Outside, the screen door slammed, and he listened expectedly as the slow dragging sound of a tree became apparent behind the loud, pounding footsteps of his father.

“Jimmy! Get the screen, will you? This damn trees gouging my eyes out!” Frank yelled, his voice gravelly. It was the drinking that did it. That, and the cigars. Direct from his fathers ‘business’ partners... Although what frank’s aluminum siding import business had to do with huge sums of money and freinds in the cubani communista’s was far beyond him. It all had to do with doing what you had to do... One of dad’s favorite sayings.

Jimmy left the trunk, reluctantly, and squeaked open the screen door. A huge tree pushed into him, grumbling and mumbling as it passed by, forcing itself through the tiny new jersey doorway. Once inside, it flopped down with a sigh.

“i tell ya, jim boy. This is your job from now on,” his father said, falling into the complaining easy chair from which he performed most of his chores at home. “youre.. What, now. Seven? Good a time as any to take over the mans duties. Why, when i was seven blah lah lah blah...” He dragged on.

Jimmy hopped up onto his lap. “dad, can we put the ornaments on now? Can we? Huh?” He said eagerly.

“sure, just decorate it on the floor there.”

“frank! Dont give the child ideas,” his mom called from the kitchen. She was always worrying about ‘ideas’ he might catch like a cold.

A cloud of annoyance foamed across franks face. There were times, and christmas was one of them, when yelling and fighting rose to a crescendo. Frank would dissapear, come home days later. Or else he would force his way and win. The look on his face now was one of winning.

“margie, im not giving the kid any ‘ideas’. This is about principles!” He yelled, turning red.

“go on up to your room, boy. Ive got a feeling about this one. I tell you..” And here he leaned close, clouds of cigar smell wafting out in invisible odiferous waves, whispering.

“christmas... Is too damn normal. Well i promise you, jim boy, this one aint goin to be. Not if old frankie can do a damn thing about it.” Leaning back, he scooted him on his way with a pat on the butt. “leave this one to me,” he said, grinning, as he heaved himself out of the chair on a mission to mom.

Jimmy bolted upstairs, and into his room where he closed the door. He didnt really care about a normal or un-normal christmas. He just wanted christmas. But his dad, Jimmy knew he was crazy. Sometimes the police had to come, and sometimes, when he would act really weird, he would have to take shots of some medicine every half hour. Then, after a week or so, he would be back to normal for a while.

Going over to his desk, Jimmy opened the secret locked drawer where he kept all his secret chemistry equipment. Chemistry was the closest freind he had, beside danny and beth, who lived next door. It was part of why he couldnt wait for christmas. For months now, he had talked about nothing but the super secret scientist chemistry spectacular, the largest chemistry experiment set sold in the world. Over five-hundred and thirty different bottles of powders, fourty different kinds of acids and base’s, a set of one hundred mixing tubes and a booklet comprised of “1000 experiements in chemistry!”, Written by dr. Secret himself. But best of all was the microscope and glass slides, made by dick voigt industries.

Pulling out his old, beat up freind, the 100x eddie scientific, he turned it over lovingly in his tiny hands. It would be sad to part with it, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he had outgrown it. He had been getting into the oaxacalic acid compunds lately, complex organic constructions, and they hovered just on the verge of being in focus. But with the xlm 3000x that came with the chemistry spectacular kit, it would be possible to go way past the oaxacalic’s, perhaps even, his heart fluttered, into the very heart of the micocylicic agents!

Carefully setting down the 100x, Jimmy heard the sounds of battle drifting upward from below. He knew that he was getting the chemistry spectacular, because while he had been seeing the matinee of ‘dollhouse of terror iv’ with danny and beth at the old peroxy downtown, which was right across the street from ‘young scientist’s toy and supply’, he had seen his mother park in front of the store and walk in. Then he had seen the store manager mr. Perry, reach into the front window and pull out the very set on display. In the end, his mother had walked out with a wrapped present the very size of the set.

After she had driven off, he pulled danny and beth over to the store. “why do you wanna go there?” Danny complained. “yeah,” beth said. “you practically live there.”

But they had all gone in to see mr. Perry.

“hello there, Jimmy,” he said, smiling behind his huge walrus-like pure white mustache. His eyes were always lit up like christmas bulbs. “what can i do for you today?”

“i want to see the spectacular kit again, mr. Perry.”

Mr. Perry looked down for a second. “well, im sorry, Jimmy, but i just sold my last one.”

Jimmy’s heart had leapt. Looking around, he saw there were no other customers in the store. It was mom! She had bought the last set! Trying to hide his secret joy, he frowned. “well, will you have any more in? Before christmas, you know?”

“im afraid not Jimmy. But i’ll tell you what. I’ll make you a deal, just between you and me and...” He moved his eyes over to the tiny bottle set reverently upon the shelf behind him. It was an altar, which only him and Jimmy knew of. Mr. Perry had bought the bottle off of someone he had met years ago, a government man, a medical doctor. The bottle, the man said, contained a tiny slice of the brain of albert einstein.

Jimmy smiled, leaning closer. Danny and beth were looking distractedly through the old comic book rack. “what, mr. Perry?”

“why dont you come back after christmas, and if you still want one, i can get it for you for one dollar!”

“one dollar!” Jimmy whispered. His bets were covered now. If mom had messed up and gotten something else, he could take the money aunt emilia always sent for christmas and get his own!

“thanks, mr. Perry! Youd really do that?”

“i swear on.. The brain!” He had said, reaching out to shake Jimmy’s hand.

“Jimmy! Come down for dinner!” He heard his mother yelling. She was angry, which meant she had lost. At the table, amid the glowers, he ate his beans silently. It was nice being on christmas vacation and all, but he found himself frequently wishing all the extra time he had to spend with mom and dad would just go away, since 90% of it was spent in them fighting.

“ahem. Ahem, hem.” His father cleared his throat. It was time for a speech. His mother ignored the both of them, except to prod Jimmy into eating the broccoli.

“Jimmy, your mother and i have had a little discussion, and weve come to a reasonable conclusion about this holidy before us, christmas.”

He pasued, setting down his spoon and fork combination, the spork.

“christmas, as you well know, is something special. But how can it be special, when its meant to be celebrated the same way, on the same day, by everybody at the same exact time? You follow? So this year, were celebrating christmas two and a half days early. Just beacuse. And also, were decorating the tree just where it is now. It is not to be stood up, not to be watered, presents will not be put under it. If god so wishes us all to kill trees, then isnt it better we recognize it for what it is, and not try and ‘water the roots’, or bring a live tree indoors? Is there anything so absurd? No, we killed this tree, and so we will witness its death. Let it lie where its fallen. Ahem. Do you follow my logic?”

Jimmy certainly didnt, but he nodded anyway. Two and a half days early! Why, that certainly he understood.

“and by celebrating the event three days early,” his father continued, “we shall be over the hump, well rested, and prepared to really pay attention to what chrsitmas is all about without all the stress and dysfunctionality that plagues most of the country today.”

Lying in bed, staring at the molecular construction posters that lined his walls glowing in the silvery moonlight, Jimmy counted. Three days early... That meant... One, two three, four.. Only four days till christmas! He couldnt help feeling his dad wasnt that crazy after all. Just wait till he told danny and beth! Maybe, just maybe, they could plan it so they could all have two cristmas’!

Eventually, tiring, he scratched the bump behind his ear. It had been itching ever since he had helped dad bring the old ornament chest up from the basement. It had been covered with some sort of silvery, moldy fungus, stuffed since last year into the corner of the basement with the dirt floor and the damp smell. Ordinarily, that corner was always empty, walled off with an old piece of plywood. But since Jimmy had been growing out of all his clothes and toys latey, his parents had moved the trunk over behind it so as to store all the brown grocery bags stuffed with the detritus of his blossoming past. And when they had gone down to get the trunk, it had become warped and stained with the moisture.

“put it outside”, mom had said, but dad had insisted it was a natural smell, not a bad one created by scientists in a lab somewhere. Frank was constantly attacking science, even though he kept getting Jimmy chemistry books and physics experiments and things about the stars and cosmos. And once, he had taken Jimmy on a tour of betadyne corporation, and they had got to see all the men in white coats mixing different liquids in little tubes and containers, which, by now, Jimmy knew all the correct names of. In particular, frank introduced him to jerry halmorth, who was working on devising a new compuond which would adhere to aluminum and be resistant to changes in cold weather. It was all part of dad’s plan to start selling things to the canadians.

When they lifted the trunk up the stairs, Jimmy had become coated in the fine silvery white dust which clung to its outside. He should have worn gloves like his dad, mother had scolded, but he didnt care. But now, itchining, he saw the same silver powder come away on his hand.

Scratching the bump some more, Jimmy waited for the snow banks of tiredness to bathe his eyes in the weightlessness of sleep.

“Jimmy! Wake up! Breakfast!” Mom’s voice penetrated his dreams.

Jimmy popped up in bed, the smell of bacon and eggs already in his nose. Scampering downstairs, he skidded to a halt.

“wheres mom?” He said to frank, sitting in front of a cold plate of oatmeal.

“been out. Went shopping.” Frank mumbled through a mouthful of oatmeal, engaged in his paper.

“but i thought.. I heard...” He must have been dreaming. Dejectedly, he walked towards the fridge.

“goddamn those russians! Think they can weasle in on the aluminum market... Fah. Jimmy, get me the portable, will ya... Gotta call jerry.”

Jimmy handed him the portable from the kitchen counter.

“are there any eggs? “ he asked timidly, so as not to interrupt franks punctuated dialing.

“oatmeal. Hi, jerr, listen. You know the canadien deal. Well, the bah bah bah blah...”

Listenening to his dads businesspeak fade off into unintelligibility, Jimmy wandered into the livingroom, the option of oatmeal already curdling his stomach into a tasteless gob of dry hardened wood pulp. Walking over to the chest, his eyes still clogged with sleep, he sat down in front of it, letting it’s smells wash over him.

“damn them...” Frank wandered in muttering, slamming the phone on the t.v. stand. Seeing Jimmy, he paused, as if struggling to remember what this boy was doing here. Oh yes, Jimmy saw the thought struggle to the surface; his son.

“Jimmy, I’m busy today. Gotta go out. Listen, its up to you today. I want that tree decorated by the time I get back. Deal?”

Jimmy nodded silently. Contrary to the newspaper reports, he cherished the moments when he could be a latchkey kid. Frank turned, gathering up his papers and files scattered over the room, and, grabbing his coat, spoke over his shoulder on the way out the door.

“Don’t forget to eat something. Oatmeals in the microwave.”

And then he was gone.

Alone, Jimmy turned on the TV. Captain Gemarvelous was on, the one with the wacky mutated rabbit sidekick. To the background of battlescenes and explosions, he wandered into the kitchen. The frosted pop-up cereal bars were behind the peaches in the cupboard, but he had to climb up on the counter to get at them. Reading the package as he discarded the twelve different layers of foil/plastic/cardboard wrapping each bar came in, he calculated that one could live quite nutritiously off of only three bars a day. Just like astronauts, or submarine men, he thought, feeling the excitement as if he were one.

Munching on bar #2, he walked back into the livingroom and threw open the chest. Inside, shiny objects reflected red, orange, blue yellow and gold, throwing their light up onto the ceiling. Reaching in and mucking about, he lifted the entire heap onto the floor. Everything was glued together in a Christmas synaptic mess. Tangles begun 7 Christmas’s ago, woven into a knot which time could never unwind, lay in a heap upon the livingroom rug, its own history of stains and abuse glaringly evident beside the glittery reflections of the ornaments and tinsel kept bright by careful storage.

The morning passed in a timeless process of unwinding, refitting and untangling to the backdrop of captain gemarvelous, the three mouse-o-maniacs, and the froo-froo machines. But in the end, satiated, frosted pop-up cereal bar wrappers scattered amongst the crumbs and loose tinsel fragments, he regarded the tree with more than a modicum of pride.

Sitting on its side had simplified the decoration process. There were only really three sides to the tree now. The newly discovered bonus was that nothing had to be hung; only placed on top of a branch, perhaps tied down with tinsel or popcorn wire on the thinner ones. In addition, the bottom of the tree by the trunk was now fully exposed to view. Inside, Jimmy had built a small church of Santa’s, all different sizes, some green, some red; some fuzzy, some hard and plastic, some made from cloth. Arranged on all the branches as if in a forested cathedral, they paid homage to the large paper mache angel with the lightbulb inside, usually the tree topping.

Standing back and surveying the effect, Jimmy felt that somehow, something was missing. The ornaments had a heaped-on feeling, like snow had somehow fallen too quickly and haphazardly. And in between them, the branches, still green and verdant, seemed naked and bare.

Retreating to the chest, Jimmy peered inside. If there was anything left... But no. Only tinsel shards, an old piece of wrapping newspaper, some broken glass from an unknown hanging... And a small bottle, gleaming with silvery whiteness.

Picking it up, Jimmy held it to the light, turning it around. It was old, antiquey looking, with a glass stopper. Tiny bubbles were trapped inside the clear blown glass. It was the kind of thing he had seen in museum exhibits of old apothecaries or pharmacies, used to hold an ancient tincture of bumbastis or something. Some glitter clung to a tiny crack on the bottom of the bottle, whitish and fine, like powdered graphite.

Inside, tiny waves of glitter floated, slowly moving to internal currents. Fascinated, Jimmy felt his gaze soften as he stared into the patterns. Unlike the snow globes he had spent hours watching, in particular the one with the empire state building embedded in a watery, snowy grave with an attached ashtray on top, the glitter did not fall or settle too quickly. Like lighter than air particles, for he could see no liquid whatsoever, the glitter particles moved with a life of their own, defying gravity. It would be the perfect thing for the tree, he found himself thinking, almost against his will.

Grabbing the stopper, he slowly worked it out, fighting a force stronger than mom’s canned dried apricots. Once, the vacuum-pack machine had malfunctioned, creating such a tight suction inside the mason jars that they had had to resort to breaking the bottles in order to get out the fruit. And once, during a particularly cold spell, which had frozen even the honey in the pantry, a few had imploded in the night like gunfire, causing mom to call the police.

Eventually, the stopper popped open with a tiny spurt of smell, a smell of old moldy socks, of too many people breathing in a closed space. The glitter flew into his eyes from the tension, filling his nose and covering his lips. Jimmy coughed, spitting, and set the bottle down. In the kitchen, he washed his face and mouth out. It was the same glittery powder he had gotten all over his hands from carrying the trunk, and it clung with the same tenacious feeling of tiny claws gripping wherever they landed.

Taking the bottle up again, he unceremoniously dumped its contents on the tree. It sparkled as if a cloud of ice crystals had formed. It was the most beautiful tree ever. Jimmy knew Danny and Beth would think so. Scratching the bump behind his ear, he let out a loud explosive burp which, rumbling like thunder, seemed to create a visual fog obscuring the room. Yes, it was a burp captain gemarvelous would be proud of.

Later that evening when mom still hadn’t shown up, frank slammed open the screen door. Jimmy had been re-reading his old, tattered comics. He barely glanced at the tree.

“Where’s your mother?” He spoke disapprovingly. “Ive got to leave tomorrow.”

“She’s not home,” Jimmy mumbled, trying to concentrate on doughboy alien meatfest #4.

Frank stopped putting his coat in the closet.

“Listen. That’s a fine tree there. Looking good. Let’s have Christmas tonight, ok? Ive got some stuff to do before I go. Why don’t you go upstairs and get all the presents outta the closet where mom hid em. Bring em all down. Kay?”

Jimmy nodded. Standing up, frank ruffled his hair as he rushed past to do the bidding.

Mom came home wearing her bowling shirt and stinking of beer. When she saw the tree, with the presents all around it like an island of ceremony, unto itself throughout space, time and history, she laughed out loud. But not a funny laugh, more like a cackle. A witch’s curse. Moving into the kitchen with a blurry glance at Jimmy, she ran into frank, the table stacked high with his papers. As the sound of combat engaged grew, the door swung shut. Soon, only the sounds of cotton filled the livingroom like snow.

Jimmy sat and waited for each muffled word to fall, for every little rise in volume to indicate some kind of resolution, but it was all eclipsed by the anger and tension balled up inside him. Whirling around in confusion like so many little numbered lottery balls, all the various feelings could find no real ground to settle upon. When would it all stop, he wondered, holding back tears. But secretly, he knew the answer; the second he got to rip open the cheap wrapping paper from the chemistry spectacular. It would all be worth it then.

The silvery dust still clung to his hands, even after he had scrubbed them to death in the sink. It seemed to migrate in a fascinating way, even though it itched like nothing else.

The door opened and frank pounded in, his face contorted into a percolating milkshake of rage. Jimmy’s heart jumped, startled.

“Jimmy, you’re on your own. Open em up, boy. Ive gotta run. Be back in a couple of days. Merry Christmas.”

He grabbed his coat with a vengeance off the rack and slammed open the door, moving through like a whirlwind on its way out of town. And then he was gone.

From the kitchen, quiet sobs drifted out. Jimmy slowly moved to the door, not wanting to go through it, but compelled to. When dad was gone, mom was the only other authority in his life. Except for his chemistry, of course.

Pushing slowly, the door creaked open. Mom sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, quietly weeping.

“Mom?” Jimmy said quietly, the words barely escaping his lips. The force of emotional gravity seemed to suck everything back below the event horizon, not even light or sound could escape its pull.

She stopped for a second and looked at him through tear drenched eyes, and put on her best fake smile.

“Jimmy.... What is it, hon?”

Her breath smelled of beer and cheap wine.

“Mom, are we gonna have Christmas?”

She stopped smiling for a minute. For a second, Jimmy seemed to recognize a future self, seemed to understand that things like confusion and situations were, in a way, timeless. When they happened to you now, they would happen to you again. You could always recognize the emotional space, could name it, and classify it. But that was it. Comprehension and understanding stopped right there. And then, after that timeless moment, she suddenly spoke, shattering the instant into forgetfulness, relegating it to the past.

“Jimmy, mom’s not feeling well. Why don’t you just have Christmas yourself? There’s a lot of nice Christmas presents under the tree for you.” And then, with a small guilty look, she reached into her pocket and pulled out ten dollars.

“Here’s some money. Why don’t you go get yourself a pizza, or whatever you want? I’m going upstairs. Get some sleep.”

She hauled herself over to the fridge, pulled out a six-pack of bud blue pabst label and left silently up the stairs.

Jimmy stood in the silent kitchen, the humm of the fridge filling the space like smooth, comforting foam. Shoving the ten in his pocket, he sidled over to the cupboard and pulled down the box of frosted pop-up cereal bars. Empty. Just like his heart. Just like his feelings. His caring. Setting his jaw against the injustices of the world, he resolved then and there to harden his pre-pubescent soul. This was the beginning of a new career, a budding nihilist devoted to televised distraction... And chemistry.

Suddenly, his skills began to take on a new light. Chemistry wasn’t just interesting, it could be highly destructive. And wasn’t destruction just another form of creativity, really? Explosives were really just about breaking things down, releasing the hidden tensions that bound the universe together. Tensions which worked against love, against feelings, against caring.

In the living room, Jimmy confronted the presents. Frank had stepped on one little box on the way out, crushing it. Its paper lay torn, abused. Bending over, Jimmy carefully lifted it up like a wounded bird. Turning it over, he saw his name scribbled on it. “To Jimmy. From frank.” It was his mom’s handwriting of course.

Sliding out the inner wrapping from the torn box, he pulled out a soggy plastic bag dripping water. Inside, he could see a sno-globe, its perfect sphere cracked with veins of destruction. Within, in a half-pool of water and fallen snow, which would never rise again, a small family stood in front of their house, laughing and smiling.

Jimmy balled his fists up. His hatred of frank grew and grew as he struggled to hold back the tears. Throwing the globe in disgust, it shattered against the fireplace with a dull ‘pfop’, sliding slowly down the brick facade, where it lay slowly bleeding like a crash test dummy filled with oil.

Jimmy turned with a vengeance to the biggest of the four presents. He knew what was in it; everything else would only be ruined fluff, like franks globe. Kneeling as if before a religious idol, Jimmy felt the package, turning its mass lovingly over and over in his hands.

And then, in one quick instant, the wrapping was off. The spectacular lay revealed in all its holy beauty. All the glittering twinkling tubes, the petri dish’s, the vials of unknown compounds, their surfaces waiting the be explored, understood.... And of course, the xlm 3000x, the super-ultimate microscope, its powers of magnification so intense, so far removed from the world of mom and frank and their stupid fights...

But Jimmy had no need to think of them now. Tearing off the clear crystal wrapper, he pulled the scope out and lovingly ran his youthful hands over the black, streamlined body. A length of time passed, of which he had no recognition as to its duration. Everything seemed to slip, slide and fall into the beauty of the matte black finish.

Peering into the blackened depths, he slid his ...