Marnie trying to get her sister to stop helping her and get her out of the kitchen, because, I later learned, Gertrude was notorious in our family for getting drunk at every family gathering she had ever attended. That is why she had been banned for years, up until now. Apparently, because her husband had died the previous year, she was all alone and terribly lonesome, and because of that Marnie took pity on Gertrude and broke the family rule, inviting her this one time, having obtained an inviolable oath that she wouldn’t get drunk.
Well, now there was a large casserole dish of scalloped potatoes shattered on the kitchen floor, which apparently Gertrude had dropped. And it was at that point that something snapped inside my mother. Maybe it had something to do with having to cope with her two husbands in the same room, or the awkward atmosphere provoked by this season of wishful thinking. But, whatever the reason, Mom shot up from her chair, loudly exhaling a terrifying gust of rage, and stormed into the kitchen and grabbed Gertrude by the hair, yanking her violently out of the kitchen. Pulling Gertrude across the foyer, passing the living room, we all watched in stunned silence as Mom dragged Aunt Gertrude down the hallway and into the bathroom, where she unceremoniously, and still raging, with Gertrude shrieking and gasping in pain, threw Gertrude into the bathtub. Then, as if that weren’t enough, Mom ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a very large bowl of string beans and bacon bits, and then ran back to the bathroom and dumped the entire contents of that bowl onto Gertrude’s head.
Mom then left the bathroom and charged down the hallway toward the front door. Nobody in the living room had yet said anything. Dad just looked down shaking his head, then got up and walked out of the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom, kicking a hole in a closet door on his way. It was rare if ever, to see Dad get angry. And Bob, I’ll never forget this, just sat there on the couch, smirking and chuckling to himself like an idiot. Seeing him enjoy watching our family dissolve, I knew I was right to hate him and hate him forever.
Aunt Edith sat on the big stuffed chair in horror at what she was seeing, uttering little painful pleadings, “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Bill still knelt by the Christmas tree, silent, eyes full of hurt.
From the kitchen we could hear Marnie, saying, “Joanie, Joanie!” as she stepped out of the kitchen into the foyer, nearly colliding with Mom heading for the front door. Whereupon Mom slammed both of her palms violently into Marnie’s chest, sending her reeling off both feet and flat onto her back. I was right there, just feet away, an invisible witness.
Without saying a word, Mom left through the front door, as Marnie pulled herself up off the floor. It only took me a moment to shake off what I had just seen and run after her. She was already at the far end of the driveway when I yelled, “Mom!” She stopped and turned back to me and said, “What?” “Where are you going?” I asked. “I’m going to your Grandmother’s house.” She turned around and continued her march into the dark, disappearing night. And as scared as I was, for her as well as myself, I thought she was magnificent.
stories of mine
Great hook. This fish has been caught. Next chapter!
Whoa! What a story! I’m left with chills!!
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Wow, Larry. I’m completely hooked and excited to read more. So shocking and real and painful, and funny too, in the darkness of it. Love the last line.
It’s really good, Larry. We never know what other people live through unless they choose to tell us.
I love this story, Larry. My emotions were all over the place reading it. Really beautiful. Can’t wait to read more!
Wow. Festive Christmas, Larry. You got me beat on the crazy holiday front. Thanks for writing this dramatic tidbit. I will try to remember not to get smashed again. Hugs.
What a beautiful piece of writing.
Now, do it again.
I cannot wait to read the next one, Larry! You are a gifted writer with an ability for capturing the depth and wreckage of women snapping with the accelerator of alcohol. I am in awe of your talents.
Love this story so much Larry. Looking forward to all of them. She was a firecracker, your mom.
Great picture, Larry!
Caught me totally off guard. Larry, every moment was vivid, indelible. I could see, smell and hear it. ‘Thank you’? For taking me there. I honestly wouldn’t mind hearing more of these moments. Seriously, thank you💜
I admire you for putting this story out there. We all have some of these.
Larry, this is wonderful. Why aren’t you recording these for a Vlog Post to accompany it? You can record them all, or get guests to do some? Especially as the Holidays are approaching, this story and others, would be nice to listen to.
Incredible story!! Beautifully told… I want to keep reading.
Congratulations Larry!
Beautifully written and evocative of that one Christmas we have all had once in our lifetime. The lofty expectations dissolving into pandemonium. A brilliantly told tale that I very much appreciate.
Great story. I remember your Dad but not your Mom. We lived in those apartments for several months. Best to you
Wow, this is like a family sketch on The Carol Burnett Show, with Eunice and Mama. Some dark comedy in there (oh the string beans!) but really not funny and definitely terrifying on some level. Ozzie and Harriet it was not! Brilliantly written Larry!
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Look forward to more tales!
Great story telling Larry! Suspenseful with just enough detail to leave me wanting to know more about your family. And a surprise ending, to me, with “magnificent”! Really great.
I feel as if I was there with you, Larry. You really never do know what goes on behind closed doors, but you opened the doors for us and we clearly saw the stuff of family strife and violence. What you went through is part of what makes you the sensitive and super actor you are. My heart goes out to you.
Larry your prose is powerful, connecting on many levels. Many different a kinds of emotions ran thru me in the course of events. Looking forward to more. Thanks Lar.
Old friend of Karen’s great story. I was always jealous of those Leave it to Beaver families. There was so much madness in mine. Lol
Amazing and compelling story, Larry. So well written…I actually dropped my jaw reading this! Congratulations.
As someone that has been sober for 8 years now, I can say I have great empathy for your ruined Christmas. Thank you for sharing. The human spirit has endless strength.
Wonderfully written! Not all Christmas memories are “visions of sugarplums” and your story is touching reminder. I look forward to your next story. Congratulations, Larry!
That was a pretty terrifying Christmas story, Larry. As the reader, I was there with you, hiding with eyes wide open. Great writing! Keep it up! It was great to reconnect with you after all these decades, if from a distance! Susie
It was like being there, Larry.
Intense and so many unanswered question!
Well done.
This is brilliant. And sad and exhiliarating and tender….all the more so bc I know you. Thank you for sharing this and I so look forward to the next post! Also, you have inspired me to begin posting some stories as well. Thank you !!!!
Intense story! Happy Holidays!
Laurence , what an intimate glance into what I believe was happening , in some form , in many homes around the world. I also lived in those apartments and one or both of my sister’s babysat you and Bill a few times. I’m looking forward to continuing this story. Thank you.
Thanks, Carine.