Page 19 of Puck the Halls
I’m not bad on the ice. I could join one of those hobby hockey leagues and bulk up my thighs.
My Christmas tunes are filling me with some holiday spirit.
I’ve earned this time alone.
School, work, my traitorous roommate, moving back in with my parents.
It’s been a busy year.
A good one, for the most part.
Though people do like to dump on me for some reason.
Whatever. I like me.
Mariah Carey starts singing.
Damn. I don’t need her bouncy optimism right now that Santa can deliver.
Even if I don’t ask for anything else from the big guy this year, he can’t make Erika change her mind.
“Hey, Google, change this song,” I say.
I’m not sure if the speakers out here can hear me or what, but I figure it’s worth a shot. Each high note Mariah hits pierces my heart.
“Okay. What do you want to listen to?”
I’m starting to understand why dudes have AI girlfriends. This Google chick’s voice is oddly soothing.
“The saddest break up songs ever.”
I’m going to regret this.
But you gotta feel the hurt to move through it, man. Can’t ignore the hard feelings. Respect the heart or you’ll poison it.
I’m singing along to The Bangles when I hear a voice. Not my Google girl, but a man.
“I can’t decide if I should call the police because you’re in my neighbor’s hot tub or because of your singing voice. Put a cork in it, mate.”
I whip my head around and realize the neighbor is sitting out on his deck, smoking a cigar. These houses are close together. I can practically reach out and touch the guy. He’s bundled up in a hat and coat, a tumbler glass resting on the deck railing.
“Oh, um, hello. Sorry about that. Just going through some stuff.”
“Well go through it faster. I come out here to relax, not experience karaoke night.”
That hurts a little. My voice isn’t that bad.
Okay, maybe it is.
The guy is older, probably in his seventies. I feel like he shouldn’t be smoking a cigar at his age, but everyone has their own journey. I guess his includes cigars.
“I’ll take it down a notch,” I tell him. “Google, turn down the volume by three.”
“Okay.” The music dims a little.
“Better?” I ask the grumpy neighbor.
He nods. “I can live with that. So what are you going through, kid? And are you one of those social media daredevils who breaks into hot tubs for views?”
