Re: That One Tree Behind the Reg. Table: Billy K & Lin A
Nineteen years on the planet and Billy still knew next to nothing about Easter traditions, or pretty much anything that people did besides the whole chocolate and bunnies thing. Which even actual Christians seemed to fully acknowledge was a weird association, right? Because apparently the moderate Reform Jews still weren’t exposed to much of the gritty Jesus-y details, despite said moderation, at least not when they went to expensive Manhattan private schools that were so concerned with political correctness and parents with expensive Manhattan attorneys. Billy assumed there were probably dinners and special church services, but didn’t know anything really specific.
So it was sort of exciting, in a novel way, since he’d never actually hunted for eggs. And would they be chocolate eggs? Would he get to eat them? Because, free chocolate, hell-o. (He hadn’t had chocolate in weeks, not since Destiny bought some treats for Wyatt and the little boy had been adorably eager to share.) And what was he supposed to wear? Was it like Passover? Because their mom had always insisted on formal jackets and bowties, but that was for the traditional seder stuff, and egg-hunting somehow didn’t seem like one of the most formal aspects of Easter, probably.
So he’d settled for bright colours that seemed festive, with his Popeye shirt and warmest flannel. No jacket because he naturally (er, supernaturally?) ran hot with his magic buzzing under his skin, but he jammed a grey beanie over his hair on the walk over. And then a flower surreptitiously picked from somebody’s flower box and tucked behind his ear so that it poked out from under the hat, a shade of pink that matched his pants. Passover was all about celebrating springtime, so maybe the same thing went for Easter?
Whatever.
He’d left the flannel unbuttoned and went about carefully applying his name tag to the little jagged impact bubble on his t-shirt where Popeye was undoubtedly biffing some palooka who wasn’t on the up and square, grinning a little to himself as he scanned the crowd around the registration table. Turned at the sound of some profanity behind him, coming from the guy leaning against what was possibly the world’s saddest tree outside of a Charlie Brown special (one of the gentile traditions that he was familiar with, thank you!).
“That sounds like a setup,” he proffered, laughing with a head tilt as he approached and spotted the name tag that matched his assigned partner. “I mean, this is the part where I’m supposed to make a joke about kicking a man when he’s newly resurrected, right?”