Oh Christmas Tree

It was a week before my birthday, but a party was probably not going to happen as the Christmas tree was still up
Its branches a strange orange-ish yellow, curving downward, it stood in our living room as an artifact from the last
time mom had been feeling good. We had joked about re-decorating it for all the holidays it had witnessed, a little
sprinkling of glitter red hearts would make it right as rain, a couple of mini Easter baskets and bunnies. But I didn’t
think there was a way to camouflage it adequately enough to make it not shout out “Crazy mom!” to friends at a
birthday party. The tree barred the door from anyone coming over to our house, so it had been a very lonely stretch- -
not that we ever had that many visitors. When we did finally take it down, I was so afraid of someone seeing us carrying
it to the curb, I begged mom to wait till after dark. All week, I walked by my jailer, the Christmas tree, wondering what
people thought of the home it came from. But the lightness in being liberated from it was amazing. I could pretend
we were normal again without the screeching curled-claw orange reminder.