It's 6 P.M. on Christmas Eve when you're getting home. 
Tears frozen into your cheeks. You dry them by the stove. 
You drop your jacket to the ground, but your toque stays 
on your head. You run upstairs and hide under the 
bedspread. I call your name out several times, but you 
don't show your face, so I go up to your room and 
approach your hiding place. I see the gift your brother 
gave. He's a stylist from L.A. He's inflicted his 
aesthetic on your family. Your skin white like the 
whitest snow when you stand beside the window. I say 
'Your screwed up hair looks beautiful to me' Your eyes 
shine like Christmas lights. Your voice sails like a box-
kite. There's a smile upon your face; you're getting 
happy. So let's add up all our blessings on an abacus. 
Merry Christmas, merry Christmas. We'll dance into our 
snowpants and into our parkas. Merry Christmas, Angela. 
We've been friends since we were girls, and you've always 
been there for me. And I'll do the same for you: I'll 
offer empathy. Jane's Christmas party is today, but we 
could go outside and play. We could show up soaking wet 
and hours late. Chorus.