DECEMBER 25TH, 1996

LOS ANGELES

Its Christmas, and I get to pretend. I'm allowed. In my hand, what I hold is merely a crucifix, not a weapon. Santa Claus is real. Reindeer know how to fly, and how to accept a misfit.

I can pretend that all the creepy people I've been finding attacking other people are just creepy. That the mentoring older man who died horribly was just a harmless eccentric. That I am not a freak.

I can pretend that I didn't ruin the fall dance by burning down the gym as part of a necessary strategy. I can pretend we're not moving away because now we have to. I can pretend my friends aren't pulling away from me in droves. I can pretend my parents aren't divorcing. I can pretend that they didn't stop arguing just long enough to put me in a straitjacket for six weeks. I can pretend that I didn't let them because proving my point would only make me seem all the crazier. If I try real hard, I can even pretend that I didn't pretend to be insane and then cured so people wouldn't think I was crazy.

I can pretend, like I am right now, that I can walk out the door without getting the third degree. I sometimes find him there when I do. His face and voice are fuzzy to me. But for as long as I can remember, he's been there around this imaginary corner. It isn't always a positive experience. I have a lame imagination, and my friend is a bit on the whiny side. But on the day he's not there, I don't want to breathe anymore. If I try real hard, I can hear his exact words, and I can pretend I have a real friend who'll never desert me.

*Oh. Hi. Well, its Christmas. I can pretend that single-branch trees can be made into huge pines. I can pretend that those two really aren't my parents. I can even pretend that you're real, and that you might move here someday...*

They say that winter holds the promise that is kept in the spring. Well, here's me looking forward to March, 1997. Hopefully its the start of a quiet, peaceful time. I mean, its not too much too ask for on Christmas, right?

Right?