Entry 3

December 23rd 

My brain scrambles to process the barrage of sensory that hits me as I enter my cousin Lydia’s winter pot-luck party in her Boston home. The scent of pine candles and warm cinnamon hits me first, layered in with the holiday music and endless imagery of twinkling lights in shades of green, red, and white. A perky 7ft tree overflowing with decor stands jolly and alert in the living room, smiling brightly at the couches brimming with blankets and holiday-themed pillows. But no one smiles more brightly than the guests. A glass of champagne adorns every hand, as though a part of their holiday dress. Eye rolls accompany the observations of pairs standing under mistletoe as they pucker up for a Christmas kiss. Dozens of people laugh synchronously, from separate conversations. No corner is left untouched by the merriment. The maple colored table is a cornucopia of steaming dishes, juicy red meats, and colorful pastries. A cup of spiked eggnog is placed in my hands by rough arms with kind eyes, and I trace his shape as he turns to smoke in the tightly stuffed kitchen where someone has started to dance. Like a wildfire, it spreads until the whole room is clapping its hands and twisting its body in time to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. My feet move without so much as a second thought, the eggnog already turning my insides warm. Lydia laughs brightly as I try for an Irish jig. I blush furiously, but don’t stop as boisterous hollering carries me onto a bench where I continue my jig with more vigorous, dramatic motions. Then my moment is stolen away by the pair of kind eyes as he motions for everyone to scoot away, and performs a handstand that turns into the worm. A ferocious laugh escapes me, its intensity leaving me nearly doubled over. Maybe it’s the eggnog, or maybe it’s the company, but my smile etches itself into memory, an expression with so much light the astronauts must be able to see it from space.