THE CHRISTMAS CARD (A SHORT STORY)
THE CHRISTMAS CARD
Blaming what
surrounds you is a great way to heal yourself. Seriously, I wouldn’t prefer
running away in any other easier way. At least, this is what I learned from
everything around me. A student would hold the professor accountable and assume
they have no personal life, and link it to why he or she is torturing the
students. A mother would name the child spoiled, considering she had no effect
on the young one. A fan would accuse the players of not trying hard enough on
the field and argues that they should be kicked out of the team. A writer would
point the finger at his words and their inadequacy to express the feelings, instead
of his lacking wisdom when he struggles to bring out a magnificent work. Me? I blame the two otters from your
coloring book that you flawlessly colored on the first day we met. You colored
them light brown, while they were orbiting each other, which I assumed was the
color pure gold.
When you are attracted to someone,
you impersonate your best version to impress them. You either bring out your
alter ego or act like a pure idealist or perfectionist, while your life does
not align with that version of yourself at all. You did it… I did it… Yet, I
did not like you when you told me your adventurous features, your strength, and
vulnerability against your traumas or past dramas. I did not admire you when
you said you are the biggest partyer and you drink a lot and face frequent
hangovers. Have you ever wondered when you haunted my what-ifs? The answer is
simple. I fell for your trembling hands when you talk to me, your pupils
inevitably gazing at my lips that are lightly veiled by my moustache. You were my favorite when you accidentally
flipped a fork into the air and made me and my best friend laugh. You were my priority when you missed the same spot twice when you wiped your mouth, and I was always ready to constantly caress the marked spot and clean it. Those were the moments that I got to see the
real you, which I will be forever thankful for.
You, on the other hand, liked my
style. The clothes I bought and the hair that I wore would not define me, but rather shield me and impress
biased people. However, our book covers were just about right, when your
colorful style gleamed under neon lights, and mine dimmed under darkness and hallow. That may be why you took a step, a hesitant one. Like a curious explorer... You also found it interesting when
I said I relate each significant person in my life to a song. And Lana was
right when she said, “There are things I wanna say to you, but I'll just let you
live…” However, that was not your song, or not the only one that reminded me of you...
Do you ever find yourself in a
situation where all your efforts are ominous? Imagine a deer crossing
over a road in snowy weather, and you see the headlights, would you still warn the fella, although
you know they would blindly get hit? Then I keep repeating this sentence. “Deer
are supposed to enjoy the moment, live it fully. You can not interfere. Let
their freedom be their own beginning or end. It is the natural selection.” Although
this norm forces me to accept this ideology, keep my mouth shut, I still feel
like an accomplice in this murder. Would their freedom be better and worth the
price, while what I offer is soaring together in the heights? Would I be
alright if I watched them leave with a harsh driver who calls himself a manly man
and freeze myself into a snowman?
You told me one of your favorite things
was collecting Christmas cards. That very night, I went out to find you a
perfect one. You thought the snowman card was coincidentally cute, but it had a
much deeper attribute. I was ready to give, while you weren’t ready to receive.
In a red envelope, waiting for a month, that wrinkly Christmas card and the
snowman on it waited for your fingers’ caress, just like my hand while watching
a musical with you in class. I counted the wrinkles of each part of that card.
Funny how the count almost matched the days we spent apart. Remember how your
trembling fingers opened the card from the opposite side, almost on the verge
of tearing the card apart, and the snowman seemed moments away from losing its
very purpose—to open and close at all. You took the damaged card but threw out
the red envelope that had your name on it into the trash. You left the wrinkled
envelope behind, just like the soon-to-appear wrinkles I worry about in my
mind.
Who is counting the white lies,
though, in a situationship? I recall blindly accepting and believing your
excuses for family issues that were causing you trouble, and cancelling our
plans as an excuse to respect your boundaries. I remember acting fine about it
to your face, although I knew something extreme was actually the case. Countless
times, I reminded myself not to dream, as dreams are only there to fail you,
and I can never blame you for not being the person I imagined or portrayed you
to be.
Our last night together, we were
walking in the cold, and you insisted on walking me back to my dorm. You said
you did not like horror movies, while my life was one of them. You, with your
dreamy brown French eyes, looked like they’d stepped straight out of a romantic drama
film, while my dark eyes and gray hair resonated thriller to his surroundings. The wind
warned us by trying to pull us apart, and you yielded. Just like the abandoned
red wrinkled Christmas card envelope in my bin, the frozen snowman observing
the deer, a person waiting to pick you up from the lesson out in the cold, you
left me stranded and shifted your direction halfway. Are you ready for something even funnier than this? I was
like this too… Maybe much worse than you. Whoever gave me a little green light,
I’d refuse them or bring out excuses to distance myself. I broke many hearts,
which I did not want to, because it never clicked for me for those who were
ready to give their all. I’d see those who had pure emotional intentions and
naïve feelings towards me as easily obtainable projects. I’d seen this coming;
that’s why your aura had a song from the very beginning, which you never dared
to ask. Or maybe you forgot, just like you will forget about me, or this story.
If you ever wonder which song always brings your features to my mind and
embellishes my dreams, simply search for these lyrics and listen to them. “You
remind me of a younger me, I saw potential.”
Now we are both late when it comes to thinking about us. However, please know I am thankful rather than blaming you for everything. I feel more enlightened and healed. I taught you how to use chopsticks, which you now use even better than me. And you taught me to realize how redundant it was to worry about our potential and intimacy in bed and the size of our genitals, instead of wondering about how compatible the two hearts can be? No, it was not you, and no, it was not about me. It was all about being in different eras. While you were a wanderer with exploratory purposes, you were not ready to encounter a landowner. In this ambiguity, you being unaware of what you truly want, one fact was unavoidable and inevitable still. That is, in every future glance, and in every moment you avert your eyes just to follow me from behind, I’ll return to your thoughts. And that may be the only thing that we will always get to own and call “ours.”
We will always have our moments that will always be stranded, like the snowman Christmas card in your dorm, looking at you and haunting your what-ifs. That will forever be solely "exclusive" to us. That is all from your newest best friend, who is always ready to hear you out, no matter how late or quiet the truth is...
Always listening,
The Turkish Prince.
-THE END-
(Image generated with the assistance of OpenAI's ChatGPT, 2025.)
Hakan Can TOPALOĞLU
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