Sunday, December 25, 2011

O Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree was lying on the truck bed, bristles poking out of every branch, as my sister and I stood in front of it. Sister clutched at a blue saw. I clutched at my cellphone and checked out my manicure in the yellowing  night lights.

We'd assumed that our parents would be home already and thus could help us chop off the bottom and stick the tree in water. AKA Dad would do it. Instead, it was just the two of us freezing in the driveway.

Sister wanted to get it cut now, before it could dry out anymore. She stuck the saw against the thick bark and went to town, hustling back and forth, little bits of sawdust bouncing out.

She got an inch in before the saw got stuck. Then it kept getting stuck. I kept getting colder. I helped by looking for the camera because that's what you do in awkward situations, right?

I couldn't find the camera and when I came back, I was promptly handed the saw and told it was my turn. I stared at the tree. A sawdust crust had formed around the cut.

I texted Dad to see when he'd be a home.

The saw felt light and flimsy. After twenty seconds of flailing, the weapon was taken away. Good move, Sister.

"We should flip it over." She said.

I regarded the honking, prickly bush. "...How?"

We exchanged looks. Sister went to work again, and I texted my brother.

Ten minutes later and we'd only gotten another inch in. We ended up both grabbing an end of the saw and pulling back and forth.

I'm pretty sure there was a challenge like this on Survivor. We definitely would not have won immunity.

Miraculously, the stump finally fell and we grabbed onto the tree at both ends. Well, she grabbed, I gingerly avoided spiders. We heaved it into the garage, plonked it into water, and stepped back to appreciate our feminist accomplishment.