The Crossover

Santa Claus Stops By

We’re celebrating

Christmas

in Dad’s hospital room.

Flowers and gifts and cheer

surround him. Relatives from

five states. Aunts with collards and yams,

cousins with hoots and hollers,

and runny noses. Mom’s singing,

Dad’s playing spades with his brothers.

I know the nurses can’t wait for visiting hours

to end. I can’t either. Uncle Bob’s turkey

tastes like cardboard

and his lemon pound cake looks like Jell-O, but

Hospital Santa has everyone singing and

all this joy is spoiling my mood. I can’t

remember the last time I smiled. Happy is

a huge river right now and I’ve forgotten

how to swim. After two hours, Mom

tells everyone it’s time for Dad to

get some rest. I hug fourteen people, which is

like drowning. When they leave, Dad

calls Jordan and me over to the bed.

Do y’all remember

when you were seven and JB

wanted to swing but all the swings were

filled, and Filthy pushed the little redhead

kid out of the swing so JB could take it?

Well, it wasn’t the right behavior, but

the intention was righteous.

You were there for each other.

I want you both

to always be there

for each other.

Jordan starts crying.

Mom holds him,

and takes him outside

for a walk.

Me and Dad stare

at each other

for ten minutes

without saying a word.

I tell him,

I don’t have anything to say.

Filthy, silence doesn’t mean

we have run out of things to say,

only that we are trying

not to say them.

So, let’s do this.

I’ll ask you a question,

then you ask me a question,

and we’ll just keep asking until

we can both get some answers.

Okay?

Sure, I say,

but you go first.