ES © The helping hands of Christmas THIS IS the final instalment of the Helping Hands of Christmas, a festive tale spun by North Vancouver writer David Jenneson, presented in six parts by the North Shore News, FTER EVERYONE left I washed me and was singing as IJ did so, ones. Then | went to my room to change pants. | reached in my pocket and what should I recover but a fine green 20. “Wow!” I said to myself our foud. ‘‘Fwenty bucks, where'd this come —”’ And then it hit me like an icebucketful of $20 jackhammers. Knocked dumb, drunk sober | called: “Hands.’* “Hands!”’ ‘“‘Hands?”’ No answer. I stuck my head out the window. “Hands!”’ Nothing. in deep rich and drunken By David Jenneson Contributing Writer feet, it must’ve all been like a nightmare to those fragile, sen- sitive hands. Trapped under the bed like tiny spies from another world, trust seemingly betrayed and horrible capture all around, one bolted, the next-followed, six zaps cut the window, threading their way through the confusion unnoticed by all except one nearsighted guest who couldn’t believe his eyes and wouldn’t if he had any brains anyway. 464 Hands. Six hands. Six hands who made it away, got out of the bag and are now free as sparrows ....99 The snow had stopped and the only sound was the anguish of a white '62 Chev as it tried to drag itself up the sleek hill. As it swung its tail hopelessly from side to side with its long- gone paint job !ayered in clean crisp snow, it looked like an old grey salmon. . *“Hands!’’ The Chevy gave up and slid back down the hill. I bent down and looked under the bed. Gone. The crazy wild screaming, the panicked crowd roaring, the lights flashing off and on, hammering ‘*Hands!"’ f called once more. Silence. I sighed. It was done then. I put on my coat and walked out. I left the window open, the lights on, in simple hope that one of them might creep back to in- vestigate. I put my hands in my pockets. It was cold. 1 didn’t like to think about where they were now, the hands, nuddled somewhere in a stark tree, all hanging like little lost souls in the greasy zephyr of a kitchen vent, I didn’t like to think about it. I felt stupid and cruel. | almost fe like crying, except that | didn’t know how. I couldn’t think of much clse except them, and me alone again. It’s an amazing thing though when you’re with a girl you really like how the party takes second spot on the list. f guess it’s because a pretty giri is a lot more fun to look at thana J beer glass. I had smoking trouble drinking and simultaneously one- handed, since my other hand somehow got involved in hers, snuggling and re-adjusting itself as much as it wanted. It made me think of my friends the hands again, how they always went ahead and did exactly as they pleased, and how too ir- revocably freaked they’d been by what mushroomed out from an innocent little pie-eating contest. “How do you plan to clean up your house?*’ Marie asked me. “Slowly,’’ 1 said. ‘*Do you want some help?”’ “1d love some."' And you know how it is when you’re holding hands with some- one you really like and you say something nice to them, and the other hand gives your hand a litile squeeze ’cause it liked what you said, and your hand squeezes back, and then suddenly it escalates into one long huge squeeze that lasts and lasts and Jasts like your hands were kissing? Well that’s what we did then. wk Hands. Six hands. Six hands who made it away, got out of the bag and are now free as sparrows, fleeing through the air like six white-fingered bats, palms down and fingers spread, looking for a place to light and dwell. Hands, having been severed from no wrist of crime or sacrifice and leaving behind them no bloodied stump, hands with smooth round heels like the tops of valentines. Hands, quick, iatelligent, swift as arrows, go through the air as swallows or as leaves, floating, palms down, to a place of warmth maa 925- 2810 ALL HANGING like little lost souls in the greasy zephyr of a kitchen vent. and earth, sanctuary. The hands by their long absence tell me they are gone. I hope they didn’t go away mad. | don’t think they did though. [ think they left in a good mood. I say this because of something Marie said as we passed out from love in the first night. Her lips were at the place where my neck : See more page 48 yN'N UNDER _ BEDDING. SHOP.”