Artwork © Robert Fleming

 

He Only Wanted to Feel Appreciated

He didn’t expect a medal or some award, but a pat on the back would be nice here or there.
He stood in front of the mirror staring at himself for quite a while. Staring at himself for what he
hoped was long enough to get used to the Santa hat that he was wearing. Long enough to start to like
the way it looked on his head.

As he stared at himself and noticed how the white fur of the brim accentuated his blue eyes, he thought
about how much the hordes at the red-and-white big box store would appreciate his allegiance to
squandering and proffering, offering a smile, a nod, and/or the ultimate, the duck-face, two-finger
wink nod (hopefully coupled with that double clicking sound that people made with their tongue, roof
of their mouth, and teeth), signifying the utmost appreciation. He kept staring, liking the santa hat and how it matched his glasses, and basked in love that he would get for his Santa hat elsewhere, in the grocery store buying a fruitcake, the one with the horse drawn carriage on the front, at the pharmacy while he was getting some more wrinkle cream and three month supply of SSRIs, and at the record store where he was picking up the Julio Iglesias record that he loved so much as a kid.

He stared longer at the hat that adorned his skull, noticed the spot of figgy pudding on the otherwise
pristine white fur ball dangling off the peak of the cone, and realized that the appreciation he expected was likely all fantasy. Why did he feel so confident that everyone would have showered him with accolades? As he stared, he noticed that the grain of the felt of his Santa hat was going in two
conflicting directions, and he thought about how his kids and his wife hated the snickerdoodles that
he always made. He stared, and he realized that grain was not the right word in reference to felt because it is pressed, not woven, and he thought that it was probably the cream of tartar that they didn’t like, and thought about how much he appreciated the people who scraped the powder off the inside of wine barrels to make it. He moved closer to the mirror and tilted his head to the side, and felt like maybe the Santa hat was a bit too droopy, and he couldn’t help but imagine what the Christians would think of this idol of consumerism festooned on the crown of his head as he said happy holidays to the checkout clerks.

He heard some chuckles from behind him in the shower, and he turned his gaze to the curtain, which
was opening slowly. It was those kids again. The kids who always showed up when he felt
unappreciated. The kids always showed up with their video monitors projecting vignettes of lessons
learned on the playground. The kids who always carried a dog-eared and overly highlighted copy of
Peter Salerno’s ‘The Nature and Nurture of Narcissism.’

 

steven lonis-shumate (purposely lowercase) writes about people who like building with corrugated fiberboard cartons and train locomotives. He is fascinated by the mundane and the thoughts, fears, and anxiety hidden in it. steven is currently a student in the Creative Writing Masters of Arts program at Auburn University, recently finished his MA in Christian Practice at Duke Divinity School, and has been a University Professor for over 20 years until quitting recently to pursue writing.

Robert Fleming is a digital artist and visual poet from Lewes, DE. His books are White Noir, an Amazon best seller and Con-Way in 4 in 1 #4. Founding/contributing editor of Old Scratch Press and editor of Instant Noodles.