“Bunny” In Kansas

Bunny: I have taken my Christmas Tree down, I’ve taken my Christmas Wreath off my house, I’ve taken all the lights down, this is supposed to be a nation under God and it isn’t. They absolutely have ruined Christmas…

Reporter: Why are you so opposed to it, Bunny?

Bunny: Because it’s divisive between my son, who is younger, and myself… C-Span 12/24/09

First of all, let me just say that I was relieved to hear that “Bunny’s” son is younger than herself.

My question is “how much younger?” We’ve obviously got some gnarly emotional blackmail going on here, but the picture is incomplete without knowing whether Bunny’s son is a resigned/defiant adult/teen paying the price for disagreeing with Mom’s politics, or a psychically battered third grader, choking back tears and listening to Mommy snarl that it’s all Obama’s fault as she rips ornaments off the tree.

Obviously, I’d prefer to imagine the son as an adult rather than some poor kid now saddled with a Christmas memory he and his future therapist will never forget. She doesn’t sound especially elderly, but her son could be in his thirties. Maybe he lives several states away because, hey, he’s got a wife and children and a life of his own and it’s bad enough he had to go through that crap, no way his own kids will be exposed to it. Or (and this is the scenario I’ve settled on) he lives in the same town because the siblings got together, decided someone needed to keep an eye on her and as an unmarried schlub he drew the short straw. Whatever the situation, he made the mistake of mentioning in her hearing that he supports the healthcare bill, and boy, has she shown him!.

I picture him showing up first thing in the morning on Christmas Eve, a quiet, prematurely middle-aged man with thinning hair, sad eyes and rounded shoulders. The Christmas dinner he promised to attend doesn’t start until 5:30 pm, but, as usual, she wants him to do some work before the Larson’s arrive – the driveway really should be shoveled, and he wants to check the outlet in the kitchen, and she’ll probably send him out to get an ingredient she forgot. As he pulls his Tercel into the driveway he notices something, and that familiar sinking feeling settles in. The Christmas lights – the ones she insisted he put December 1st, are all gone, as is the wreath on the door. Christ, they were up yesterday. When did she do this? How did she do this? He can see one torn strand of the lights dangling from the roof gutter, as if she’d just yanked them down.

As he climbs out of his car, the front door opens and, yes, she’s got that expression on her face, the one he remembers from when he was in high school, the time he came home from Jimmy Burke’s the day before Thanksgiving in ‘93 to find the half frozen turkey squashed flat in the middle of the road. She was mad about Clinton being elected. Dad left not long after that.

“Happy now?” she asks, as he trudges through the snow towards the front door. She stands framed in the doorway, her graying hair slightly mussed, a parka around her shoulders and he notices that she’s in her boots and her pants look damp from the knees down. He stops at the foot of the front steps and looks up at her.

“What’s going on, Ma?”

“The bill passed the Senate. Happy now?”

For a moment they look at each other. He remembers something, and he turns slightly and looks over his shoulder towards the road. Yes, there’s a white mound at the edge of the lawn, he can make out a little tinsel under the snow that covers it, and now that he’s looking, he can see a sort of shallow trough in the snow, leading from where he’s standing to that shape near the road. It looks, he thinks dully, as though someone dragged a dead body out there.

He turns back to her. “Ma, the vote was at – Jesus Christ, are you telling me you were running around the house at that hour, dragging the lights off the roof, taking out the tree – it was snowing!”

“What does Christmas mean anymore? Nothing! Not with that bill passing. This is supposed to be a nation under God, and….”

“Stop it,” he says. “Just stop it.” Something inside him has shifted. He looks closely at her, notes how tired she seems to be. She’s shivering slightly, even as she pulls the parka more tightly around her shoulders. Funny. He’s not really angry at all. He thought when he reached this point he’d be angry, but he just feels tenderness towards her. “Go back inside, Ma,” he says. “Lie down.” I’ll shovel out the driveway and put a little salt down before I go. If there’s more snow today, I’ll come back so the Larson’s can get in.”

“The Larson’s aren’t coming. I called them and cancelled just after I saw the vote on C-Span.”

Well, that takes care of that twenty-five year old friendship.

Without a word, he turns back towards the car. She’s saying something now about genocide and hospices, but he isn’t listening. He’ll shovel out her driveway and front walk and steps and get the Hell out. The guys at the office said their invitation to the get together tonight at Pookie’s Bar would stay open if he changed his mind. They said Lisa from reception would be there too. Well, he’ll be there with his cell turned off. Better call Sis in Kansas City and give her a heads up that he’s not babysitting Mom tonight. She’ll understand once he explains.

His mother watches him, disappointed, as he opens his trunk to haul out the shovel. He doesn’t seem to care at all.

She goes back inside, suddenly feeling restless again. It won’t do any good to call Martha, because she always takes her brother’s side, and Bob and Meg and the kids are skiing in Taos. They won’t be picking up until tomorrow.

The TV is still on. C-Span is talking about the health bill –

To the telephone!