Page 56 of Pulled By the Tail
Georgia
Freema,
I am so sick of snow.
-G
“Explain to me why we’re doing this again,” Georgia said. She couldn’t feel her nose or her fingers. Any heat from the thermal warmer in her pockets was long gone.
“It’s MidWinter. We need to decorate the house,” Bright said. Using a pair of pruning shears, she cut clippings from an evergreen. The wide leaves were a waxy green with violet berries that reminded Georgia of the juniper bushes outside her childhood home. The prickly bushes provided the perfect hiding spot for a young Georgia. Despite being allergic to the bush, she loved wiggling her way in under the branches.
“Is there a holiday?” she asked.
“Everyone has a MidWinter holiday,” the older woman replied.
“I’m not comfortable with broad generalizations.” Georgia shifted the basket to the other arm. Bright added more clippings, increasing the weight.
“You do say the most interesting things. Earth must be the only planet in known civilization that never felt the need to lighten their spirits when the days grew short. That seems fairly remarkable.” Bright’s tail swayed behind her as she moved to another evergreen. She had a way of speaking that made Georgia feel like she had been scolded for naughty behavior and given a piece of candy for good behavior simultaneously.
“It’s called Christmas and falls on December 25th, which I guess is around the winter solstice. Well, Earth actually has a few, but that’s the one I celebrated.” Planets in the Interstellar Union followed the same standard IU calendar. Christmas Day was Christmas Day, whether on Earth or one of the colonies. Corra followed its own calendar, which did not neatly align with the IU standard. It messed with her sense of time. None of the pamphlets the agency sent mentioned that.
“How do you celebrate human Christmas?”
“We decorate a tree. Sing holiday songs. Exchange gifts. Santa Claus brings presents for good boys and girls.”
“Claws?” Bright chuckled. “How does Claws determine who is good and who is bad?”
“Oh, parents totally snitch on their kids. They have to be good all year long, or Santa will find out, and then they’ll get nothing but a lump of coal.”
“Seems like a bribe for good behavior.”
“It totally is,” Georgia agreed. Her last Christmas had been spent with Freema, lasagna, a bottle of wine, and a Christmas movie marathon. “But waking up on Christmas morning and racing to the tree to see what Santa brought you? It’s the best. What do you do on Talmar?”
“Light candles to drive back the dark. Decorate with greenery to represent life in the middle of the barren winter. We bake small cakes. Each has a charm that will signify your luck for the coming year.”
“That sounds nice.”
Once Bright was satisfied that they collected enough greenery, they moved into the formal dining room. A cloth of rough canvas covered the table and Bright showed her how to create a simple swag of ribbon and the evergreen boughs. Once satisfied with her skill, Bright instructed her how to weave a wreath. The sharp edges of the leaves pricked her fingers, but Georgia grinned in triumph at her first wreath, complete with golden ribbon and jingling bells. All the while, she babbled about making popcorn garlands to decorate the tree with her mother. She stuck her fingers a lot then, too.
Soon, they had festooned the foyer and the drawing room. Each room had a small centerpiece of a candle surrounded by greenery. A fresh smell of crushed leaves filled the house, accompanied with beeswax candles and spices.
Quil wandered in, fascinated by the idea of humans decorating a tree. “Do you want a tree? What size does it have to be? Can it be any tree or is it a ritual with a sacred tree?”
In the end, he dragged a potted palm—not really a palm, but it had fronds—from the conservatory and arranged it in the corner of the drawing room. They decorated it with the leftover golden ribbon and bells.
“We need a star or an angel for the top.”
“The tree needs a hat?” Quil scratched behind an ear in thought.
Once the wordhatcame out of his mouth, all she pictured was a red and white Santa hat on top. It’d be perfect. She raced to her basement office, found the appropriate sheet of paper, and raided her bathroom for cotton balls. Carefully, she glued cotton balls around the base and finished with one on top. With a flourish, she balanced her creation on the highest fronds of the tree.
“This is the best Christmas alien palm tree ever,” Georgia declared, quite proud of herself.
The next morning,Georgia couldn’t open her eyes. Seriously, not being dramatic. Her face felt puffy and sore. No matter how she squinted and blinked, her eyes were swollen shut. Careful prodding at her nose and cheekbones convinced her it was like the time she had been stung by a bee when she was seven.
The rest of her body itched and burned. Running her fingers over the back of her hands and arms revealed bumps. It felt like poison ivy—her mind flashed back to the fragrant evergreens she gathered with Bright—and touching the inflamed spots would only make it worse.
Wonderful. She was in the middle of an allergic reaction to an alien plant.
