Twenty-Fourth
I arrived at my friend’s apartment at around two in the afternoon. My friend lives at the very top of his building, so there’s always ample time to think on the way up. I had made this climb hundreds of times over the years since I had known him. In my hand I was carrying the ingredients for eggnog, the making of which had become something of a Christmas or christmas-adjacent tradition for us. After crossing the threshold into his apartment, I took off my shoes and we gave each other a hug, and agreed it was nice to see each other. In the past, we had spent more time together, but due to illness, differing social circles, and other general forces that tend to pull long-term friends in different directions, we hadn’t seen each other in person for almost a month.
We immediately got to work making the eggnog, or rather, he did. I helped by beating the eggs and sugar together, while he stirred and warmed everything in a big pot. This suited me just fine. While he stirred and we both sipped on beers, we chatted about the past month. He had spent most of the month sick or in Berlin. I had spent the majority of the month working, with the exception of a few days where I had the opportunity to visit my son. Being around this friend was nice, as we had known each other so long that we were more comfortable around each other than most other people in our lives. This kind of comfort is an incredible gift, as one can be fully at ease. There was no need for any sort of mask to conceal feelings or thoughts nor was there pressure to keep conversation going. Just being. Together.
Shortly after he had finished the eggnog, and I had helped him pour it into a giant glass jar for transportation, we headed off to the party. There we were greeted by our hosts, two kind and wonderful people that I had only gotten to know through my eggnog-making friend. Also present was a friend of our hosts, who I had met before. My girlfriend was still on her way, having the longest distance to travel to our hosts. While she was en-route, we poured ourselves some drinks and talked about nothing really, but in a good way. The eggnog was fantastic, as was the ice tea made by our hosts. My eggnog-making friend had brought a mini-christmas tree, and he plopped it on the table and plugged it in. None of us at the table were particularly religious, in fact, as far as I know, all of us at the table were specifically areligious. Still though, the cozy ambiance of a christmas tree is irrefutable.
A little while later, the doorbell rang. It was my girlfriend, who came bearing pie. With all guests present, my friend of many years, the eggnog chef, read us a poem about the banalities of contrived holiday social gatherings. To an outside observer, this might be interpreted as hypocritical or ironic. Yet somehow it was perfect. Our small gathering was anything but contrived. We were not here because of external pressure or because we felt like we had to be. We were not here to grandstand or impress others with the tales of our wondrous accomplishments. We were here to enjoy good food and enjoy each other’s company. We were a ragtag group of people who felt safe around each other. We didn’t have anything to prove. We accepted each other for who we were, or at least, who we thought we were, even if none of us knew who we were. After all, who does? What does it even mean to know who you are?
But I digress.
After my friend had uttered the last words of the poem, we dug into delicious lasagna and salad. We drank all sorts of beverages, with the eggnog chef and I drinking the majority of his product throughout the evening. We played a card game for charity, having agreed that none of us would be giving each other gifts this year. Instead, we would each put ten euros in the game pot, and the winner would donate it to a charity of their choosing.
Gift giving can be wonderful, as I’ll be the first to attest to. I remember the excitement of waiting to open presents on Christmas Eve as a child. The excitement of receiving, of course, but the even greater excitement of watching others open presents I had gotten them. In adulthood though, I have often found gift-giving to be incredibly stressful and forced. It frequently becomes more of a social ritual one must carry out rather than a true expression of friendship and love. Thus the absence of gift-giving this year was for us, for me at least, a gift in and of itself.
We spent the rest of the evening watching two of the eggnog chef’s favorite romantic comedies, and discussing the sometimes surprising and sometimes unsuprising ways in which films of the past don’t hold up. We all agreed however, that the first film had been interesting and unexpected. Other than the eggnog chef, none of us had seen it before. As the credits of the second film rolled, we prepared to leave. I was a bit drunk, with a stomach full of eggnog, lasagna, and pie, but I was also incredibly content.
I departed in good spirits, and thought about how lucky I was to know such wonderful people as I rode the train home. I looked out the train window, feeling warm.