Happy Hannukah
by Palaskar ([email protected])

Christmas is such a lonely time of year. But this year's lonelier than most. Sure, I still have my parents and their drunken rampages -- wouldn't be Christmas without them -- but I don't have Will. I tried to cheer her up with my usual holiday jibes, but, well, they're just not funny anymore.

I remember when they were. We must've been only five or six, and she'd come over to my house to play. She was looking in wonder at all the Christmas stuff. (Actually, there really wasn't that much, just a couple stockings and a crappy tree, but to a kid, it looked like heaven.)

"What's this?" she asked.

"That's a Christmas tree, silly!" I replied. "Haven't you ever seen one before?"

"Noooo," she went. "We don't have Christmas at my house."

"But everybody has Christmas!" I protested.

"We don't." she said. Then she showed me the dreidel and we played with it for awhile. When I got bored, I started to explain Santa to her. I'd just gotten to the coming-down-the-chimney part when her father came in. When Mom and he started yelling, I thought for sure Dad must've come home early. But then I saw who it was, as he angrily swept Willow up into his arms.

"No daughter of mine is going to become a Santa-worshipper," he declared. Then he stormed out. (She didn't, you know, much as I tease her about it.)

I tried to cheer Mom up, by starting to decorate the tree. "Look Mom," I said, "out tree's just like Charlie Brown's!"

She broke down into tears.

Willow and I used to spend every Christmas Eve watching Charlie Brown. The first time, though, was the best, because I didn't know Willow was coming.

"Is Willow coming over this year?" I'd asked Mom. It was the Christmas after Willow's first one.

"No Xander," she told me. "Her father won't let her. Besides, Willow doesn't celebrate Christmas."

"But Willow IS Christmas!" I'd protested. "She's all red and green and happy."

Mom was about to break into tears again when there was a knock at the door. Mom opened it, and Willow was there, shushing us. "Papa can't know I'm here," she whispered. "He'd get very mad if he knew."

"Don't worry, Willow, I promise to keep your secret," said Mom.

Meanwhile, I rushed to sweep Willow into a hug. "Christmas just isn't the same without you," I said.

It's not, you know. If I'd known last Christmas would be our last one together, I would have gotten her a better gift. A real gift, the kind you spend money on and agonize over buying.

"Willow," I'd said, "Merry Christmas." Of course, what I really meant was Happy Hannukah, but since I'd never really been able to afford eight gifts -- good ones, not the crappy kind you give to your relatives because you have to -- I just got her one every year on the eigth day of Hannukah and called it a Christmas gift. It was my little joke.

"Xander," she said, "I'm still Jewish. You know that, right?"

"Just open it," I said, practically jumping up and down with anticipation.

She rapidly deconstructed my haphazard wrapping job, revealing an ordinary box. She opened it.

"A red and green...dreidel?" The confusion in her face was obvious. "Gee, Xander...thanks."

"Don't mention it," I said, and grinned.

So here I am, alone, under the stars. I bed down to sleep, nothing but blessed silence in my ears.

Then I wake up, as something cold and damp touches my face. Instinctively, I pull the cover of the sleeping bag up. Then I realize, it's snowing.

It's gotta be a sign. A sign that everything's gonna be alright. On an impulse, I rush into the house; inside, my parents lie snuggled up next to each other on the couch, plastered out of their minds. It's cute, really.

I go down to my room and grab the frame with the picture of me, Will and Buffy in it. I remove the picture. The next ten minutes are spent scouring frantically for wrapping paper and tape.

When I'm finally done, I have a messy, but adequate, 'Christmas' gift. With joy in my heart, I saunter over to Will's. It's only a couple of blocks away, and around the corner.

So I don't see until i