Oh joy. It’s that special time of year again, and all the little hospital ‘elves’ are scurrying about in ridiculous outfits and planning some grand Sacred Heart Holiday--not party, oh no, not a party according to the fliers that are posted every two feet along the corridor walls in case someone, somewhere, somehow misses the seven or eight posted at every single nurses’ station or the twelve in the cafeteria, so no, not a party--Fiesta!

I don’t want to sound cliché or anything, but Bah Humbug.

I growl as one of the nerdy little interns flashes me a big smile and tries to hand me a candy cane. When she doesn’t give up I bark, snap my teeth, and lunge at her, causing her to yelp and scamper away down the hall, not even stopping to pick up the silly elfin hat that falls off her head. I smile as I imagine the moment she discovers she’s cursed for the rest of the day with an incurable case of Hat Head™ (though that is, I lament, one step up from Helmet Hair™) .

It seems that even the critically ill patients that I can usually count on to be melancholy are in on the conspiracy to drive me completely crazy with ‘holiday cheer’.  First it’s Mrs. Pratt insisting that the bells she wants to hang around my neck are actually some sort of a gift rather than a torture device, then it’s Mr. Frump, who will not stop singing the first verse of the 12 Days of Christmas over and over. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s doing it just to annoy me or if it’s because he just can’t quite remember what his true love gave him on the second day.  I’m actually going to say it’s the first option since I’m pretty sure that nobody on this God given earth could actually be desperate enough to call him her (or his, if the case may be) true love.

Of course I may be wrong, because a serious contender for the pathetically desperate club is approaching now. To his credit, he has chosen not to wear any of the apparent required elfin attire, nor is he even wearing anything that could be construed as being a Santa costume. In fact, he doesn’t look even remotely touched by the Christmas Spirit Fairy™. I can’t believe it, but Clarabelle may just be a sight for sore eyes today. I need, however, to test this theory before getting my hopes up.

I plaster on my best smile as he approaches the nurses’ station, his attention focused on some patient’s chart.  “So, Jeanette,” I greet him and wait for him to look up. “Where are your pointy toe shoes? You’re the only belle at the ball not wearing them!”

“Wasn’t in the mood this year,” he says, smiling a little bit even as his nose crinkles.

I pretend to wipe the tears out of my eyes and beam at him. “Is it true? Is my little Newbie finally growing up?”

His smile widens. “Oh, no, it’s not that. I still believe in Santa,” he assures me, waiting for my obligatory eye roll before continuing. “It’s just that I have bigger plans this year.”

I pretend to look startled, clasping my hands over my heart. “Bigger plans than the Fiesta?! Oh, Newbie! How can your plans pooossibly be bigger than--” I reach out and snatch one of the fliers off the wall (they can’t possibly miss one), and dutifully read, “--Christmas Bingo, the Sock Guessing Game--" Good god who comes up with these activities? Sock guessing? What the bejesus is that about? No, no, I don’t want to know! “--Or, now this sounds delightful, how about Christmas Carol Pictionary Relays?”

“You know, that’s really even more fun that it sounds,” he replies merrily. I curl my lip up in disgust, but he continues talking anyway. “But, the last four years I went they haven’t actually gotten around to it. The party seems to deteriorate during the Bow Passing event. It’s all fun and games until Ted starts choking on a bow.”

I blink. Do. Not. Ask. I do NOT want to know! I stare at him for a few moments.

“Did you know the janitor knows the Heimlich?”

“Sounds like good times,” I answer dryly.

“Yeah,” he agrees wistfully. “But it’s the same thing every year. So last year me and Turk started our own tradition. We throw our own party,” he explains, though I neither ask for nor want an explanation. “You should really come!”

“Much as I’d loooove to come over and exchange Barbies,” I start to decline, but he cuts me off.

“Oh. No. It’s not that kind of party. We’re not exchanging gifts.”

“Still, I really do have to get home so that I can wash the cat.”

He looks at me strangely for a moment, and I can just see him struggling not to say something. Even though I know what it is, it still surprises me when he goes ahead with it, anyway. “You don’t have a cat. Do you?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, but I answer anyway. “Nnnnno.”

He’s unfazed and gives a small shrug. “Well, if you change your mind, you really should join us. On the roof, 4 o’clock after shift change.”

“You know what, Newbie. I will be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Really?” He doesn’t even sound suspicious.

“Nnnnnno.”

“Suit yourself,” he replies casually, though he does look slightly disappointed. Not that it makes me feel guilty or anything.  He goes back to examining the chart and I turn around to replace the flier on the wall. I groan as I see that there’s already another little ‘elf’ tacking another one up in its place. I crumple mine and throw it into the garbage, where they all belong anyway. I take a moment to growl and send another intern scrambling.

“Hey, V-bear!” an annoying voice calls from down the hall. I let out a groan of disapproval, but Patricia ignores me. “You got your sunblock?” Gretchen’s black boyfriend asks as he approaches us. Inexplicably, he’s wearing a top hat. I stare at him, hoping that my face does not reveal just how curious I am about both the sunblock and the hat. I just keep reminding myself that when it comes to Hilary and her little cheerleading squad that I don’t want to know. Ever.

“Got the sunblock. Not going to make the same mistake as last year,” Lynette replies.

“Hey, I put some on you.” I did NOT need to know that.

“Yeah, just enough so that the only parts that didn’t burn were the letters on my chest spelling out Turk’s Bitch.” I REALLY did NOT need to know THAT. They both ignore my impression of being thoroughly grossed out.

“Gotta go. I’ve got an appi in five.” And Gandhi’s off, down the hall, without me getting any sort of explanation for the hat.

“That’s funny, he didn’t look like Santa,” I comment, hoping it will bait Giselle into one of his long-winded explanations that I can then scoff at and pretend that I wasn’t actually interested.

Newbie only smiles and heads down the hall to check on Mrs. Shreveport. Is it my imagination or does he look slightly smug about something? Damn it, maybe I didn’t hide my curiosity well enough and he thinks he’ll be able to lord it over me all afternoon.

Half an hour passes rather uneventfully and I’m due for a break. I’m tempted to turn around when I see that Newbie is already in the lounge when I get there. But he does seem like he’s preoccupied with something, so I decide to take a chance.

I plop down on the couch, half expecting my wannabe protégé to immediately drop what he’s doing to come over and try, try, try to suck me into his undoubtedly ridiculous holiday plans. When he doesn’t even join me by the time the first commercial break rolls around, though, I let my curiosity get the better of me and take a peek at what he’s doing.

He’s got himself surrounded with construction paper of varying colors, scissors, glue, ribbons (how girly can you get, Newbie?!),  and a ball of string.

“Well now, that looks like it’ll make a pretty little scrapbook,” I comment snidely, trying once again to bait him.

He barely glances up before replying, “I’m making a kite.” As if that’s the most normal thing to be doing. Then again in Newbie’s world, it probably is. He probably is having some sort of Mary Poppins go fly a kite sort of fantasy moment or something.

“And tomorrow I suppose you’ll be having a tea party on the ceiling?”

He snorts. “Of course not,” he protests indignantly. “We’re throwing it off…” he suddenly clams up and pretends like he wasn’t saying anything. Obviously he’s revealed something he didn’t want to reveal.

“You’re what now?” I pry a little bit.

He looks around guiltily and then sighs. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“Cross my heart and hope to diiie,” I drawl and hold up my pinkie to swear on it as well.

“We’re throwing tea off the roof during the party tonight.”

“And why are you doing that? No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Actually I do, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s piquing my interest in his silly little party.

He shrugs and goes back to work. Though I do notice that he’s got that silly, smug, little smile on his face, again.

I growl and decide it’s time to leave the room before I do something I really regret--like asking him more about his stupid little party. I hold my head up high, clearly not sulking as I head back out to the nurses’ station. My eyebrows rise as I spot a picnic basket on the floor next to the chair. Some sort of Christmas goodies, I imagine.

I wonder if there are any of those chocolate covered pretzels. I reach down to pick up the basket only to get my hand slapped by none other than Carla who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

“No peeking,” she chides me as she covers up the basket with a large red and white checkered table cloth. “It’s for the picnic.”

“Picnic?”

“You’re coming, right? Bambi said he invited you.”

I knew it. He’s trying to trick me into showing up. “Sorry, but I do have a life, you know. I don’t attend girly little slumber parties.” Even ones that involve throwing tea off of buildings.

Carla only gives me a knowing look. “Okay. I really thought you might show up for the barbeque, but if you don’t want to…”

A barbeque? In December? I could really go for some ribs, a good steak or some BBQ chicken perhaps. Hell, even a hot dog sounds pretty tasty. My mouth actually starts to water at the thought. Still. Is it really worth letting Newbie win this game of his?

“If you change your mind, meet us--"

“--at 4 o’clock on the roof, I know,” I finish for her, waving it off. She nods, her smile looking particularly smug as she picks up her basket to carry it with her down the hall, clearly not trusting me not to peek. Damn them all.

I’m not going to give in. They can have their ridiculous little party and I can rest easy tonight knowing that I haven’t wasted my time.

At least that’s what I think until my shift ends and I’m just about to head out. And that’s when I see a group of Newbie’s little interns as well as a few other hospital employees trooping through the hall heading toward the stairwell with roof access. They’re wearing all sorts of bizarre outfits. There are a couple of them wearing suits, which is odd, but nothing compared to old pee-pants, who is dressed as a pizza delivery man, or the oldest living intern who looks like a British flag just may have vomited on her dress which is topped off with a red belt and sash. And definitely not to the janitor, who is wearing some sort of a ridiculous white wig on his head and dear god I think he’s carrying an ax. This cannot be good!

That’s it. I have to find out what the hell is going on.

“Oh, hey, Dr. C,” greets Nameless Intern #7 who is wearing a bomber jacket, a pilot helmet, and goggles. He cocks his head as he looks me over, then a grin spreads across his face. “Baseball! America’s favorite past time!” he exclaims as he looks at the jersey I’m wearing. “Good call!”

“Complete idiot! Bad call!” I retort.

He laughs. “Yeah, Randy Quaid really was an idiot in that movie.” He gives me the thumbs up sign as we head into the stairwell.

I force a smile that probably looks more like the grimace it really is, and nod, pretending I have some idea of what he’s talking about. “And don’t eh-hever call me ‘Dr. C’ again,” I call after him as I head along with the crowd, silently cursing myself for getting sucked into this farce. Damn Newbie. He may have won this battle, but I will win the war.

Any hope I had of figuring things out on my own vanishes as I emerge onto the roof and into the twilight zone.

“And so, thinly disguised as Indians, the ‘friends, citizens, and countrymen’ broke open the chests and dumped the tea overboard!” Newbie, disturbingly clad only in a pair of red white and blue swimming shorts, is regaling a tale in front of a large group, including some of the children from the pediatric ward. On his cue, each member of the group, including Melinda himself, hoists large balloons that appear to be filled with a brown liquid--presumably tea--and toss them off the roof amidst a lot of cheering.

“I cannot tell a lie. Someone,” the janitor announces, looking pointedly at Newbie, “will be cleaning that up or I will chop them down.” For emphasis, he jabs his axe toward Lisa a few times.

Kathryn nods and quickly ushers the kids away from the tea-balloons and over to the grill which Gandhi is manning. In addition to his top hat, he is now also sporting an absurd looking beard with sideburns. Carla rises from her…rocking chair(?), sets down a sewing kit and some red and white striped material, and begins organizing the kids into a line, handing them each something.

“I’m Marilyn Monroe!” I hear Barbie’s shrill voice and whip around to see her apparently defending her costume to her group of interns. “She counts. She was with President Kennedy.”

I whip around again as I hear Newbie calling out, “Gather over here for Carols!”

Now at least there’s a tradition I’m familiar with. Within a minute, a group of about seven has gathered and with Newbie in the lead, they begin singing...that is noooot a Christmas Carol.

“Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light…” I watch as Newbie, who is now flying the kite I saw him making earlier begin weaving through the crowd as his band of Merry Morons follow along singing the Star Spangled Banner.

“Dr. Cox, you came!” Carla calls out excitedly as she sees me. A moment later she’s right in front of me and is pressing something into my hand. “Hang on to this, we’re going to light them at dusk.” I look down to see what she’s given me. A sparkler? I look at her, confused.

“At the risk of embarrassing myself here…are all of you crazy or is it me?”

Carla lets out a chuckle. “It seems a little weird, but it was so much fun last year we decided to do it again.”

“And just what is ‘it’?”

“Our Independence Day Party,” Newbie announces as he breaks away from the other ‘Carolers’. “I’m glad you came! Come, you need to sign the Declaration.”

I know I’m going to regret it, but I follow him and discover that it’s a Guest Book labeled 2nd Annual Declaration of Independence. There’s a feather quill and a jar of ink. I’m not sure what possesses me, but I play along and sign my name alongside the long list of others. 

“So… you going to tell me what’s with the kite?”

“I’m Ben Franklin,” he holds up the kite. “Or just an American Flag,” he amends as he sets the flag down again. Right. Makes sense. NOT.

“And you’re Ben Franklin slash flag, why?”

“We’re going to have an Independence Day Parade after we’re done Caroling.”

I blink. Of course they are. What harebrained party of Newbie’s wouldn’t include a parade?

God help me, but it’s all starting to make sense. The Boston Tea Party. American Carols. Gloria’s dress…the belt and sash make up an “Anti” or “No” sign and are covering the British flag. I rub my temple. The janitor, clearly George Washington. But what about nervous guy? A pizza delivery man? Pizza may be an American staple, but it’s Italian. I look for pee-pants again and groan as I realize which company his uniform represents. Paul Revere’s. I get it. Damn it, I get it. The Randy Quaid guy? Now I know what movie he’s referring to.  Yep, you guessed it: Independence Day. Gandhi as Lincoln, Carla…Betsy Ross. Good god, I have half a mind to leave before everyone here is captured and returned to the mental institution where they all belong.

And yet, I find myself still there four hours later, as the party is winding down, settled comfortably in one of the beach loungers with a delicious hot dog and a tall glass of lemonade. The children have been returned to the ward to visit with Santa and most of the guests have headed on home or perhaps down to what is likely a pale comparison of a party going on in the cafeteria.

Only the Turks, Barbie, Newbie and I remain.

 “And now for the finale,” Gandhi announces with a big grin as he looks at his watch. He disappears somewhere behind me, but I’m too relaxed to really care what he’s doing. “The kids should be at the windows about now.”

Huh?

I understand a few moments later as I hear a loud whistling sound and a small rocket flies from the roof before bursting. Independence Day wouldn’t be complete without fireworks. I catch myself smiling and wince as I see Newbie grinning at me. “One word about my heart growing three sizes…” I let the threat hang in the air, unspoken. Truth is, I didn’t really have a threat to make. As ridiculous as all of the antics have been, I haven’t had so much fun in a really long time. But damned if I tell him that.

“Hey, Newbie?” I ask, taking another sip of lemonade as I lean back and watch the display.

“Hmm?”

“Dare I ask…why all this?”

“Hey, if they’re going to have Christmas in July, it’s only fair that we have Independence Day in December,” he explains.

I’m actually not even sorry that I asked.

“Merry Independence Day to All, and to All a Good Night!” JD calls softly as the last of the flares fades from the night sky.

“God that was cheesy,” I can’t help but inform him, though I can’t help but smile anyway.