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Processing things.
“Playground fund,” Zahra murmurs above my head. “You’re really going to make another push for that?”
I look down at the budget report our treasurer got to me earlier today. All the math scribbles I have jumbled in the margins suggest that maybe we can pool together just enough to update our pitiful “playground.” Because a row of four swings just isn’t a “playground.” “I really, really would like to make it work for the kids for Christmas. We’ll be advertising to parents for new students come January, and right now, our recess activities only include dodge ball in the gym, a sandpit that’s more wood chippings than sand, and enough swings for a third of our current students.”
“Don’t forget the chalk,” Zahra notes. “Kids love chalk.”
I glance sidelong at my humming kid companion, who does love chalk and is currently drawing the unthinkable in her sketchbook. She’s using a black pen, which is a new style and a majestic contrast from the matted wax of her crayons. It is sketchy and horrifying.
I don’t want to say so in front of her, but some children who love chalk aren’t allowed to use it sometimes because some teachers have had to scrub terrors off cement prior to other school board meetings. “I just think it would be very nice to have some actual equipment. For Christmas. Don’t you, Meda?”
Andromeda looks up off the monster scrawl. “Hm?”
“Would you like some playground equipment for Christmas?”
Zahra snorts. “Are you supposed to drag one of the kids in on this scheme of yours?”
Probably not. But Andromeda is special.
“I don’t know,” she says. “What’s Christmas?”
And we’re back to thoughts of skinning her father alive…
Her being in a cult does miraculously explain why she seems so terribly sheltered.
I take a breath, calm myself, and remember how elaborate this past movie night was on account of it being Pollux and her first time going. “Christmas is a holiday.”
“Ohh. Another one of those.” She looks back at her drawing and adds a few extra spines to the creature. “What horrors does this one hide beneath the surface of merriment and cheer? Maybe I can use it as inspiration for my nightmares.”
“There’s a fat guy who reverse robs the children he’s been stalking all year,” Zahra obliges. “He wears blood red and steals cookies from everyone.”
“Zahr. Santa’s clothes aren’t even remotely blood red.”
“She wants inspiration.” Zahra crosses her arms. “I’m doing my duty as an educator aide and inspiring.”
Just because we can tell the kid about Krampus does not mean we should. I sigh. “Christmas is a holiday honoring the birth of Jesus Christ. It’s a time for family, friends, and exchanging gifts. There are many traditions associated with it and many different ways of celebrating, some more Christian than others. It falls on December twenty-fifth each year.”
“Jesus wasn’t born in December,” she says.
I blink. I’m sorry. Why does she know that but not what Christmas is?
“It couldn’t have been in winter,” she continues. “The shepherds the angels got wouldn’t have been in the fields. Had to be during lambing season.” She draws a couple more talons, then she gasps and looks up at me. “Wait, is this one of those holidays that was stolen by people who didn’t like the original holiday? Oooh, I wonder how positively dreadful it had to be for the squeamish to slap the entire birth of Christ on top of it. Doesn’t it make you want to research all the details and add its history to your lesson plans?”
No. It makes me want to ask your father what the heck he’s teaching you at home…
“Some Christmas traditions are fae.” Zahra pulls out a chair and takes a seat. Her green eyes glitter. “Like, Christmas trees. Some tales claim that trees were brought into the home and adorned with gifts for the fae. Is that something you know about?”
“It definitely sounds feasible. I wouldn’t be one of the faeries invited in like that, though. Trees are a dryad thing, but if it’s covered in treats, it may be for the pixies. Pixies are very curious and can be caught grabbing several tiny handfuls of sugar out of baking bowls if they get into your house. They don’t mean to, but sometimes they ruin recipes with their mischief. To keep your pastries from flopping, you need to ask the pixies to wait until after you’re finished to share.” Andromeda’s nose scrunches as she looks up. “A holiday where you exchange premeditated gifts sounds stressful.”
“Aren’t faeries known for giving amazing gifts?” Zahra asks.
“Never on a deadline. We pay back what is due when our hearts are full and willing, not because a date obligates us to. Obligations are for the people we trick into owing us. What if Christmas appears, but I don’t have a gift for someone who gives me something?”
“Well,” I murmur, “the holiday isn’t supposed to be about that.”
“What if I hate a gift I’m given? What if someone only got a gift for me because they felt like they had to? Sounds awful.” She drops her attention back to her picture and begins scribbling background details. “Humans are silly.”
“Agree.” Zahra stares at me. “So silly. Some truly tragic silly goose behavior occurring right in this general area.”
