Nappy and Rags, a Nice Xmas Story, by Chuck

The thick smoke of emotion stung Nathan Brown’s brain. His eyes didn’t work right. Lights appeared as jello spheres floating in distant orange skies. He’d been feeling this way for a while now. Ever since the last time he’d used the hand puppet. Now the nasty little creature seemed to have a mind of its own. Of course it did. Don’t we all? It stared Nathan down as he sat on the bed upstairs.
“She still loves you, Nappy. You know she does.”
“Stop calling me that!” Nathan responded.
“She’s probably thinking about you right now as she opens her presents.”
“She hasn’t thought about me in years. Look, she’s remarried hasn’t she?”
“Christmas morning and all she thinks about is you. Where you are. What you’re doing.”
“She’s married.”
“So what, Big Boy. I bet she’s at her father’s house right now, thinking about you.”
“I’m Big Boy, now?”
“So Big and hearty! Such a handful.”
“Shut up, you little weasel!”
“And the way you dreamed about her as you clutched me. Your hand in me-”
“Stop it!”
“She’s heavenly, isn’t she?”
“I’ll stick you back in the sock drawer, you’ll never see the light of day!”
“And the way you managed to put her face on me. Marvelous.”
Nathan looked down at the crumpled photo of Candy stuck to rags face.
“You’re sick! I didn’t do that!”
“Who made me?”
“I didn’t say you could speak, either!”
“Somebody had to speak up! You’re pathetic. Drooling over a woman who dumped you years ago!”
“She didn’t dump me. We grew apart!”
“Yeah, just like her legs grew apart for her next chump.”
“Stop it!”
Nathan squeezed rags in his hand and slammed him onto the bed. Again and again he punched the bed with Rags on his hand. The muffled cries died down and he let the puppet slip from his hand. It lay crumpled on the bed.
“Good. You little prick, I hope you’re dead.”
A shrill voice echoed off the walls of the room and bored into Nathan’s ears. “Nathan. Nathan. N A T H A N!”
Nathan jumped to his feet and turned the puppet over, but the voice did not come from there.
“Nathan! What are you doing up there?”
“Coming, Mother.”
Nathan looked at the smile on rags face. The photo had fallen off. Nathan grabbed the photo from the floor and gently rubbed it in his hand. Rags smiled and winked.
“You stay here.”
Nathan bounded down the stairs of his mother’s house and shuffled into the kitchen.
“Who were you talking to up there, Nate?” Mother asked.
“Oh, CB radio. Lots of traffic today.”
“Well, eat your breakfast. Merry Christmas, dear.” Mother knelt down and smooched him on the cheek. Nathan almost gagged and quickly wiped her stink from his cheek.
Nathan took a bite of his egg, ham and cheese on rye toast and jumped up to the fridge. The mustard bottle was very cold and he felt its sting as he swiped it onto the bread. The old lady standing at the sink almost made him puke as he eat. Her lilac smell, the blue veins in her arms. Why didn’t she just die and get it over with?
Mother violently shaking off the blood from her head and hands as he rammed the knife into her flesh, the thought amused him. The knife was sharp, pointed in his direction on the counter. Why shouldn’t he do it?
“Go ahead, pick it up.”
Nathan looked down to see Rags hanging from his back pocket.
“How did you get there?”
“What’s that dear?” Mother turned from the sink.
“Nothing. Singing.”
“I like it when you sing, dear. Remember your kindergarten play? You were such a cute little boy standing up there in your costume.”
Rags smiled. “Just get the knife and stick her.”
“You stick her!” Nathan yelled.
Mother stopped her drying and turned to Nathan, then back to the sink. “I don’t like that punk music, dear.”
“It’s not punk.”
“Well, whatever it is.”
Nathan could feel the dishrag in his hands, Mothers face buried in the wet cloth. Eat it you bag! Eat it.
Rags smiled. “That’s the spirit. Just do it.”
Nathan jumped to his feet.
“Finished already, dear?”
“Got to go outside, Mother.”
“For what?”
“Get some air.”
“Alright, Dear. You be careful now.”
Mother’s car hadn’t been out of the garage in about a week. It stunk of her. Nathan looked down at Rags on the bench seat.
“You know where.” Rags said. “Get going.”
The early morning streetlights blinded him. He had to look away from the glare of oncoming cars. Summer Street looked the same, though. Only a sort of cruelty lurked in the dark asphalt there. He could feel it about to jump out and bite him. The dead grass was short and stubby in front of 311 Summer Street. The old man had always kept that grass nice. The shrubs outside were lit up bright for the holidays.
What a kick to be here again. Hadn’t changed at all since he was eighteen and they were a golden couple. What a gal she was, voluptuous, sumptuous, smooth silky love, a candy bar savored on the tongue.
Nathan held out his finger and the doorbell rang. The door opened. Candy stood in the doorway, shocked at first, then smiling.
“Nathan? Nathan Brown is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Candy. Merry Christmas.”
Rags smiled as Nathan stepped into her warm house.