Christmas Day

By; Abisola Fashakin

You fasten the clasp on your new necklace. Your grey sweater is sticking to your back. You take one last look in the mirror and leave your room. The dining room is set with the finest china. The china you you spent hours scrubbing till it shined. Sitting in the living room are the adults. Nosy Aunt, Cranky Aunt and the nice Aunt that brings lasagna. She smiles at you. You grin back..


“Chicken!” someone screams. You groan.


Little Blessing and Junior are here. You go down into the kids living room. All your friends are here. They aren’t friends. They’re the kids of your parents friends, but that’s close enough. Liz is sitting in the corner engrossed in her phone. It’s like you don’t even exist. So much for best friends. You travel up and down the stairs about 100 times getting coats flung at your face without so much as a hello.


Uncle Wale comes over. “I love your hair”. Your hair is damp with soda that spilled all over you and your shirt is stained with tomato sauce and cooking oil . “”Thanks” you say dryly. You go back downstairs. The kids are watching kung fu panda. Liz glares at me; a silent signal that the party is lame. I change kung fu panda to family guy. Little Blessing screams. He heard the F- word. A cousin, uncle, or some random person drags him away. Everyone shrugs. We laugh. Iyo calls Quagmire a faggot. The rooms grows silent. His best friend punches him. More soda is splashed on your shirt. Your neck feels bare. You reach up to fix the clasp on your necklace. It’s not there. Like at every Christmas party your Christmas gift has disappeared.


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