The cardboard tree in the living area is cut crooked, and makes him glower into his soup.
He hates Christmas, he just does. It’s a stupid holiday, he tells Book himself, made up about a stupid guy who got himself stuck to cross, and whose birthday ain’t worth celebratin’ if he were that damn dumb.
The ruttin’ girl was the only one who ever guessed why, and that was an accident, because she‘s crazy as hell. Even Mal don’t know he’s a foster, everyone thinks its his real Ma who sends the letters, and far as he’s concerned these days, she just is.
He remembers his real birthing Ma though, clear as day. She’d been called Mam and smelt like dried up flowers and laundry detergent. He’d had no brother then, so got treated kinda special, which he liked. She’d used to sit him on his knee, even when he was too old, and rub his back, and tell him what she knew about Earth That Was, and about stars, and sometimes made up stories about dinosaurs.
Sometimes he thinks he might talk to Wash about the dinosaurs, but then he’d have to get explaining about things he didn’t want to, so it ain’t worth it.
He only really thinks about it when he sleeps, and he has no choice in the matter. Socks mainly, is what it is all about. He’d pulled them on when his Mam had told him he was going to catch his death. The socks were knitted by his Nan for a present and tickled his skin on the underneath bits of his feet, but it was a nice kind of tickle anyway, so he didn’t mind.
It was night-time and they had rabbit for dinner, and Pa had been there, which was some kind of exciting since he hadn’t been home since before last Christmas, and everyone was happy, and so he was happy too. His Mam had put on ‘Ave Maria’ after tea, in the living room, and all the holly was strung up like in a movie, and he’d rubbed his socks against the carpet to warm his feet. His Pa had sipped brandy watching him with funny, shiny eyes. His Mam clutched and unclutched his hand, and he’d smiled at them both when he’d put his stocking under the tree, hands a little shaky with the excitement of it all.
He’d almost forgotten the socks when he’d woken the next morning, and had rushed back into his room to put them on. They was on when he ran down the stairs and knocked on his parents door. There was no answer and he’d pushed it open, and saw the bed weren’t even rumpled, and his Mam’s slippers were still there, and then he thought maybe they was just waiting for him at the tree.
The only thing under the tree was a thing he’d seen a few times in the movies too but never in real life. He was looking at how shiny and big it looked and so didn’t realise his feet were wet until some time later. The sticky liquid turned his socks a funny colour, and felt right cold too. He shivered a little, and followed the dark red trail to the cupboard.
He remembers when he wakes, and then makes to forgetting it again.
River gives him socks for Christmas this year, and everyone thinks it is sweet. Jayne tells her he’s going to set her on fire, and Mal makes him leave the table. He eats the soup in his bunk by himself, and listens to the distant tinker of gorram ugly carols Kaylee somehow got rigged up to play in the kitchen.
He don’t feel left out. He hates Christmas anyhow.
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