I wasn't ready. First the gravy dish came flying across the table. I was ready for the electric carving knife, but how ready can you be when a razor sharp motorized tool is hurled at random. It was my best attempt to knock it down. If that thing would have hit my grandma or my niece'�. Instead it just sliced the meat of my hand wide open.
The last time I struck my sister, I must have been fifteen. She threw a butter dish at me, because I made fun of her boyfriend. When I swatted away the glass dish, which was a wedding gift for my parents, it accidentally tagged her in the forehead. A roomful of my friends was there, such intense laughter erupted that some people ended up on the floor. An embarrassed rage came over her and she grabbed a steel meat tenderizing mallet, a very heavy one, with sharp ridges on all side, which made it perfect for breaking up muscle of all kinds. There was still a smile on my face, but it quickly disappeared as she let out a snarl and lunged at me. My father had a stern rule about me striking her, and I had abided by it for several years by that time. Yet at that moment, it seemed very obvious to me that this rule, designed to protect her from my possible bullying, had been manipulated into the wrong context. Seemingly, she believed that she was allotted unlimited aggression toward me.
We had several altercations in the previous few years during which she felt the need to assault me. Usually I brushed off her attacks and then scared her away by threatening force. This worked well for me, as I was not typically a violent person. But as that mallet was coming at me and I saw the burning wrath in her eyes, I simply could not allow her to go unchecked. I merely extended my arm, catching her in the shoulder. In truth her own momentum caused her to fall.
She crashed into the kitchen counter sending the rest of the cookware into a cluttering crash on the countertop. No one laughed this time. My friend just looked in amazed horror. We all knew her next move. There was no tears in her eye, just contempt, but when she arrived with my mother a minute later, her socket were swollen and her face drenched. Lucky for me my buddies and I had the presence of mind to tidy up. As soon as my mother heard my story and saw the conviction in my face, she decided that situation ended fairly. My sister, in her typical style, stormed away.
It wasn't that I didn't expect my sister to act up at Christmas dinner. It was her personal tradition for every family dinner we had. Sometimes she would limit her antics to a few snide comments. Other times she would start an argument with one of my parents. My grandma, my parents and I were used to it. Unfortunately, the random guests, that would attend any holiday dinner, were put into an unfair, awkward discomfort, that my sister seemed to have no qualm about instilling.
The year before last, my aunt was having mother's day dinner with us. Her children lived several states away and, being very busy, could not celebrate what I have always felt was a pretty trivial holiday. No doubt my father feels the same way, but in an attempt to be a nice guy, while avoiding the possibility of a breakdown by an extremely emotional, menopausal mother, handed me fifty dollars, insisting I take my sister, my mom, my Grandma and my aunt out. True to form, my sister immediately began to disrupt our harmony as soon as she arrived and began a rant upon dropping into her seat. I decided to enlighten my sister about what such behavior can induce.
'You do know that this makes people uncomfortable.'� I stated politely after my sister began to make snide comment to the waitress, whom she believed gave us a rude look. It was my intent to stop the show, before it started.
'How dare you. Just because I don't want to sit here and be looked down at by some waitress in a second class restaurant.'� The comment was louder than casual table volume and intentionally so.
'Be quiet'�. Please. Don't do this to us again. We're used to it,'� I waved to my mom and Grandma. Then I pointed to my aunt, 'But she's new. She's not ready for you.'� Everyone besides my sister chuckled. Those cruel eyes flashed around the table.
'Than why doesn't she have Mother's Day with her kids?'� My grandma's hand flashed like lightning. The smack was not hard, but everyone in the restaurant heard it. I laugh now when I think about it, but at that moment I was irate. My aunt's lips quivering my mother flushed and humiliated. Grandma face was red. For a moment my sister leered at my grandmother. Reading her face, I could tell she considered retaliation. Fortunately, she showed as much grace as I ever saw from her. She got up, snatched her coat and purse and stormed out. In light of the incident, we had a fantastic dinner; my grandma even finagled the phone number of our cute, red headed waitress.
Since her daughter was born, my sister has been less prone to such altercations at family dinner. Mostly because she is busy tending to her child. Of course, she still yells much louder than she has to and at every dinner will say the phrase, 'All right, can I finally eat now,'� or some paraphrase of the sort. As of late though, my three and half year old niece can take care of herself, allowing my sister time to get back to engaging other adults in uncomfortable, unfriendly banter.
When trying to recall what started the whole commotion, I can't even begin to fathom how it escalated that quickly, probably because I was engaged in a discussion, about our mutual love of my mom's sweet potatoes, with my niece. I am proud to say, I am the one who started her eating vegetables. It was a tough battle, but I was relentless and occasionally, downright mean. I starved her for fifteen hours once because she didn't want to try peas. It turned out she had a big helping at dinner tonight.
There was one of those snide little comments toward her boyfriend. I didn't hear the content, but I knew the tone. As quick as I could, I inserted a random joke just to lighten the mood. The playful wink I gave my sister received a forced, insincere smile. My grandmother and I were discussing my home made cranberry sauce, she thought it was too tart while I though it too sweet, but we both agreed it was delicious as did my dad with a grunt. He never speaks at dinner, just eats, unless of course he's arguing with my sister.
It was sometime after that, my sister stood up and began hurling things. Her boyfriend's voice never rose, so I cannot imagine what he could have said. Regardless of what he said, she had no right to risk the safety others and to ruin dinner. Damn, she made me mad. What the hell was wrong with her? Sometimes I think my parents should have made me hit her more growing up. Maybe that would have helped. I shouldn't have hit her tonight. My rage got the best of me. Her daughter was there. God, the look on her boyfriend's face. Poor bastard. It's enough that he has to deal with her on a daily basis, but to be put in that position.
He stood up quickly. Everyone else stayed seated. The blood from my hand was on my sister's face. She'd been knocked back into her chair. Never in my life would I have imagined her speechless. Probably the blood scared the hell out of her. I'm certainly sure the murderous look in my eyes added something to her fear.
My senses came to me. When I realized what I did I began looking around. The boyfriend was standing looking confused as hell. Part of him knew that she would give him shit for not immediately coming to her defense. He's a good guy though, his parents raised him right. She deserved it. I looked at his parents, who were jaw dropped. Actually, I could see definite approval in their eyes. My dad had turkey hanging out of his mouth and was trying not to smile. Grandma looked at me, with no opinion, just understanding. Her eyes flashed to mom, who was crying. Mom was looking at my niece. She was looking at me, with such confusion. Tears in her perfect little blue eyes. Her gaze broke me. Choking back the tears I looked at my sister and muttered
'I'm sorry. So sorry'�'� My voice was cracking. The last part of the apology trailed off. Quietly, looking only at the ground I made my way out of the room and toward the front door. Grabbing a chair off the porch, I took a seat in the front yard. My breath was thick, thicker than earlier. I'm sure my body temperature was up. Leaning back into the chair I let my hand hang over the arm rest to avoid getting blood on the cushion.
No insurance, so I was going to have to wait for a favor from my neighbors. They're both doctors, dentists actually, but they can stitch a wound, without causing an infection. Plus, they would give me some sweet meds. Clear that ringing pain right up. The cold helped the pain some. Taking a moment to examine the cut, I noticed the red patch in the snow. It sort of looked like Santa Clause. With a laugh I dripped some more blood a few inches above the main spot as so my hemoglobin Chris Cringle could have a hat. Then I heard the front door open.
I wasn't ready for my niece to come out. She' the last person I can look at right now. My hands bleeding profusely. I bet she hates me.
'Hey. Hey. Zyat you.'� She speaks so well, but I can't help smiling at her little voice.
'Yeah, baby it's me.'� They tell me not to call her baby, but I can't help myself.
I can here her walking over through the snow. My dad's dog is by her side just like it always is. I try to turn and slide my hand out of her sight, but she already close. Reaching out slowly, she delicately grabs my fingers and draws the bloody appendage closer to her. With a surprising toughness, without even a flinch, she removes her Supergirl scarf I gave her for Christmas earlier tonight. She had it on all during dinner. As she wraps my hand I try to imagine where she saw this. How does she know? I realize that I'll have to by another scarf tomorrow. Climbing into my lap she snuggles close and begins to cry.
'I hates Chrispmas.'� My heart just broke. I'm crying as much as she is right now. Dear God, please give me the words to fix this.
'No you don't. Sometimes it's not as good as others. Besides you get to be with people you love and get presents. It's the best time.'� She shakes her head in fierce denial. Stubborn, I wonder where she gets that from. 'Yes it is. The secret is, if you have a bad one, the next one is like way better.'� I make my arms big, for effect.
'Really?'� Her tearful face shows hope when she looks up.
'Absolutely. Next year. Wow. Man. I think you might explode from all the fun we'll have. But hey, don't give up on this year. We got some time left so let's make the most of it.'�
'Okay. Can we build um snowman?'�
'Sure, but he may be a little red.'� I hold up my hand.
'I like red.'�
'Well good.'�
Lowering her on the ground, she immediately gets to work. The dog starts to dig at her snowball, curious and playful.
'Look doggies helping.'� Sweet laughter echoes across the yard. Kneeling down to take part in construction, I can see my sister looking at us from the window smiling. Suddenly I feel even better than I thought I could. It's no lie. Christmas will be better next year.

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