"Blue Christmas"
by Tricia Shore

(Originally published in The Independent Weekly, Durham, December 22nd, 1993,
under the pseudonym "Caitlin Kelly")

     "Trust your feelings," my therapist said. And so I did. I left my husband. That was in July, when the trees had leaves and I was wearing shorts and tank tops. It is almost winter solstice now. I am wearing sweatpants and a fleece-lined sweatshirt. I am cold.
     Last year at this time we were putting greenery around the fireplace. The red bows I had made from velvet ribbon bought at the Piece Goods store hung on the mantle. We argued even then about the lights and the tree, where it would go in the living room. Part of me knew then that I would be alone this Christmas.
     Last year we spent so much money on Christmas presents and decorations that we didn't bother to keep track of it. This year I bought $10 worth of lights at a drug store and I'll spend no more than $50 on my family and a couple of friends. I could afford to buy a tree, but I need groceries much worse.
     It's difficult not to look back, not to go back. And sometimes it seems like going back would be prudent. I have wonderful friends, but I am often lonely. Tonight I spent $2.10 on some French fries and a Pepsi. I wasn't even hungry, but I wanted badly to talk to someone, though all I said was "yes" when they asked if I wanted ketchup for the fries.
     Since that summer day when my friend helped me move out of my comfortable house with the big yard, interesting things have transpired. A couple of times I've gone swimming alone, nude, at 1 in the morning. Once I knocked on a neighbor's door at midnight and asked if he wanted to go for a drink. I was harrassed and fired from a job. I drank too much a few times and drove home anyway. I met a woman at a bar and out in my car we kissed passionately.
     Some things are painful; some are wonderful. I come home to a lonely apartment but it is my apartment. There is no one telling me to take off my shoes or accusing me of having an affair. Nobody tells me that I am too fat or that my hair is too short or that I'm flushing the toilet too much.
     I drove by my old house last night and saw the white candles he has neatly placed precisely in the center of the front windows. He never would have gone for the blue lights I have strung across my bedroom window in no particular pattern or order. As I drove into my parking lot and looked up to see them shining like stars in the heavens, I felt my possibilites to be infinite.