Page 99 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
It’s nice to see these two, because they’re my old friends, but it’s weird to talk about work, like they’ve beamed in from another dimension and are going on about things I don’t understand. Then Win says, “Whoa. Check it out. It’s really coming down out there.”
Regina and I turn to the big window overlooking Thames Street. Snow falls in a steady torrent. People have stepped out of buildings to watch.
“Do kids still build snowmen?” I ask.
I’m imagining Ian and Bella in their yard rolling three bigsnowballs. Harry Styles would steal the carrot nose, obviously, and run around the yard with it like a glorious little asshole.
Regina and Win snicker.
“Who the hell knows, man?” say Win.
“If I ever have kids, I’ll let you know,” Regina says.
I check my phone in case Ian has texted. He hasn’t.
“So, how are you, brother?” asks Win.
“Good.” I don’t really think about it, I just say it, because it’s what they want to hear. Am I, though? Last time I saw Win and Regina, I was practically living with my parents because I was too scared to go into my own house. Apparently, I wasn’t shaving properly, and I was so sad that I couldn’t imagine not being sad. Now I’m here.
“Well, you look great,” says Regina. “Healthy.”
I watch the snow while the floor vibrates under my boots from the record shop downstairs.
“So anyway,” says Win. “You know where itdoesn’tsnow, right?”
Regina rolls her eyes. “Really smooth, Win.”
“Transitions are my one literary weakness.” He takes his phone out, taps a few times, then sets it in front of me. “But yeah, check this out.”
It’s his iPhone weather app set to L.A. where the forecast for today, tomorrow, and the day after that is sixty-seven degrees and sunny. “Merry Christmas, huh?” he says.
Regina pushes the biscotti aside. “Ready for the next chapter, Henry?”
Ian and Bella’s principal, Mr. Barton, steps up to the mic. He’s wearing his standard khakis and button-down shirt with a blazer, but he’s added duck boots because of the snow. Due to the sheer insanity of the Baltimore City Public School schedule, this random Monday is the last day of the semester.
“Friends, parents, boys and girls, as I’m sure you all noticed on your way in, we’ve got a bit of a weather situation. So, if you can all quiet down, we can make this quick and get you out of here in one piece to start your holiday break.”
“What what in the butt!” some kid shouts.
“That’s a warning, Mr. Engle,” says Mr. Barton, pointing, and there’s a chorus of “Ooooooooooo!” from the kids.
I dashed in late after meeting with Lauren so I’m crammed into the back of the little auditorium at the kids’ school. Nadine is standing beside me. Her car is terrible in snow, but she didn’t want to miss Ian’s big moment. The entire student body is on the stage standing on risers. Ian and Bella both spotted Nadine and me earlier and waved. I could see how anxious Ian was.
“And now our music teacher, Miss Dolan, will lead the kids in some carols,” says Mr. Barton. “Miss Dolan, get on up here.”
A prim woman steps up to the mic, and I wonder if she’s ever made out with Mr. Barton. Has she ever created a bullshit spot for herself at some conference, walked out with him to his car, and inserted her tongue into his mouth? She’s wearing a Christmas sweater with honest-to-god tinsel on it, so it’s hard to picture, but who knows? On some random evening three years ago, Tim came home from an annual meeting of city schools downtown. I have no recollection of it specifically because he was always going to things like that, but I’m sure he hugged me like he always did when he got home that night. I’m sure he goofed off with the kids before they went to bed, told them whatever dad joke he’d most recently heard. He gave no indication that the woman he also loved had kissed him that night. So maybe I’m through assuming what people are and aren’t up to.
Miss Dolan smiles, tired-looking, then turns to the students. “Okay, children. Children!” When the kids finally hush, the lot of us parents and caregivers are treated to five nondenominational holiday songs sung so out of tune and off-key that people openly laugh as they record on their phones. A kid who looks about five years old sneezes during “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and nearly falls off the riser. Somebody, I’m assuming the little Engle boy again, makes a loud fart noise. A lady off in the shadows playingthe piano drops her sheet music during “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” The final number is a very screamy version of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” The older kids, Ian included, lip-sync grimly like they’re in a hostage video. Bella gives it her all, though, shouting her best Mariah Carey, and poor Miss Dolan wears the vacant expression of someone who will be getting blackout drunk later. Maybe I’ll join her.
The applause is over the top when the singing is done because each of us loves one or more of the kids up there, so we all clap and cheer and smile.
“Miss Dolan will be selling CDs of today’s performance over at the merch tent,” says Mr. Barton when he takes the mic back, and everyone laughs.
Next, there are a few announcements about the holiday reading list, the upcoming spring sports schedule, and some new car poolrules. Then Mr. Barton nods to the side of the stage. “And now it’s time for something that’s become a nice little tradition over the years,” he says. “The holiday art contest.”
One of the teachers, a man wearing a vest with Santas on it, wheels out a dry-erase board. Tacked up in tight rows are maybe fifteen pieces of holiday artwork. Ian’s painting is somewhere in the middle, a little crooked, the only one on canvas. I find Ian among his classmates, and the look of unguarded hope on his face is so overwhelming I can hardly stand it. As adults, we learn to protect ourselves from hurt, but Ian is just a kid, so he stands up on his toes, head craned, totally exposed.
“Once again, this year,” says Mr. Barton, “we had dozens and dozens of entries. Our most ever, I’m told. Students from all the way down in the kindergarten participated, and, of course, talented artists from the junior high shared their hard work and creativity as well. It was tough, but here on the board are some standouts that the teachers and I have chosen as this year’s finalists. Let’s get a quick round of applause for everyone’s hard work, because art is alive and well here at school.”
