Christmas in July
Page 24
“Miss Danzig…”
I turned. “Hi.” I would speak brightly.
“I’m glad you’re joining us,” said Mrs. Johnson. “You look so nice.” I nodded.
She took my elbow. “There’s someone who wants to meet you. Would that be okay?”
No. I started to shake my head.
“Miss Danzig, only for a minute. See all of those men? She’s with them.”
I looked where Mrs. Johnson was pointing. There were a lot of older men filing in, they kept coming, maybe forty, fifty, a phalanx of men in colored T-shirts, different teams from something, many with their wives or girlfriends, some with kids too.
“Who are they?”
“Nikki Danzig, Meg O’Daly…”
I hadn’t felt like I was walking, but I had walked.
“Miss Danzig, I’m Meg O’Daly, I knew your niece. She was a fine girl. She had such thoughts, such an individual. How do you do? I’m so sorry for your loss…” She kept on talking. “I brought my boys,” she said, indicating all of the men and their wives and girlfriends. “She was special to me, and my boys are here…”
“Thank you,” I said.
She seemed to run out of words suddenly. “Senior softball,” she added.
“Thank you.”
Here it was, and here I was, and life was happening to me. Christmas’ life was ending in us. How someone else’s life ends in us—I hadn’t considered that idea before, only that a person died a person.
There was the Reverend Dr. Hines, there were two rows of police officers, Rossi was there, the Hmong family from the carwash, the school board would probably be somewhere, the town council. Maybe someone really knew her.
Just as the choir started to sing the National Anthem, and the crowd stood to join the singing, my body chose otherwise. I closed my eyes. They wouldn’t see me, standing in the front row, leaning on Mrs. Johnson, they wouldn’t know. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me, my body decided.
In my head, I opened a door to my upstairs closet, safe. Saxon Hills could hold us now. In my head, there were two chairs ready, two blankets and two pillows. The bare bulb with the string pull. There was music playing around me, drums and horns and earnest words in the mid-summer heat, but no one could come in, I only had two chairs, one each.
There was Christmas, with me. We would keep our eyes closed together and see.
She was covered in glitter, as she had been when I had gone to identify her body.
Her body. I held her body in my arms. A little girl’s body.
The music was louder. I shook against it. They couldn’t have her.
In my head, I reached up, found the light string, and gave it a good yank.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful for the support and the expertise of many people, without whom this book would have been a disaster:
Sandra Beasley, The University of Tampa, Tampa, FL
Ben Benshoof, Town of Huntersville Parks & Rec, Huntersville, NC
Jonathan Berkey, Davidson College, Davidson, NC
Keyne Cheshire, Davidson College, Davidson, NC
Matt Churchill, Robinson, Bradshaw & Hinson, P.A., Charlotte, NC
Lincoln Davidson, Davidson College, Davidson, NC
John Hamman, Montgomery College, Montgomery County, MD
Tristan Kirvin, Communications and Events Manager, The Corportion of Yaddo, Saratoga Springs, NY
Susan Leet, Registrar, Bailey Middle School, Davidson, NC
Patrick Lynch, Store Manager, Ace Hardware, Cornelius, NC
Officer Scott Misenheimer, Police Department, Town of Davidson, Davidson, NC
Bjorn Ordoubadian, Davidson College, Davidson, NC
Felicia van Bork, Parker/van Bork Incorporated, Davidson, NC
And to the woolly, adorable beasts of Dzanc Books, Michelle Dotter, Guy Intoci, and Michael Seidlinger, mille grazie. Thanks too to the American Academy in Rome, Davidson College, the Corporation of Yaddo, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.