Shrouded In Lying

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Shrouded In Lying
Apr. 27, 2003

“It’s the whipped cream.” Shelby said, lathering her bite in as much topping as possible.

“No way. This cheesecake stands alone.” I insisted.

It was Easter Sunday. We were sitting outside on the Sixteenth Street Mall in downtown Denver on a beautiful seventy degree day.

“Just imagine. If we had been invited somewhere for Easter dinner, we would be forced to eat real food. This way we get to choose the calories we want.” I said, happily.

Shelby wilted again. “I wish I had family here. My family has friends here, but they forgot to invite me.”

“Hey.” I said, enjoying every moment of my less than typical holiday meal. “This is a whole lot quieter than a Winter family gathering. And this way I don’t have to fight for a piece of cheesecake.”

“Fight?”

“Huge family.” I reminded her.

I know. I was missing my family too. Easter is a big day back home. No. Not in terms of the religion thing. But. It’s a big day of food and festivities. I mean. Come on. You can’t blame me for being sad for not being there. Easter is a holiday that is shrouded in lying, (The Easter Bunny is real.) Forgery, (He leaves long notes with kid’s names and lots of kisses.) Treasure hunting, (there is a map to location of the famous Easter egg hunt.) stealing, (taking as much candy from the little kids as you can, after the hunt.) and eating. Believe me. You would miss it too.

The Easter egg hunt started out as a way for the Easter bunny to show that he loved my family most of all buy hiding extra candies, toys and a fifty dollar bill somewhere out in the woods. Oh. Sure. We line all the thirty odd kids and take lots of photos of them running around collecting the very best in chocolates, candies and plastic, coin filled eggs. This is the kind of celebration that really brings my family together. I know. Nothing like a walk in the woods where you are guaranteed chocolate when you get there.

The hunt is followed by a huge breakfast where the adults prey on the small children’s candies, then share in a wide assortment of breakfast dishes. Yeah. We don’t do a lot of dyed boiled eggs. Way boring. When the kids become too wild from the over population of sugar, everyone heads home and starts preparing for Easter dinner, which is held at the Firehouse Hall later that afternoon. I know. My family only cooks for holidays. They spend the rest of the year eating leftovers.

Shelby and I stopped off at the capital building in Denver to sun ourselves on the series of steps that lead up to the capital doors.

“Remember that 9/11 United We Stand march we joined in?” Shelby asked, sitting down on a step.

I joined her on a step. “I just thought that people should be singing God Bless America.” I said, lightly.

“Yeah. So you led them in singing it over and over. Have you learned other songs since then?”

“Well. Maybe if we didn’t climb up the steps of the capital and face the crowd when we got here, then maybe they wouldn’t have thought that we were the March organizers.” I said.

“That was really funny.” She giggled. “I can’t believe that we stood up there in front of thousands of people!”

“I didn’t like listening to the speeches from behind. I couldn’t see any faces.”

She stretched out on her back so that she could catch some more sun. “Oh. But to see the look on your face when they asked if you were going to sing, from the steps!”

“Yeah. That was scary. I had no voice left.” I stretched out to catch more sun, too.

“Right, Holly. No voice left. Then why did you say that you would sing?”

“Like what else could I possibly say? There were all those TV cameras.”

“It could have been your big moment!”

“Yeah. Frog voice sings for Unity. Um. No.”

We both laughed. “Remember how upset they were when we ducked out?”

“That was awful.”

Our moment of reminiscing our bad days was interrupted when a huge exodus of kids joined us on the steps from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. We had to stand up so that we weren’t trampled.

“Hey. Wonder why they’re here?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Man. They stink.”

“They sure do. They look like high school kids. Man. I taught high school How cool that these kids are not only awake on a Sunday, but here, banding together for some kind of cause.”

“No. They look more like college students to me. Hey. It smells like pot.”

“Man. They’re smoking pot. Right here. Out in the open. Right here. Right now.”

“Holly!” Shelby whispered. “Look at the lays they are wearing around their necks. Marijuana plants.”

We stood facing the kids, letting the meaning of 4/20 sink in at 4:20.

“You know.” I said. “This must be some kind of ‘Legalize Pot’ rally.”

“On a Sunday?”

“You know.” I said, looking for the TV crews. “Someone is going to think that we, the two adults in attendance who are standing at the top of the steps facing the crowd, are organizing this rally.”

Shelby and I started guiltily worming our way down the steps.

I called back to her. “Have you ever noticed how history repeats itself in a sort of ironic way?”

She called ahead to me. “Have you ever noticed how Forrest Gump your life is?”

“Only on days that end with y.”

------------

About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

Comment on this column in the forum.
------------