Christmas was supposed to be a lot of things, but above all, it was supposed to be fun. But Sarah never had much fun during Christmas celebrations. She would have liked to take pleasure in the act the gift-giving and the consumption of food, but she was far too busy avoiding her cousin, Joe.
Sarah was standing in the deserted kitchen, drinking a glass of merlot. She had helped with the cleaning rather than spend time with the rest of the family in the living room. Now that the room was spotless save for the few scattered trays of food that had been left out in case anyone were to get hungry, Sarah still remained. She knew that Joe was in the other room, and that meant that she had to stay out of it.
Joe enjoyed antagonizing her. He’d been taking pleasure in pissing her off since he had learned how fun it was when they were seven-years-old. Ever since then, he’d devoted most of his time at these functions towards seeking her out and trying out some new tactic. She had once hoped that he would someday grow beyond that, but now that they were both out of college and he was still taking pleasure in the equivalent of schoolyard bullying, she had lost hope.
Sarah had successfully avoided Joe for most of the day, but now he was walking towards her. She was reminded of how lions picked off the gazelle that were stupid enough to separate themselves from the rest of the herd.
“Hey, Sarah.”
Sarah’s jaw clenched. She instantly found herself remembering what her mother had been saying before every family function for the past fifteen years.
“Remember, Sarah, you can’t kill your cousin. Murder isn’t allowed.”
Sarah took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Joe.” She started to turn and walk away, not wanting to give him the opportunity to cause trouble.
“So, I was just playing with your nephew.”
Sarah stopped, her fingers tightening around the wine glass. He always knew how to grab her attention. “What did you do?” she asked, feeling defeated before she’d even started a fight.
He laughed. “What makes you think I acted like an asshole in front of the kid?”
“I suppose I’ve been conditioned,” Sarah muttered, censoring herself to keep from making a scene. “Just tell me what you did, Joe.”
Joe shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the kitchen counter, acting like they were having a casual conversation. “It’s not a big deal. We were just pushing around that toy bus. Know what I’m talking about?”
Sarah nodded, still refusing to turn and look at him. “Yes.”
“Well, I was pushing the thing around, when I noticed there was something wrong with the dolls or whatever inside. So, I rearranged them so that they looked right.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes, dread rising up from the pit of her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s just like I told the kid.” She felt Joe step closer to her, the proximity making her skin crawl. “I told him, ‘See? The niggers go to the back of the bus.’”
Her eyes went wide as she whirled around to face him. He was smirking at her, proud of himself. He was taking pleasure in her outrage, and it sickened her.
“Tell me you didn’t,” she hissed through her teeth. “You’re just trying to--"
“Sarah, relax,” Joe said, still smiling at her. “It’s just a joke. What are you getting so upset about?”
“Just tell me if you really said that, Joe. That’s all I want to know.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Do you really?”
Sarah glared at him, knowing that her cheeks were starting to flush. She desperately wanted to react, even if that was what he wanted. She wanted throw the remainder of her wine in his face or start yelling and bring the whole family down on his head. They couldn’t blame her for reacting with anything less than fury. But in the end, it wouldn’t do her any good. Joe would still be there for the next family gathering, ready with another “joke” to provoke her.
The only permanent solution was for Joe to die, horrible as it sounded. For a few moments, she indulged in the murderous fantasies that she’d indulged in since she was a child. She thought of grabbing one of the nearby steak knives and plunging it in this chest, his stomach, and finally ending the ritual by cutting out his tongue, obviously symbolic as it was. She might pay a visit to her mother’s next door neighbor, an active member of the NRA, and borrow one of his shotguns, filling Joe with so many holes that his corpse would be barely recognizable as a human being. She could even make it look like an unfortunate accident and run him down by the side of the road, though the temptation to drive back and forth over the body would be too much of a temptation to resist.
But in reality, she couldn’t do any of those things. Murder wasn’t allowed.
“Go to hell,” she said, keeping her voice as even as she could manage.
Joe winced. “Harsh, Sarah. Really harsh.” Joe reached out to one of the platters that had been left out in case people continued to get hungry as the night went on. He picked up a piece of the brisket and said, “I don’t know about the Jews, but they sure do make a damn good cut of meat.”
Sarah didn’t respond. She merely walked out of the kitchen, almost slamming the door behind her. She walked into the main hallway and took her coat out of the closet. Then she stalked out of the house without saying goodbye.
The next morning at her apartment, Sarah was awakened by her telephone. She groaned, shielding her eyes from the morning light pouring in through the blinds and fumbled for the phone.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other line started speaking before she even finished the greeting. “Sarah, I’m sorry to wake you, but--"
“Mom?” Sarah asked, struggling to sit up in bed. “Why are you calling so early?”
There was a pause. “Well, Sarah… Something happened.”
A million possibilities, each more horrible than the last flooded her minded. “Mom, what happened?”
Her mother sighed. “Your cousin is dead, Sarah. Joe’s dead.”
Sarah didn’t say anything for a moment, taking time to absorb the information and to try to figure out how to respond. She honestly wasn’t sure. “Oh,” Sarah said finally.
“They found him lying on the side of the road. Apparently he’d been hit by a car while he was walking home from the bar,” her mother explained.
The corner of Sarah’s mouth twitched. “I see.”
“Is that really all you have to say, Sarah? ‘Oh’ and ‘I see?’” her mother asked, sounding flustered. She hesitated. “Sarah, is there something you want to tell me?”
“Like what?” Sarah asked, settling back against her pillows.
“Did you… do something to your cousin?”
Sarah stifled a yawn, preparing to go back to sleep just as soon as this conversation was over. “Of course not, Mom,” she paused, reveling in what would be the end of their conversation. “Murder isn’t allowed.”
