Page 29 of Holiday Unscripted
“Really?” he asks, walking around it. “This is the one you like out of all of them?”
I look at the tree again, second-guessing my choice as he walks to the one beside it and then the one next to it. “You didn’t even see them all.” He looks around some more.
“What is wrong with this one?” I ask him and he comes back.
“Absolutely nothing, but I don’t want you to argue with me later that we should have taken another one.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want this one”—I point to the tree—“and I want to cut it down.” I look around and then spot a guy on a tractor with a red wagon behind it. I wave my hand in the air to flag him down and he comes over to us.
“Did you find the tree?” he asks, coming off the tractor and looking at the tree we are in front of. “This is a good one,” he says, “lots of green needles.”
“Yes.” I admire the tree I chose. “This is the one,” I tell him, “and I want to cut it down myself.”
He smiles at me, his white hair shining in the sunlight. If his beard was longer, he could pass for a Santa. “The lady is cutting down her own tree?”
“I’m also a doctor,” I inform him. “I did surgery rotation for a full six months.”
“Because cutting into flesh is the same thing as cutting into wood?” Nate asks me and I take off my glasses so he can see my glare.
The man walks over to the wagon and I’m expecting him to come back with a chainsaw or something along that line. What I’m not expecting is for him to come to me with a metal saw with a wooden top and a green metal handle. “Here you go, girlie”—he hands me the saw—“have at it.”
“Um,” I say, grabbing the saw from him by the handle and looking down at it and then back at Nate, who is smirking at me, and I know that I’m not going to let him win. “Okay,” I say, getting on my knees, then lying on my back to see the bottom of the tree. It’s a lot thicker than I thought it would be.
Nate comes over and squats down beside me. “So what are you thinking?” he asks me, and I can feel the wetness from the snow seeping into my black yoga pants.
“I’m thinking you shouldn’t be poking the bear,” I snap, “when the bear is holding a saw in her hand.”
“Um,” the guy says from behind Nate. “Not wanting to poke the bear”—he holds up his hand—“but I have a tarp in my wagon that we can put down so you aren’t soaking wet.”
“I will take the tarp,” I agree, moving to a sitting position, which just makes my ass even wetter. As he walks over to the back of his tractor, he takes out a folded beige tarp. “Here you go, young lady.” He hands me the tarp and I get up to grab it from him, putting the saw down on the ground and then unfolding the tarp.
“That is better,” I state, looking down at the tarp and then getting on my knees and reaching over to grab the saw.
“Um,” the guy starts again. “If you want, I have a pair of gloves,” he offers to me, taking a pair of work gloves out of his back pocket.
“Thank you.” I reach for the yellow gloves. “See? He’s helpful, unlike you, who didn’t even try to help.”
“I offered you my gloves when you got here,” Nate defends himself, then looks at the guy. “I offered her my gloves.”
He stands back and tries to not laugh at him. “Okay.” I put on the worn yellow gloves. “Here we go,” I declare, getting on my stomach and then moving the bottom branches of the tree out of the way and they bounce back and smack me in the face. “Motherfucker,” I swear at the sting of the branches making my face burn. I place the saw across the trunk of the tree and start moving it back and forth.
I move the saw back and forth for what feels like an eternity. A fucking eternity, and my breathing is coming in pants as I move it back and forth.
“If you want,” Nate offers, “I can take over.” I blow the hair out of my face. “Just saying, I could do my part.”
“I’m fine,” I assure, feeling the sweat rolling down my back from exertion and the cashmere sweater I’m wearing.
“Sometimes, the tree can bind the saw,” he says as I huff out, and it feels like I’m running full steam ahead down a road that goes on forever.
“Well, how do we stop that?” I ask him, trying not to show how exhausted I am. “Are you going to give me another saw?”
“No.” He chuckles. “It means the trunk is pressing into the blade.”
“And how do we remedy this?” I ask, the saw stuck in the trunk.
“I’ll hold the trunk and pull it back,” he explains. “Usually it’s the helper who does this.”
I look at Nate, who is just watching me. “My helper is broken,” I huff out as I continue cutting down the tree. “Where do I find another one?”
