I stole one of my cousins’ Santa hats from the floor and pulled it down over my ears. Getting outside without making noise was difficult. (If I stepped on a cousin’s toes while trying to get passed her, it was a total accident.) Getting my bike out was worse. I had to carry it out the front entrance instead of opening the garage. It was almost two by the time I was finally headed down the road on the chilly damp morning of December twenty-sixth. It took me longer than usual because I stopped at a few twenty-four hour gas stations to unfreeze my limbs as much as I could before the owner’s stares became unbearable.
Emelia really must have had sleep issues, because she was reading a book by dim light when I walked in. She dropped the book and jumped up. “Dani—? What are you—?”
I pointed at my hat for an explanation. “Uh. Merry Christmas?” I held out a bag of (no doubt stale) junk food I picked up out of the discount bin during my last gas station stop.
“Oh, uh, thanks… You too.” If she was giving me a look like I lost it, hey, all the more fun.
Of course she wanted to know why I was here. I wanted to know, too. I said I couldn’t sleep and decided to stop by while I was in the area—In the middle of the night—The day after Christmas—Yep. That was the story I was sticking to. So what if I didn’t live anywhere near here. She didn’t need to know that. She opened her mouth then closed it. Maybe she was going to call me out on my b.s. I don’t know, but I hoped maybe she felt like it was okay to spend time without analyzing everything.
Three apple slices and two jelly donuts later, she asked about my winter break.
“It was—fine,” I said. “Had my uncle and my younger cousins over. It was busy.”
“Oh, was that fun?”
I wondered what kind of speech I would get for saying they are annoying. “Sure. They’re a trip. How many cousins do you have?”
Her eyes grew wide as she counted her fingers and then gave up when I laughed. “A lot. But I only ever see Uncle John’s kids. It has been awhile…” She trailed off.
“How was your… Is Christmas something important to you?”
“My dad loved it and always made special meals, but my mom said it turned people into monsters. I had nightmares until she explained that she meant the celebrations got out of hand. Is it to you?”
I shrugged, afraid to say “Hell no” outright.
“I get it, considering—I mean, how stressful it can be,” she said.
Considering what? My family? She was being understanding instead of telling me what to do. I’m sure she wanted to say something, but didn’t. I felt grateful. Understood.
“Still, I think what makes it special is how you feel, not obligation. If holidays are special to someone and they choose to spend it with you, that is when it means something.”
I stayed quiet. Did she think she wasn’t important enough for people to spend time with her? Did she think she was abandoned because she was unworthy? Until now, I had been indifferent to the idea of her mom. But now I resented her. Sure, I was here, but by my own admission, I was just here because I couldn’t sleep and needed something to do.
A soft vibrating noise brought me out of my thoughts. “…Are you humming?” I asked.
She smirked through a pink shade blossoming on her cheeks. “Yep, ‘cause I suck at singing."
The uncharacteristic crass remark made me bark out a laugh. It must be late. Screw it. Who cares why I came here? I’m here now and it’s not about guilt or killing time anymore.
I took my hat off and shoved it down over her eyes. “Come on.”
She giggled and fought with the hair that fell over her eyes. I had to turn before she could recover. I marched out the backdoor and settled with my back against the railing in the middle of the steps. She joined me on the top step, still wearing the hat. It was cold outside, but it offered the comforting cover of darkness.
“You know, I was in elementary school choir. We used to do caroling,” I said.
Her voice kicked into a higher note. “What? You?”
“You don’t have to act that surprised. What, it doesn’t fit my personality?” Well, she’d be right. I hated it. But it was a respectable thing to do, as the child of my parent’s. Got my face out in the community to smile and be polite for the neighbors.
She sputtered an apology and tried to explain. I laughed because it was worth seeing her try to cover for herself. Since she continued to apologize, I started to sing some rocked out version of those cheesy songs that got stuck in my head on the way over. She went quiet and then joined in with humming. To occupy myself, I attempted to add a beat with my foot on the opposite railing. I would be embarrassed, but unlike many of my classmates, I didn’t think she had it in her to make fun of someone for this.
When I couldn’t remember the words, somewhere between the second verse and the bridge, we faded out. I lifted my head and watched my chilled breath blow toward the sky. The overcast started to clear, allowing light from the moon to shine around the scattered clouds.
“Look,” I said.
She turned to me and then up to where I was staring. A relaxed smile, lacking any sign of insecurity, spread across her face and I wondered if, for a moment, she stopped worrying.
“Beautiful," she breathed, her own breath cascading upward.
My throat tightened and I swallowed through it. “Yea, it is.” But I wasn’t looking upward anymore. A twisting feeling wound around my stomach. I dropped my head to suppress it.
She brought her attention back down to the real world. I immediately regretted my movement when her face turned back to concern. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yea, just tired,” I said.
At her suggestion, we went back inside. She sat on the couch and I took the floor, my back resting against the couch. For a moment, I searched my brain for something to fill the silence. But I realized I didn’t need to. This was comfortable. It wasn’t an awkward silence that I needed to chase away. It just was. At last I had peace and rest. With that, it was as if my body remembered the stress from the day because I was finally drifting off.
My first thought upon waking was that it was freezing. I shivered and huddled further in on myself. I brought my hand out to check my cellphone—6:32 a.m. No wonder. As much as I hated the idea of moving, I knew I needed to head back before my parents realized I was gone.
Emelia was stretched out on the couch, breathing heavy. Do I wake her or just leave? I tapped a leg that was close to me before realizing that was probably a bad idea. Sound asleep, she jerked her foot away from my hand and then back down, finding success in kicking me in the face hard enough to make me lose balance. I swore and clutched my jaw. She had more leg muscle than it looked like.
My recovery must have been too noisy. She mumbled and blinked open her eyes. Her struggle to sit up was almost hilarious enough to forget the pain. When she spoke, it was gurgled and incoherent. She held up a hand. I shrugged my permission.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ugh, sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep. That doesn’t happen often.” She glanced around. “—Time is it?”
“About 6:30. I should get going.”
She nodded and then narrowed her eyes at me. “Whoa. You okay? What happened?”
I guess the heat I felt rushing to the hurt side of my face was visible now. “It's nothing. Just a bruise forming from playing with the cousins yesterday.”
She winced but I waved it off. “Anyway, have to go. Happy New Year and all that.”
“Thanks. You too.”
This house without heating felt warmer than the fires at home. But maybe that was the heat of my blood rushing to heal my face. I grabbed my backpack and headed to the door. I turned back to ask if she was okay but she was already struggling to keep her eyes open. Guess she’d be all right.
Only my aunt and uncle were awake and moving around when I got home. Knowing my parents, they would probably see my face and assume I had been in a fight, influence of my friends, of course.
I sped past the relatives and made it to bed. I wanted to die there, but visiting an abandoned kid wasn’t enough to reverse some kind of bad karma I spent my life gathering. My breath had just returned to normal when I heard my door open and my mom practically yelled at me.
“You're not awake yet, Danielle? Come on, you need to get moving. Your aunt needs help loading their car.”
I groaned in a rising crescendo to voice my strong protest. If we were to judge by the door slamming shut, I don’t think it worked.
Eff the Christmas spirit. Though, I did take comfort knowing that helping them leave would bring me one step closer to my regular schedule of avoidance. I suddenly wished I could get back to school already.
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