Hide and Seek
written by: Allison Xu
I stopped celebrating Christmas when my brother, Julian, disappeared on Christmas Eve 16 years ago.
That night after Julian and I hung the last glitter jeweled ornament on the Christmas tree, I went to the kitchen to get us hot cocoa. After I was back, he was no longer there.
“Always hiding, aren’t you,” I deadpanned, knowing he liked to play hide and seek. I waited for him to come out. But Julian could never have stayed still for that long, so I tried to find him.
I couldn’t. I still can’t.
Now, if Christmas means anything to me, it’s the sense of loneliness and the painful feeling of missing Julian.
When I learn I’ve won a Christmas tree from my company’s lottery, I think that’s a joke. Seriously? I am the last person who needs anything for Christmas.
The tree rests on the tile floor of my apartment for days. When Christmas Eve arrives, as a wave of grief washes over me, I feel a tug, as if an invisible line draws me to the tree.
Maybe I should set up this tree. The last time.
I prop the tree up next to my fireplace and wrap colored glass balls and silver tinsels on its branches, enlivening it with speckles of color and light.
Something’s missing. A star topper. I rummage in the package but can’t find one.
“A star topper is the soul of a Christmas tree,” Julian used to say. The very thought of his words prompts me toward the basement. In a dust-coated cardboard box, I find a sparkly gold star, the one Julian and I used each Christmas.
I rush upstairs and carefully position the star on the treetop. The star flickers and emits a blinding veil of light that forces me to close my eyes.
As I rub my eyes open to a squint, a skinny teenager with a brown face is standing in front of me, right next to the Christmas tree, just like 16 years ago.
He breaks into his all-too-familiar smile and croaks, “You finally found me.”
- Hide and Seek - December 19, 2022
- Hindsight - November 11, 2022
- Autumn - November 20, 2021
