Christmas Spirits by Anna Sahli

You can believe in hauntings and not in ghosts. You shrink a bit when you enter your parents’ house for Christmas dinner and feel your powerless teenage self slip her tired arms around you and whisper a reminder that you’re not enough and somehow also too much. The rage that boils in your chest while you watch your father criticize your mom only finds a way to possess you at this table, in this room. The icy indifference that serves as your answers to all your mom’s questions is a ghost of the child you killed so you could survive long enough to become an adult.

When your father starts yelling and you ask him why he’s so emotional he shouts, “you just…never agree!” and you laugh because for once he’s right about something. You two are exactly the same, except that you saw how that turned out for him, so you set your compass in the opposite direction and you sailed away toward the sunset and a happy ending only to find that when you travel long enough, you end up right back where you started. The world is round, and though you’re not a flat-earther, you see the appeal. You’d like an edge. Something to launch from.

You stare around you at the wallpaper and the Christmas tree and try to come down from microdosing on the frosty memories of your childhood. You hope that your time with the ghost of Christmas past is almost over so you can meet the bright and jovial ghost of Christmas present. But you never make it that far. How can you meet your future if you’re expected to take your seat at the table of your past each year?

There are so many past selves you need to grieve in this house. The spirits that you shed, discarded, occasionally murdered, and some you even forgot, roam the halls and sit on the steps and hide in the corners as you walk past. Each one of them reaches out, knowing that the only way to be released from this limbo is if you pick them up and carry them with you out into the world.

But you struggle with this; you don’t really want to carry them with you. They’re unsightly, embarrassing, insecure, and not very fun at parties. And when you refuse to give them a lift up and out, they try to stow away. They sneak up on you at dinner while your father offers his unsolicited opinions, so you argue with him about the very nature of human existence. The spirits creep toward you as your mom talks about how no one ate the ham and they make you ask her why she made ham in the first place? Surely she should have known better since there’s only three of you and none of you eat ham? And then, just as your father starts talking about why he doesn’t eat ham, some of your ghosts burrow themselves in your clothing, making you itchy and uncomfortable, and you compose a text to your sister that you’d like to switch places with her and stay home with a cat and a boy and make her manage all of this instead. You excuse yourself to the bathroom just for a break and are relieved to see you didn’t send the text yet so you delete it, swallowing hard, forcing your shame deeper down your throat.

The ghost in the bathroom mirror is sad because you used to stare at her every day and wish she were different. You cry, and as always, the girl in the mirror cries with you. She’s noticed that you’ve changed and that you haven’t. She’s the only ghost here who’s had any change. All the rest are just as you left them. You’re sort of comforted by this and you muster up a smile for her. As she smiles too you start to wonder – maybe some fresh air would do the ghosts some good.

Anna Sahli

Image: Loaded Christmas table with pies and ham and cake from Pixabay.com