the treadwell's at christmas

Bonnie, the pet dog who clearly suffered from overeating, was first at the pile of presents. She sniffed and sniffed but couldn’t detect her usual supply of chocolate drops and doggie chew’s.  Then Nic presented her with a small package, he half opened it and left the dog to do the rest. On doing so Bonnie was greeted with a soft cuddly sausage dog. Oh great she thought, it’ll go with the other hundred toys I’ve got, thanks a bunch. She stormed off behind the sofa, quite clearly disgusted with her so called owners.

“This one’s yours Nicky, from me and yer father”, said mom passing a small package to Nic who quickly ripped it to shreds, revealing a hand knitted jumper. “I knitted it for you, aren’t you going to put it on.” Not wanting to hurt his Mothers feelings Nic put on the woolly contraption. It was yellow with black stripes.  Nic looked at himself in dismay, what a Wally he thought. “Ah that looks nice don’t it H.” Father nodded but Nic saw that he was trying to suppress a fit of giggles. His son resembled a giant bumblebee.

Nic, fuming, thrust a long thin present at his father, nearly poking his eye out. “This is for you”, he said.

“Ta”, muttered H resentfully, taking the object.  He fumbled with the realms of sellotape Nic had purposefully wrapped around the thin frame, eventually revealing the mystery present.  Although now naked of its colourful coat, H was still no wiser as to the objects role.

Nic saw his fathers perplexed look and took pleasure in it, eventually announcing, “It’s a new dip stick.” But still H’s mind failed to grasp any significance. “You know, for the car”, added Nic. A look of enlightenment crossed from one side of his fathers face to the other and dispersed.

“Oh yeah”, said H forcing the word, “Thanks”, from his lips.

Next it was Mothers turn to receive, Nic passed her a small thin square object, a smile beginning to form on his face.  Mother tore through the badly rapped paper, underneath she found a compact disc, she read it’s title out loud,  “The Bhundu Boys  - Mash It Up African Stylie?”, her anticipatory excitement bottomed out, “What’s this?”, she asked.

“It’s the Bhundu Boys, their  Africa’s top  beat combo. Don’t you like them”, said Nic feigning a concerned expression.

“I’ve never herd of them.”

“Oh no”, said Nic trying to sound surprised, he knew only to well that his Mother would reject the present, for the said band were his current favourite. He’d come across the album while Christmas shopping, it was very rare. Being short of cash he’d deliberately brought it as his Mothers present, knowing he’d end up getting his grubby little paws on it. His parents didn’t even posses a CD player. “I thought I herd you say you liked them. I must of miss herd”, said Nic reaching to swipe the disc from his Mom. “What a shame, I guess I’ll just have to have...”

“There quite pretty, these compact disc things aren’t they.” Mother turned the circular form in her hand, throwing a sparkle of colours to her eyes.” I know what I’ll do, I’ll hang this on the wall. It’ll look lovely just over there above the framed picture of you Nicky as a child.”

Nic hated that picture; the camera looked ominously down on him, as he stood in a large playing field with not a thing in sight. The thing haunted Nic’s thoughts. It reminded him only to well of his depressing childhood, his inability to become, “One of the gang.” A trait which had followed him into adulthood. The thing which he could never fathom out though was that there’d had been loads of kids, none of whom were his friends, playing around him only moments before the snap was taken. As if by some strange force, they’d all scarpered by the time the camera had gone click.

Nic protested, “But Mom.” But it was to late, his Mothers mind was made up. His beloved CD would hang on the wall, and that, quite simply, was that.

“Nice try”, Dad whispered to Nic with a grotesque smiled wiped across has face. “This is for you my love”, he said to Mother presenting her with a large oblong box, expertly rapped with a red ribbon, for father was a professional packer by trade.

continue here