She wasn't sure where she was going as she led the stampede toward the service desk. A charging lioness, having slunk low through the wild grass stalking her helpless prey. Wind-whisper rustles. Fatal camouflage. She struck, bolting toward the beast in preparation for the kill, only to be outsmarted, again, watching forlorn, and hungry, as the meal slipped past the stretch of her claws. She stood and waited, taking miniscule shuffles forward with every unsatisfied customer before her. Another sad, flustered body wandering aimlessly in search of home. Following mirage lagoons through the clouds until she lands on the doorstep, wrapped with a perfect bow, ready for Santa's arrival.
The day before Christmas Eve, and here she was, overwhelmed with the clack of heels on linoleum, whirring suitcase wheels, and distant echoes of baby cries bouncing off of the walls. Each pinprick of sound piercing into her skin until it scraped against the chalkboard expanse of her bones. The man behind her in line cleared his throat every sixteen seconds, almost exactly. Occasional skips in the pattern that she only hoped signaled the end of the incessant irritation. But, sure enough, sixteen would turn to eighteen, and his throat would continue to rip itself up. A constant, never-ending cycle of earth-shattering noise.
Everyone else around her held judgemental, stoic expressions on their faces, as if they couldn't dare slip into the holiday cheer trying desperately to block out the hustle of the airport. The radio adding a dimension of noise so heavy she could feel the pull against the back of her shoulders. A smile would indicate a contentedness that nobody seemed to have, especially not those wasting away in the ever-growing service desk line. And no one would dare to sing. As though the cliched Christmas spirit formed a bubble around their respective destinations, impenetrable from miles away. She wasn't sure, as she rocked back and forth between two feet, gently swaying to scope the surroundings, that these people would ever smile.
Violet, on the other hand, had smiled all morning. The day before Christmas Eve, and the whole of New Jersey had successfully avoided the winter storm meteorologists had been dreaming up for weeks. Child's play, crafting tales of pirate battles and pixie weddings. She didn't much mind, though, happy, above all, to escape the scaly wrap of snow fixing itself to her boots for at least one more day.
She'd woken up, peering out into her grassy backyard, and immediately rolled out of bed in search of breakfast. With holiday music quietly filling the empty spaces of her house, Violet danced herself across the kitchen floor. Arms extended, holding onto stovetop-warmed air as though it was fit to be a dance partner. Occasionally dropping hold to pick up the spatula microphone, singing to an arena of awestruck fans. With pancakes in hand, Violet curled into the corner of the couch, setting up camp with a mug of coffee and a quiet murmur of The Year Without A Santa Claus. The house was soft; cozy. Blankets, and sweaters, and nothing beyond a mouse scratch of noise underneath the droning of the movie.
It was set to be an uneventful day, as she was confident the next few would be. Peaceful, quiet Christmas, with photographs of lost family filling their spots at the dining table. It was never fun celebrating the holidays with the barrage of reminders billboarding your loneliness. A lit marquee with a faulty bulb. The commercials of family together, hugging and laughing. Movies of reunion, and mended relationships, and closeness. Mistletoe kisses. Climbing shoulders to place the coveted star on top of the tree. Wrapping a toy stores worth of presents for every last member of the family. A yearly challenge, but Violet knew how to make herself feel whole.
It had been eons since her parents passed, a combination of old age, and poor health, and genetics. So long ago, in fact, that she wasn't sure that her mother's laugh in her head shared any likeness with the sound that used to leave her lips. Her father's infuriating jingle of coins in his pocket disappearing in the wind. Even the cat followed in their footsteps, systemwide shutdown. Each body; each deep, loving soul, melting away like the slush in the Aldi parking lot down the street.
She dwelled for years, reveling in the doom of complete and utter loneliness. The holidays, which typically lit a wildfire of wonder in her stomach, turned into a catastrophic reminder of death. Of empty chairs at the table. Of leftover Christms dinner in the fridge. It wasn't painful, anymore, so many years later. Or, maybe she was better to deal with the pain. It was only a matter of time before the burning forest took over, scarring away the makeshift landscape into a sea of ash. And, when it was time to rebuild, the innocent child made its way to the forefront.
Violet's shoulders had risen purposefully as she took in a breath, sighing out a wave of air that doubled to cool off her coffee. And, she simply existed. Watched out of frosted glass as cars skid down the slick streets. Spoke back the lines in movies she'd seen dozens of times. Refilled her coffee. Threw a blanket in the dryer when she went to do laundry. Lit every last candle until the house lit up in an aromatic cloud of festivity. Begrudgingly made lunch, despite her insistence on, instead, sitting down for a meal of baked goods. Until the early evening, Violet swam inside her own pool of Christmas cheer. Content. Lonely. Peaceful.
Harry's day mirrored Violet's, to a degree. Equally lonely, although much louder in its ferocity. He, himself, much louder in his own hunt for prey at the airport.
It had been four days, to the hour, when he'd woken up that morning, allowing himself enough grace to sleep in before a day of travel. Four days since her glittering diamond smile flipped, building up a layer of sediment to hide the shimmer. She walked out, knuckles clutching a bag full of the belongings that had left a crumb trail throughout his home. Guiding lighthouse pathway to the very center of his heart. And, without a single gust of warning wind, the tornado tore through. Hurricane Imogen, category five.
He'd worshiped the ground Imogen walked on, and maybe that was why he was so hurt. Ready, and willing, to drop a grenade and watch himself explode to please her. She was angelic, flitting carefully along like a delicate hummingbird. Particular, and precise, and drowning in beautiful waves of smooth, warm love. Love that she no longer had for Harry, as of 96 hours ago.
He was stunned, and heartbroken, and refused to cry. Biting his cheek until it bled in order to pretend that he had enough pride not to fall to his knees and beg her to stay. Imogen didn't give him much of an opportunity, anyway, quickly scurrying out of bed after the conversation, collecting the final remnants of her, and rushing out of the front door. Harry had barely gotten his shoes on before she was backing out of his driveway. Zipping hummingbird. Sweet, rolling tide.
Imogen was scared of a lot of things. Namely, commitment. A tricky concept that Harry was sure she had gotten over after four and a half years. But, he was ready for more, and she ran in the opposite direction. Nonpolar ends of a magnet. Violently repelled forces.
While Harry's loneliness settled in the spaces of cold bedsheets, Imogen's was set ablaze the further she got from herself. As if curling into his side sparked the match. The longer and harder she pretended to be something she was not, the further away she became. Lonely in the presence of company. Of no fault to the company, but instead, to the way she so easily let herself vanish to occupy a mold she wasn't sure she wanted to fit into.
He couldn't see that. Harry found closeness tethered to her skin, the threads of his existence tied into haphazard bows lining the expanse of her arm. Red ribbon on lamp posts. Imogen was lonely by his side, taking every ounce of self-preservation to flee the man she knew would be the sweetest lover she'd encounter.
Christmas was never anything special for Harry, and now he was convinced that it was very well the worst day in history. What was there to celebrate after Imogen's curious paws bat down the glass bulb of his heart? Shards of blood red ornament scattered across hardwood floor.
It hit him the worst in the mornings, rolling across the mattress to curl into her warm body, only to shiver against the chilled sheets. Missing from the one place she was always supposed to be. He'd reach out, rummaging blindly for a pillow to grasp onto, pulling it tightly into his chest and squeezing his eyes shut as if he could resuscitate the fabric into breaths. Pushing his diaphragm out to guide the inhale and exhale of oxygen, mimicking his own. Attempting to breathe inanimate life through his brokenness.
Harry had eventually moped long enough to get out of bed, packing a suitcase for his flight back home. He'd yet to miss a London Christmas, and he didn't plan on starting now, even if the seat beside him would be deserted. Barren tundra. The sole polar bear in the commercial, wandering aimlessly through the snow. A piece of him needed it, he was convinced. An injured wolf slinking back to its den, licking the wounds and searching for help.
He muttered to himself all morning, grumbling, grumpy comments about the cold, and travel, and how shitty love was. An optimist turned pessimist in his own right. In his house, mumbling about the static electricity sparking against his socks. While he sat down for lunch, fussing over his lukewarm leftover pasta, trying not to remember how Imogen nearly spilled the entire pot of alfredo into his shoes the last time he'd made it. As he got into his car, he complained that the heat wouldn't work quickly enough. On the drive, the red lights were out to get him, the warning signals that he'd been too blind to see before. Four and a half days too late.
By the time Harry arrived in the airport, he was no longer looking forward to flying home. Tired, and frustrated, and still painfully, irreversibly heartbroken. The last thing he wanted to do was mingle with old friends and nosy family, especially when along with that came the influx of questions about where Imogen was. Everyone had known about his plans to propose, considering Harry's tendency to ruin his own surprises. Excitement fueling a rocketship blast so powerful the onlookers shied away from the force. He'd have to buck up and pretend that a piece of himself wasn't tattered into the carpet thousands of miles away. They would all read right through him, though, and he knew that all too well.
Light Christmas music floated through the Portland airport as he waited and recounted every last detail of his former relationship, picking apart anywhere things could have started to turn sour. But all Harry could see was sweetness. Blind to anything but his own, loud, detrimental feelings. So painfully in love with a woman who was always bound to scare away at the first sight of a cage. Harry had been so immersed in his thoughts that he nearly missed the intercom, spelling out horror stories of grandeur.
"Flight 1473 has been delayed due to inclement weather on course. Estimated departure and arrival times will be updated at the gate. Again, Flight 1473 has been delayed. Thank you."
Silence fell across the patient flyers for three perfect seconds before the lock broke and the wild animals stormed the zoo. Families arguing over what to do, businessmen causing uproars over making it home in time for Christmas with the kids, flight attendant heels clicking quickly away from the scene of the crime.
Harry felt annoyed. And apathetic. But ready for a demonstration of the vibrant emotions he was used to before the dull. And, so, he followed the mob of angry passengers straight to the service desk.
In front of him in line was a baby swaddled into a carrier. A sight that usually brought joy. Innocent butterflies. Clammy hands. But, this time, his mind wandered to her, and he wanted desperately to turn away from the sweet little baby who was staring him curiously in the eye. She had a small candy cane bow dancing on the top of her head, and a baby blue pacifier bouncing against her tiny lips, and a jingle bell rattle gripped tightly in her small hand that Harry was confident other passengers would despise. But she was precious, and so infatuated with Harry, that he couldn't be particularly bothered when she excitedly shook the rattle, sprinkling the sound of jingle bells throughout the clustered airport.
All at once, in a ricocheting flash of white light, the airport melted away around his feet. Gates, and passengers, and airplanes pixeling out like a faulty computer game. As though none of it ever existed. A kitchen building in its place; small, and messy. Flour covered countertops, and flecks of dough stuck to the rolling pin. Gentle, quiet, Christmas music. Red, frilly aprons.
Harry was none the wiser to the change, simply blinking his eyes and opening to a different room. He wasn't aware of the momentous transport. Didn't acknowledge the change of his clothes, the layer of white caught against his skin, the shift in mood, the presence of her. Dark hair tied haphazardly in a knot on the top of her head, but still decorated with smudges of flour.
"Stop it!" She shrieked through her giggles, back facing him across the kitchen and shaking almost imperceptibly with warm laughter.
Harry glanced down at his hands, feeling an ache in his jaw that he quickly realized was due to the smile etched on his face. In his palms rested a pile of flour and, without thinking, he tossed it at her, joining the eruption of laughter as it puffed out into a cloud of powder.
The name fell from his lips without a thought, as though they'd known each other their whole lives. As if they'd met, and met again, and continued to meet; new fragments of themselves dropping for a visit each time. "Come back here, Violet!"
She ran to the other side of the kitchen, reaching for the counter and desperately grabbing an egg from the carton. Violet pivoted around on her heel, holding it perilously out in front of her, "Don't make me."
Harry feigned a gasp, covering his heart with his dirty hand, "You wouldn't dare, you little devil."
"Watch me," She pretended to lunge towards Harry, laughing loudly at his sudden jump backwards. A piece of her knew him, in some way. Perhaps they met at the grocery store one day, two strangers reaching for the last package of Chips Ahoy cookies, arguing about who would take them, both firm in their belief that the red package was half as good as the blue. Or, they knew each other from school, taking classes together without ever truly engaging in any productive conversation, simply quiet 'excuse me's and 'do you have a charger's exchanged in passing.
They didn't. They never did. Harry preferred Keebler M&M cookies. Violet never used her laptop in class. Two individual, independent souls, floating in opposite breezes. Parallel forecasts. Two lines, zero intersection. Meeting, instead, in a dream. Or, a hallucination. Or, some twist of reality, like fate wrapped a knot around the trajectory of life.
"V, if you don't put that egg away right now," The threat was an empty abyss as he gripped her wrists inside of his hands.
"Say you're sorry!" Her attempts to break free were futile, but that didn't stop her. Violet thrashed in Harry's grip, squealing out when he suddenly hauled her body flat against his chest.
He pried the egg from her hand, surprised that she hadn't clumsily broken it in her haste to attack, "I have nothing to apologize for."
"You ate some of my cookie dough!" Violet kicked at his shoe, cheek smushed against the warmth of his shirt.
Harry pulled back slightly, just enough for Violet to take a dramatic, heaving breath in while he gently poked at her nose with his finger, "I ate some icing, too."
Violet gasped, "You thief!" She quickly scoured the countertop for a new weapon, to no avail. Instead, she reached out to tickle her fingers against his sides, "You're such a little shit!"
"That would be me, yes. Thank you for noticing." Harry nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers for a fleeting moment before reaching out to grab the kitchen timer before the ring blared throughout the kitchen.
"Thank you," She murmured, spinning around to pull the tray of cookies from the oven. A sea of ginger wafted into the room and Harry couldn't stop the dramatic, content groan that left his lips. Violet simply giggled in response, setting the cookies on the counter and tossing the oven mitt aside. A tiny gingerbread family laid perfectly across the sheet, a collection of people they'd built themselves to fill the holes residing in between.
Harry's fingers magnetized toward the cookies and he jumped backwards as Violet smacked the back of his palm, "Paws off, you bandit."
He rolled his eyes, immediately laughing at the deadpanned look spread across Violet's face. Harry fisted the fabric of her apron, yanking her in and admiring her from the bridge of his nose. "C'mon, sweet girl," he leaned in, sliding his nose down across hers, "for me?"
Harry'd readied himself for a kiss when suddenly another shake of the baby's rattle sent him back in the airport, a thick layer of goosebumps covering his arms. Like a sudden shiver zapped chaotically up his back. Ricochet path. He didn't remember her, or the flour that was meant to turn into a gingerbread family. Instead, his mind was whirling around the fading image of Imogen the night before, her sleek body tucked safely into his chest. Instead, he ignored the piece of his heart nagging him to let go of his escaped Houdini. Instead, he smiled down at the baby with a tiny wave, watching as her parents whisked her away to their destination.
"Next." The service desk attendant sounded as defeated as he looked, no older than nineteen with deep bags under his eyes and hair askew from tugging on the ends. A job that was likely never glamorous, only intensified with the holiday travel. "Can I help you?"
Harry cocked his head at the kid slightly, every last bout of irritation fizzling out, "Uh, nah, I just wanted to know when my flight is supposed to take off."
The worker assisted him with only a handful of huffy sighs, muttering under his breath that Harry could have just looked at the signs outside of the gate. But, Harry acted none the wiser, thanked him more than enough times and calmly wandered back to his plastic seat in the corner.
As the day continued to roll on, Violet found herself getting antsy. The soles of her feet felt itchy, her legs increasingly restless, and the expanse of hair decorating her skin was standing on end waiting for something. Anything.
A quiet Christmas in was turning into the deep buzzing of an impending adventure. The childlike jitters in darkened bedrooms, rolling over in bed in a feeble attempt of quieting souls. Futile, but a dedicated fight. The longer Violet sat, the more violent the need became. Buzzing turning into whooshing turning into whizzing turning into angry, red sirens screaming for attention. Deep need begging for some kind of breakthrough.
Finally, after all of the elderly neighbors tucked in for the night, the loudness became insufferable. With a loud groan that echoed around the walls of her empty house, Violet trudged to her bedroom and shoved the bare necessities into a bag just small enough to be classified as a carry-on. Having checked each outlet three times, she was on her way, throwing the luggage in the backseat and racking her mind for a plan. For some direction. For some rationality. A sign to go, a sign to stop, a sign to drive the car straight into the snow drift along the side of the road.
"Fuck!" The clatter of her knuckles against the steering wheel startled even herself as she only worsened the stick of her tires in the snow. Spinning down and spitting dirty slush back toward the road. Violet dropped her head, forehead colliding with the back of her hand, and soaked in the shame pummeling through her body for a few solemn, pathetic moments. The sudden glare of headlights in the rearview made her jump, followed shortly after by a few raps against the glass.
She rolled down her window, smiling sheepishly at the gentle old man smiling down at her, "Looks like you've got yourself in a pickle, dear."
Violet nodded through the red blazing against her cheeks, "Yeah, I think I managed something like that."
The man motioned with his head for her to get out, "Lucky for you, I carry a couple 'a shovels with me. C'mon and let's dig ya out."
"Are you sure you have time to stop, I don't want to hold you up," She protested gently, following the man to his truck and helping to remove the shovels from the cargo bed.
The man, Lionel, laughed. The kind of aged laugh that catches in throats and causes a wave of coughing. His voice sounded warm, and raspy, and he had soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes like he'd spent too many years smiling. "Little lady, don't you worry for a second. We'll get you out in no time."
He quietly instructed Violet where to start digging, the pair working in near silence in the darkness. Puffs of foggy air danced from their lips from the chill and Violet wished she could invite Lionel over for Christmas. After all, he didn't seem like he had much family anymore. It was a feeling, a presence, that she became too aware of after her parents had passed away. Gaining an innate ability to read the deepness of loss across even the brightest faces. The way his crow's feet tapered quickly downward, or the permanent sheen coating his eyes. Small flickers at the corners of his lips tugging as if the sadness wouldn't permit his smile to exist without inhibition. Or, maybe the small frame on his dashboard gave it away. The hanging cross from the rearview mirror. A man out, alone, the night before Christmas Eve, in no rush.
"If you don't mind my askin', where are you off to tonight?" Lionel grinned up at Violet, nosy like a toddler digging into his birthday presents a few days too early.
"I'm, uh," She let out a breath, tapping the shovel against the tire of her car, "I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?!" Lionel let out another cackle, interrupted by a small chorus of coughs. His body folded nearly in half as he laughed, shuffling around the contents of his pocket. A small bell rested inside of the fabric, nestled safely in the deepest corner. Tucked away from the snow, or the cold. A bell from his recently passed cat - the last piece of his wife that he had with him. It made him feel less alone, carrying it with him. Like he still had them at his side, especially around the holidays.
Stumbling across Violet felt like a sign from her, as well. He was just as versed in spotting the loss within masked features. The tight indentation near her jaw, and the downward wiggle of her nose. The bunny rabbit movements of her chin, like furrowed sadness. Lionel and his wife tried, for so many years he lost count entirely, to have children, to no avail. Replaced, instead, by years upon years of heartbreak and loss. But, here he was, standing across from Violet; a girl who carried the same hurt in her eyes that he'd memorized as his own scars, wandering lost. He knew it was her way of telling him that they'd be alright. That he'd be alright. And so, he laughed harder. His trickster love, throwing him a bone after making him haul snow off of the road. She'd always been one to pull his arm. To make him laugh.
With his heaving laughter came more jingling of the cat's bell, light, twinkling clinks, almost entirely muffled by the inside of his pocket. But, Violet had heard it. And, suddenly, she was squinting against overcast clouds. It was evening, before the sun had fully set, and the wind whipping off of the water was bitter against the tip of her nose and the uncovered landscape of her cheeks.
She'd heard the loud smack before she felt it, jumping forward at the sudden feeling of a snowball exploding against her back. Violet pivoted around on her heel, boot digging into the snow and the sand. A car tire rutting deeper into the bank.
"You snooze, you lose, V!"
She retaliated quickly, without enough time to fully form the snowball before the blast of white powder dissipated into the air. Harry threw his head back, cackling out to the sky as he pelted another ball against the exposed skin of Violet's neck.
"Harry!" She yelped, lunging at his back to shove a handful of snow into the neckline of his coat.
He barked out a yell of his own, stumbling forward with Violet clung to his back. Regaining his balance, Harry started to spin the pair around in lazy circles, smiling silently to himself at the feeling of Violet's grin against his temple and the breathy laughter oozing from her lips. He wanted to stop everything then and there just to feel her lips pressed delicately against his own. A feeling he could map out perfectly, despite never having kissed the girl he'd never met.
Violet tilted her chin upward, sticking out her tongue in attempt to catch some of the falling snow around them. The salt in the air settled against her taste buds, inviting toward the freezing water lapping at the shore a few feet away. Harry adjusted the girl on his back, tugging at her knees until they settled, perched on his hips with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
"Your hands are cold," She murmured against his ear as he started strolling down the shoreline.
Harry breathed a laugh through his nose, "Yeah, well you're warm."
Violet smacked his chest playfully, wiggling on his back until he set her down, "I can't believe you're just using me for my warmth!"
Harry immediately reached out in search of her hand, quietly intertwining their gloved fingers as they continued down the beach. He hummed softly, some wordless melody that screamed familiarity despite itself.
"We should probably go, huh?" Violet asked after a while of walking, "Your nose is all red."
"Only if you're ready to," Harry lifted her hand, letting his lips meet the fabric of her glove. The gesture made butterflies flood through her senses. As if it were the first time. As if he didn't consistently leave kisses to the backs of her palm. A resting ground, a solace, for the delicate skin of his soft lips.
Violet nodded wordlessly and the pair turned around, walking in peaceful silence back in the direction they came from. The flakes of snow falling from black clouds twinkled like a symphony of jingle bells, each delicate structure fluttering to land peacefully around their feet. Violet peered up through the vortex of white and blinked, the sounds of the shore replaced by quiet car engine.
"Well, wherever you're going, dear, I hope it's nice and warm," Lionel spoke once he was fully composed, fingers stretching in search of the treasure hidden safely in the depths of his pocket. The conversation carrying on without a hitch, despite the gust of wind that had blown across the back of Violet's shoulders. He patted her on the back while silently collecting his second shovel from her hands, "Thanks for keeping a cooky old man like me company."
"I'd be more than happy to, Mr.-" Violet paused, awaiting an answer, determined to find this man in the future. Once she was out of town, no longer tied down by the family coming before.
"Just call me, Lionel, sweetheart," He waved as he trudged back through the snow in the direction of his car. Sitting back in the warmth, Lionel waited for Violet to get her car running, slowly peeling away from the road behind her. He watched as her headlights faded into the night, drumming his fingers softly against the dashboard. And as he drove away, Lionel glanced at the framed picture of his wife, and he smiled. She was with him, as she'd promised she always would be.
With the heat blasting, Violet drove in the direction of the airport, careful to avoid the small mountain range near the curb. Light Christmas music floated throughout the car, repetitions of the same ten songs that had been cycling through the entire month of December. Wham!, and Straight No Chaser, and Elvis, and Mariah Carey. Broken record ticking back over and over, wearing holes into the vinyl. Songs that provided comfort, despite their earworm annoyance, and she found herself grateful for the moment of quiet peace as she dropped all inhibition to jettison down the runway.
Violet trudged through the building sheet of snow underfoot, suitcase in tow, a blossom of excitement budding deep in her stomach. A careful girl, throwing caution to the sky. Floating on winds of change as they tornadoed through. Spinning chaotic, and spitting her right back out on the other end.
The automatic door hesitated before opening; a welcome of grandeur and royalty into the deserted airport lobby. She'd eyed the destination boards, realizing, with something of a laugh, that there was a single flight left for the night. It was headed to New York, and Violet's heart picked up speed at the prospect of immersing herself within the city. A kind of sacredness. A rite of passage. She checked-in immediately, rushing determined to security.
"Hi, sugar, just throw your bag up here and walk on through," the woman at the metal detector said, rubbing out the lines in her forehead. "You might be my last customer of the day."
Violet smiled, stepping under the scanner and waiting for her luggage to make it out on the other side, "I hope I am, so that you can head home."
Jamila blew out a laugh through her nose, nodding lightly, "Oh, honey, me too. Me too. Those kids'll lose their damn minds if I don't get there soon."
Violet couldn't help but to let out a silent laugh of her own, "You have kids?"
"Oh, I had kids. Factory's closed. Those kids went out an' had their own kids, I've got three grandbabies waitin' for me. Twins boys and a little girl." Jamila's face lit up like the stars of her grandchildren flickered into a constellation across her tired face. She hoisted Violet's suitcase off of the belt, setting it down onto the floor and raising the handlebar.
"That sounds hectic."
Jamila snorted quietly, nodding even more eagerly than before, "It sure is. It's okay though, I like it that way. I don't know what I'd do with myself if there weren't no noise in that house." She reached into her security uniform, fishing out her phone. She began scrolling purposefully through, clearly in the search for pictures of her pride and joy.
Violet let out a gentle, "aww," at the image of the three babies, who looked to be roughly the same age. The twin boys flanked their tinier cousin, who was wrapped up tightly in a swaddle with a tube taped to the side of her cheek. "They look so sweet," she cooed, laughing as Jamila swiped through photographs of the boys' perfectly timed expressions.
"Yeah, those two are trouble, that's for sure. Amara's got 'em beat, though. I know you wouldn't believe it," she trailed off with a laugh. Violet nodded with a smile, waiting for Jamila to finish the thought that was churning behind her eyes. "For being so little, she's got some real sass in her. She'll grab and pull on that feeding tube if she don't like what's being put through it."
The two ladies laughed together at Jamila's reenactment of her granddaughter. She had been working in airport security since the week after she graduated high school. 'Eons ago,' as she would say. Her first child was born through an abusive relationship, a second happy accident coming along less than a year later with her late husband. Her children had grown and moved away, finally making their way back to the nest when her eldest became pregnant.
"I don't blame her, I wouldn't want to be eating anything gross, either." Violet grinned, and Jamila nodded along enthusiastically.
"That's what I'm saying! She'll push those boys around like no one's business. My daughter, she was so scared when they said she needed that tube, but 'Mars is a tough lil thing. You should see them when they're playin'."
Jamila shuffled through some more pictures, pulling up a short video of the babies on their tummies, Amara reaching out for the snacks laid in front of the boys, despite her inability to eat them. The ladies laughed, Jamila making jokes about her granddaughter with endless love swirling tangible in her voice. "It's a good thing that little girl can't eat, she'd eat me right out of house and home!"
They continued to talk, Jamila asking Violet where she was traveling and following up the conversation with more jokes at her answer. "What do you mean you don't know?! You're just flyin' off somewhere the day before Christmas?"
Violet had nodded, "Yeah, I, uh, don't really have any family anymore, so I'm just...going for an adventure."
Jamila's eyes softened, "I'm sorry to hear that, honey,"
Violet interrupted her with a shake of her hand, "No, no, it's okay".
"That's what I'd say when my husband passed...I know it ain't." Jamila rubbed at Violet's shoulder, "But I know you don't want my sympathy, so I won't give it."
Violet gave a tight smile, willing her eyes not to well with long-repressed tears.
"You seem like a sweet girl," Jamila hummed, dramatically weighing the options in her head in an attempt to bring the lightness of the mood back, "so I hope you won't kill my family." She winked at Violet with a smile, "But, if you ever need a place to stay, baby, you're welcome at my place anytime. Just don't leave your food in Amara's sight."
Jamila winked again, which catalyzed a laugh to fall from Violet's lips. Jamila wiped at her eyes, where tears had formed and dried from both the laughter and the emotion. "Well, sugar, I'm sorry to keep you. Have a good trip, wherever you're going."
Violet nodded, grabbing for her suitcase. Resting on top, as if fallen from a tree branch was a scrunched up $20 bill. She shook her head immediately, looking up towards Jamila who was smiling, acting blissfully unaware.
"Ma'am, I can't take this", She protested, fishing the cash from her suitcase.
Jamila raised her eyebrows, feigning shock, "Wow, look at that, it must be your lucky day! I sure hope you buy something for yourself with that." She quickly looked down at her bare wrist, pretending to lay eyes on a watch, "Oh, would you look at the time! Shoo, shoo, I gotta close up and get home to my babies."
Violet cocked her head with a tentative smile, "Thank you very much."
"Merry Christmas, baby." Jamila waved her off, with a smile on her face. Excited, most of all, to see her grandchildren at home.
Violet continued walking through the nearly deserted airport in search of her gate. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she approached closer, finding...no one...waiting around the seats. Both frantically, and with all of the peace in the world, she glanced at the ticket crumpled in her hand, laughing in disbelief at her luck. During her conversation with Jamila, Violet had lost all sense of time, arriving at her gate well after the flight itself had taken off.
With something of a sigh, she paced toward the bench of seats near the window, eyes wandering to the mirrored sleepers scattered sparse around the airport. Single souls searching for comfort on the cushioned chairs. Spending the fade of Christmas Eve into Christmas morning in stale air. In emotionless airport. Hectic, static energy fizzling over any shred of calm warmth. Violet laid herself down, scrolling through her phone to book the next flight to New York, taking off the moment the morning opened.
She stared up at the textured ceiling, wondering, in a brief moment of vulnerability, if they were with her at all. Or if she really was alone. Begging desperately for companionship, for comfort, for love. Smooth, easy company. A gentle arm resting around a weary shoulder. A summer breeze of laughter. A blanket spread across two laps.
Violet didn't allow herself to feel lonely often. For self-preservation, mostly. A nasty emotion, spiking daggers deep underneath her skin. It was easier to build armor against it. But, as she laid in the empty airport with the other isolated souls, it overcame her. Washing over like a terrorizing tsunami wave. Rising with the spin of the moon and tumbling over her skin. Pelting against wounds and building to flood over her lungs. Overflowing cup spilling over.
She curled into her jacket blanket, straining her ears to pick up the sound of distant Christmas music for some kind of comfort. Sleigh Ride drifted quiet through the space near the high ceilings, and Violet let out a tired laugh at herself as she clapped along with the whip crack. As she began to hum, the sound of bells in the song grew louder, crescendoing into a large chorus and overtaking the quiet, steady airport.
The stale white walls and ultraviolet light fell away to expose candlelit quiet and the overwhelming smell of pine needles. She was humming to Christmas music vibrating through the speaker, swaying side to side with an ornament dangling from a hook wrapped around her finger.
"Where are you gonna put that one?" His voice was enough to raise goosebumps onto her skin, a whispered breath across the curve of her shoulder as he spread his fingers around her waist.
Violet glanced down, inspecting the ornament. It was a hideous palm tree with a dramatic, tourist Florida scrawled into the trunk. From their trip to the Keys the summer before, which ended in Harry sick with sun poisoning and Violet suffering from an angry cold thanks to air conditioned temperature changes. The vacation was anything but, throngs of irritated, fussy tourists screaming over one another in attempt to dig their toes into the sand.
The pair had, instead, trespassed onto a private beach - Harry's idea, as he grabbed Violet's hand and bolted. Three days baking in the freedom of stolen sun left both of them sicker than ever, huddled up in their hotel room for the rest of their trip. At one of many rest stops, Harry deliriously stumbled out to the car, with a bag in tow containing more than enough bottles of ginger ale, a box of saltine crackers, and a shitty Christmas ornament to "always remember this momentous occasion."
"What momentous occasion?" Violet sniffled out, choosing not to ream her half-lucid boyfriend for forgetting a package of Kleenex.
"I didn't yak in this bathroom!" He celebrated as he flopped back into his seat, immediately wincing from the pain of his sunburn.
"That's because you threw up on the side of the road ten miles back, babe."
"I think it deserves a spot near the angel," Violet joked, instead hanging the treasured ornament at the back of the tree. Harry's arms were still tethered around her waist as she returned to the box of decorations, "What about this one?"
Violet pulled out a cheesy personalized gingerbread duo, smiling up at Harry, who's cheeks reddened into a shade darker than the Santa hat on the cookie's head. His mother had gifted them the ornament the first Christmas they'd spent together - one of many that currently resided inside of the decoration box. Harry wordlessly took the gingerbread men from Violet's fingers, hooking it onto the tree right beside the palm tree disaster.
"Last one," Harry announced, lifting the small airplane from the box. The pair smiled, bodies melting closer together as if the fireplace flames licked out to heat the innermost parts of their souls. Violet provided him with a hook and helped to home the plane toward the angel standing watch on the tallest branch.
Harry stepped away to admire the tree, leaving a wave of cool air to occupy the mold of his body against Violet's back. She followed suit, rising onto her tiptoes to peck a soft kiss to his plush, pink lips. Harry's fingers extended into the hair resting near her chin as he tugged Violet back to him, planting an excess of kisses across her face until the sound of her giggle brought a smile to his face too wide to allow him to continue.
"It looks beautiful, darling" he spoke down to his girl, catching his own lip between his teeth. "Good work." Violet murmured her thank you through another round of innocent kisses. "Can we get hot chocolate and go cuddle now?" Harry asked against her lips.
"Of course we can, dork." She laughed, watching as Harry all but skipped toward the kitchen, the weight of his steps shaking the ornaments on the tree. A plastic bulb slipped off of its branch, bouncing off of pine needles and branches, landing with a jingled thud as it smacked a bell before landing peacefully on the tree skirt.
Harry walked, luggage tightly in his grip, up the tunnel, already grumbling under his breath in frustration of holiday traffic. As soon as the plane touched down, he learned of the delay - left stranded, waiting for a connecting flight, in the busiest city during its busiest time of year.
His phone rang incessantly as he tried to dial his mother, letting her know that he would not be home on Christmas, stuck, suspended in gelatin, waiting for the ice in London to clear up enough for planes to land. He'd had more than enough of the hectic airport after ten minutes of sitting. Watching frantic bodies flopping like still-alive sardines packed tight in their opened can. A prank can of worms jumping at the chance to break free. So, instead, he stood up, collected his luggage, and left.
He wasn't exactly sure how he ended up in downtown New York City bright and early on Christmas morning, but the hustle of the city never seemed to cease. Sharp, determined clicking heels across metal grates and haphazard men swinging briefcases around as if wielding weapons.
New York was funny that way. People desperately pretending to be so busy, rushing from one landing spot to the next without a hitch. Powerful strides carrying across town. In search of something more to do, somewhere more to go, someone more to pass by. Constantly on the move, as if the globe turned because of the city alone. Harry could see the isolation without much focus. Pulled back magnifying glass. Each lone body pushing through the crowd as if their life was bigger, busier, more important.
They all pretended so they could avoid confronting their loneliness. If they never stopped moving, they'd never realize there was no one moving with them. A climb for the bell at the top so violent that all others were discarded on the path. Cutthroat ladder, stepping on the rungs of heads and hearts surpassed.
Maybe it didn't feel so lonely in New York because everyone was alone. Harry thought he'd be immersed in his mind. In his dissipating sadness that was slowly morphing into some kind of acceptance. But Imogen didn't cross his mind as he faced the pushy crowds. He didn't yearn for her hand intertwined in his. Didn't wish to turn and see her hair flutter in the cold wind, her nose turning vibrant pink against the chill. He had to soak in the identity of himself, but that didn't come at the price of her. So...maybe New York was healing.
Harry stood at the crosswalk, tapping the tip of his shoe impatiently against the concrete as he waited for the signal to change. Before the light could fade into green, a hacking cough caught his attention, the pick up of wind spinning his shoulder in search of the sound. He made eye contact with a man sitting on the street corner, wrapped up with a tattered blanket and, thankfully, two pairs of gloves.
Harry nodded at the man, but he'd already diverted his attention. All too aware of what could happen if he looked at someone the wrong way. Joseph had called the street his home for too long, days burning into weeks, freezing into months. He'd been knocked around more than a few times, a punching bag for pompous, privileged men who looked at him like dirt. But Harry wasn't that kind of man.
"Here," he'd held out the pocket change, but Joseph didn't budge. Harry stood, unmoving, hand still outstretched. It wasn't until Joseph looked up that his arm fell back to his side.
"I don't want your change," Joseph spoke calmly, softly, but confident. An unwavering matter-of-fact.
Harry let out a quiet, awkward, "oh," shuffling on his feet. To brace against the cold he leaned himself against the brick wall. "What's your name?"
"Joseph."
"How are you, Joseph?" He asked, no longer worried about the flash of red and green as it signaled the patient to cross.
"Cold."
It wasn't that Joseph was being rude, in fact, Harry wasn't fazed in the slightest at his single-word answers. Joe had learned best how to avoid confrontation, and pain, and rejection. And that was to avoid people altogether. A lone man on a street corner.
"Merry Christmas," Harry added, glancing up toward the snow slowly fluttering down to earth.
"I'm Jewish." Joseph lied. A white lie Harry would never find out that turned this conversation into a game. A fight to see how uncomfortable he could make the persistent man.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Happy Hanukkah" Harry corrected himself without missing a beat. Effectively ruining the game, but easing Joseph's mind about the quality of the man he was currently at the mercy of. Towering over him, literally, and commanding the power. Harry looked down again, staring at Joseph for a few seconds too long, before taking off with the crosswalk cattle.
Joseph cleared his throat, trying to shrink into the dirty blanket, feeling a twinge of sadness, of disappointment, tugging at the corner of his heart. He hadn't laid eyes on kindness in a while, stuck in limbo between ostracization and anger. The days he was invisible were the easiest. The safest. He didn't mind not being seen. Vanishing act.
However brief, Harry's momentary flash of kindness reminded him of the early days. Before he was jaded and imperceptible. Wandering, pestering, desperately begging innocent strangers for help. There was some good that came out of pleading day in and day out, but the bad always outweighed it. Heavy bags under eyes puffed purple from tempered knuckles. Built up scabs across concrete scratches. Emotional gravity dragging him down. It was easier to be invisible.
Joe had gotten involved with the wrong crowd in school, which led to the wrong crowd at work, which led to the wrong crowd in the city. He was at peace with his past - he had to be to survive his present. But those choices meant he scoured the streets until something would finally come along. He was patient; he would wait as long as it took. He just hoped it would come to him soon.
Harry's eyes darted across storefronts as he followed the tide of the city-goers, occasionally stopping to stare in wonder at an intricate window display before continuing on his journey. He wasn't sure where to go and he hoped that something would stand out. Hot dog carts, and chain fast food restaurants. Lines fielding onto the sidewalk for fancy steakhouses, hole in the wall pizza shops. Coming up on a shabby looking Polish dive, Harry veered quickly to his right, yanking the door open so fast the hinges screamed. Gentler was the chime of bells hanging above the metal to signal business.
He stepped through the threshold into the room, staring fondly at Violet curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket draped over her legs. Harry danced toward her carefully, two mugs of hot chocolate protected in his palms. She smiled up at him, blinding like the electrical field on the Christmas tree. Harry'd thought that there was no way she could astound him more, and yet there she was. Simply sitting, and breathing, and existing. Soaking up light to swirl into her own skin. A sample of the galaxy painted against her body. Freckles of abounding sun, and moon, and stars.
"Hot cocoa for two," He settled the mugs against the coffee table, producing a bag of marshmallows from under his arm, "with the good stuff."
Violet giggled, body magnetizing toward him as he sat beside her. She curled her body around the slope of his arm, a movement so subtle, so sickeningly sweet, Harry knew that it was unintentional. An innate desire to be closer to him. The charges ricocheting through her veins desperate to meet the conductor of his skin.
"You forgot the whipped cream," Violet said plainly, resting her chin on the rise of his shoulder.
Harry turned in slow motion, a blank stare painted across his face, "You didn't tell me to grab whipped cream."
Violet's grin cracked out on its own, unable to hide for very long. It was debatably Harry's favorite thing about her - the ignition it lit under his feet and the waterfall of butterflies that wisped through. She was always smiling. The lines beside her eyes permanently etched onto her face so that Harry could see her smile even when it didn't make its appearance. Not that he was used to seeing her frown - Violet always smiled around Harry.
"I don't actually want any," She giggled softly, innocently, the sound erupting into volcanic spillage as Harry blew a raspberry into her neck followed by a series of kisses and nips.
"You're lucky you're so goddamn cute," He couldn't help but to laugh into her neck, too, overcome with shining admiration for her, and her mind, and her heart.
"So I've been told," Violet raised her chin in silent question, to which Harry never failed to answer, easily slotting his lips between hers.
"Yeah? Cocky, huh?" Harry wandered his fingers through Violet's hair, trailing a path along her jawline with a soft smile almost imperceptible against his lips. "Guess you're also lucky I love you."
Violet leaned into his touch, relishing in the spread of goosebumps up her back, "I've been told that, too." Harry paused his tracing, awaiting a response from the pretty girl all but sitting in his lap. When she didn't utter the words back, he tugged lightly at the ends of her hair. "I love you."
"I love you, too, darling." Harry smiled, satisfied and sent another kiss her way. He pulled back far enough to point upward at the bough of mistletoe he'd conveniently suspended above her spot on the couch. "Oh, look, it's mistletoe, you've gotta kiss me."
Violet rolled her eyes but sat forward to set her hot chocolate on the table nonetheless. The couple kissed underneath the white berries as if it were the first time, innocent pecks and childlike giggles building slowly into heated hands and quiet moans. Harry knew he'd all but die if he ever stopped kissing her, so he patiently waited for Violet to pull back first. When she finally did, she'd laughed breathily at Harry's swollen lips, swallowing harshly as he sucked her thumb between his teeth, nibbling against the skin.
Harry suggested they step away from the couch in search of their bedroom, or the shower, but Violet kept them firmly planted underneath the mistletoe. Their fingertips set out on miraculous journeys in search of newfound treasure, despite walking the same paths that had ingrained into their minds. But, they were still new. And they were still beautiful. Mountain ranges, and towering trees, and sloping rivers. The scratch of bark on palms and the softness of wispy autumn leaves. Harry and Violet meandered each others bodies, exploring the familiar terrain and worshiping it all the same. Lapping ocean waves against sand. Heady green. A uniqueness to their beloved landscape. Waterfalls crashing through skin. Flash flood. Majestic finale.
Harry took Violet to bed shortly after cleaning up, tucking the sheets around her worn body and wrapping himself as protection around her. Unwavering knight. Sheets of steel armor. They murmured whispers of I love you and sweet dreams before chime bells next door rustled in the midnight breeze, sending the sound playing harmonies through the air.
Inside of the Polish restaurant were two men behind the counter, neither looking particularly impressed at the man inside their shop. Harry tried his best to ignore their disdain, ordering food and carrying it out in a brown paper bag. He retraced his steps in search of the man on the corner. The Rubix cube he so desperately wanted to solve.
Joseph saw Harry before Harry noticed him, body still frozen in the same position, in the same location, as before. When Harry laid eyes on Joseph, he lifted up an arm to wave dramatically, the older man holding himself back from hiding clean under his blanket like a stuck-out toddler underneath the bed. Harry bounded towards Joe, already grinning a 200 watt smile as he welcomed himself to sit down on the dirty sidewalk.
"Hey, I know you don't say much, but I figured maybe you hadn't eaten yet this morning," Harry explained, fishing in the brown paper bag, "I got some crepes and some kind of casserole thing. I'm not sure what's in it but the guys said it was really good; that was their recommendation. Which do you want?"
Joseph muttered a small thank you, mouth watering at the sight and smell of the warm breakfast. He took the casserole out of Harry's hands, wondering briefly if this was a trap - some way to capture his greediness and send him lonesome to the wolves.
"If it's okay with you, I'm just gonna sit here and eat breakfast with you. Keep you company, y'know," Harry elaborated, picking at the peanut butter crepe in between his words. "You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I'd hate for you to be alone for Hanakkah."
Joseph had to take a bigger bite of his breakfast to quell the smile threatening to spread as he continued to get away with his joke, and the two men sat. Neither spoke much as they ate, Joseph's growling stomach finally pet into a domestic housecat. No longer a ferocious wild cat stalking for the pounce. The meal was warm, like extensions of a furnace barreling up through the subway grates, and he was thankful.
Harry watched unfamiliar faces scatter past as he ate his breakfast, the cold of the ground seeping through the fabric of his jeans. He'd wished he could do more to help Joseph, despite the fact that the man all but refused help from anyone. But, he knew his quiet companionship and a warm meal were as good as things were going to get, and that had to be okay with him. By the time he finished eating, Joseph was long done, muttering another quiet thanks as Harry collected the garbage to take to the nearest trash can.
"Thanks for letting me eat with you," Harry reached out his hand, shaking Joseph's earnestly, "Happy Hanukkah."
Joseph bit the inside of his cheek to hide his grin, "Merry Christmas."
As Joe watched the stranger fade in the whirlwind of tourists, he felt somehow content. New York didn't feel quite so cold.
When Violet woke up in the middle of the airport, she was first and foremost disoriented. A little dazed, with a knot in her neck from her suitcase pillow. She'd woken up in enough time to pick up a bite to eat before booking it down the runway to reach her plane. A static buzz was floating in the air, the feeling of Christmas morning still managing to spark an excitement deep in her belly. Or, maybe it was the impending takeoff. Disbelieving travel.
She'd settled in a window seat, eager to watch as the clouds became tangible. A mother and her young son occupied the rest of her row, the boy tucked safely in between the women, blissfully aware with a tablet glued to his lap and a giant Santa etched on his shirt. The mother leaned in, whispering something into his ear, followed by a smile at Violet against the window.
"Hi, Merry Christmas," Violet murmured, grin deepening as the boy, Wesley, peered at her.
He was wearing a pair of giant glasses, strapped securely around the back of his head, eyes flickering rapidly while he looked up at her. Wes let out a short laugh, fumbling with the tablet to close out of his game, pull up an app, and click, "Merry Christmas" a number of times. His mother shushed him sheepishly, apologizing to Violet.
"He really loves Christmas. We're headed to surprise his Dad," Michelle explained, rubbing a hand through his hair.
Wesley used his tablet again, quickly clicking through to say, "Dad. Christmas. Dad. Christmas. Fly. Dad. Christmas."
Violet laughed softly, "Yeah, I really like Christmas too. I bet you're so excited to see your Dad, huh?"
Wesley nodded, weaving his neck in small figure eight motions as he giggled. As the plane took flight, Violet caught herself watching Wesley's reaction to the ever changing picture outside of the small window. The vibration of his eyes almost paralleling the excitement radiating off of him. Waves and waves of giddy childlike wonder. Innocent, and real, and so deep and enticing Violet couldn't help but to fall into it, too.
Wesley was extraordinarily behaved during the flight, and Violet and Michelle were able to chat about the boy, and Christmas, and New York City. Wesley was on the spectrum, with a condition that caused his eyes to sporadically flutter. He could see okay, and supposedly had improved significantly in behavior after learning how to use the device. Violet would have guessed he'd always been so patient, and flexible, and sweet, but his mother assured her otherwise, with a laugh.
Her husband had been relocated to New York for work and it had been Michelle and Wesley alone for nearly four months while they ran out their lease. She loved her son more than anything in the world, but it was hard, sometimes, to take care of him all alone. It was hard to ache for the love of her life states away. It was hard to explain to her son where Dad was. It was just...hard. But she was humming with built-up electricity, herself, in anticipation of seeing him. And Violet was starting to fall into the same energy in proximity.
When Violet had mentioned never having traveled to New York City before, Michelle set off like a rocket, telling stories upon stories of what to expect, and where to go, and where not to go, and how to manage the chaos. Her admonitions were as reassuring as they were terrifying and, when Wesley loudly let his mother know he needed to use the restroom, Violet let her forehead fall to the window glass and dreamt picture-perfect scenarios of walking down charming sidewalks.
Harry was fully immersed in the heaviness of the city as he wandered aimlessly, keeping a careful eye on the time so that he didn't miss his flight. The streets sparsed out as the early morning spun closer to afternoon, workers hiding in their businesses, families seeking family, the chill of the morning warding off some wanderers. But, Harry kept walking.
Violet ran back up the tunnel, paralleling her sprinted journey to the plane when boarding. Fueling excitement to transport her forward, her own jet plane setting off toward the city. She smiled wide against the nipping December wind whipping against her cheeks, the energy in New York sparking the collection of matches in her chest. She found a taxi immediately, eagerly directing him to the heart of Christmas. Photographs of the Rockefeller tree flashing behind her eyes, begging to become real.
Harry found himself popping in and out of random stores for momentary warmth, skirting through the tourists staring, astounded at everything around them. As he approached the crosswalk, staring forward at the ice skating rink ahead, a man on the corner of the street stood dressed in bright, vibrant red with a hanging bucket suspended from the easily distinguishable Salvation Army sign. He shook his small bell incessantly, attempting to attract walkers for a donation of coins. Instead, Harry recoiled and flew forward through endless series of flashing painted masterpieces.
Ding.
"Quick - take a picture!" Violet gestured him along, pointing excitedly at the collection of snowflakes that had landed perfectly on the center of her nose. Of course, they melted away before Harry could so much as pull his phone out. And, of course, he had to make it up to her with a handful of apologetic kisses.
Ding.
"I just don't understand what you're so mad about!" He snapped, throwing his arms out, exasperated.
Violet groaned loudly, scraping her nails through her scalp, "You broke it!"
"It was an accident, V!" Harry shook his head back and forth, and back and forth, feeling guilty and frustrated and on edge. The remnants of ornament scattered in shards across the carpet.
The build up of tears along her lashes were glaringly obvious, settling a sick pit into the depths of Harry's stomach as she stomped to their bedroom.
Ding.
"I'm sorry," she murmured against the warm skin of his chest.
"I'm sorry, too." Harry left a series of healing kisses into her hair, bandaid fingers catching into the strands flopped across her pillow.
Ding.
Violet lifted the small puppy into her arms, cuddling her against her chest. She smiled vibrantly up at Harry, lip pouted out in admiration, "say hi to her," she cooed happily, kissing the puppy's nose.
Harry leaned in, earning a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, "Hi, Lila."
The tiny dachshund squirmed out of Violet's grip, prancing along the carpet to sniff every last corner of the house. She ended, curled up underneath the Christmas tree, exactly where she belonged.
Ding.
Violet scooped up a handful of paper scraps, sprinkling them unceremoniously into the trash bag. Harry's tongue was stuck out between his teeth in concentration as he curved the scissors across the paper.
"That one's gonna look really good, baby," she encouraged, flattening out her own paper snowflakes underneath piles of books.
Ding.
Harry leaned over in his chair, whispering so quiet that the burst of air made Violet jump beside him, "I think I could do that."
His voice was raised just high enough to overcome the sound of the orchestra playing in the pit, dancers flitting across the stage like a captured snowglobe creation. The Nutcracker, a spectacular all on its own. A sacredness to it, like art in a museum.
Violet quickly covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the laugh that slipped out, reaching over to smack Harry's shoulder in disagreement and admonishment.
Ding.
"Shhh, you're going to wake them up!" Violet hushed, reaching to grab the wrapping paper harshly out of Harry's grip. They both had wide, wild smiles decorating their faces like teenagers about to get caught sneaking out. A burst of adrenaline every time they heard rustling from upstairs.
"Do you want the cookies, Santa Claus?" Harry whispered loudly from the dining room, already hard at work writing a letter in response to the eagerness left there the night prior.
Violet laughed, gliding her scissors across the paper, "No, you eat them. Give me the carrot, though, and I'll throw it to Lila."
Ding.
Harry held onto Violet's gloved hand tightly, guiding the pair as they skated across the ice. Her volcanic giggle erupted from her belly as she clung onto his arm for safekeeping. The scratch of their skates underfoot mimicking scrapes across Harry's heart as it pounded incessantly in his chest. The tree behind them was massive, bigger than in years before, and it shone like a festive streetlight, garland draped against wooden posts.
Harry was thankful for the gloves covering his sweaty palms, and he hoped that Violet couldn't see, or feel, the rate of his heartbeat protected inside his ribcage. His mouth dried out completely, the back of his tongue panicking as it attempted to swallow. He'd swung them around one last lap on the ice, before centering their whirlwind bodies on the rink.
Harry made sure Violet was balanced before he let go of her hand, sliding backwards slightly with a kiss left to her cheek. He cleared his throat, smiling tightly at the beauty before him, and dropped down onto his knee.
"Violet-"
Ding.
The switch from red to green left Harry spinning out. Fuel burning into smoke while he crossed the street, away from the Salvation Army man. He felt dizzy, and uneasy, with a softness to his insides. Like covered with a fuzzy blanket, or relaxed with a warm dog on his lap. Harry stumbled through the street, heaving breaths for reasons unbeknownst to him. All he knew was that, suddenly, he was out of breath and his feet were desperately carrying him toward the rink.
Violet had gone out on the same galactic spin, catalyzed by the sprinkle of bells falling from a window display decorating Manhattan. She paced frantically in the direction of the Rockefeller center, nearly pushing past strangers in a haze of desperate need. Desperation for what, she wasn't sure. But she set out, determined, feet spinning down sidewalk. Eyes scanning across faceless faces. Heart pounding ferociously in attempt to escape.
Harry stopped, suddenly, hitting the brakes, inertia carrying his body forward a few more paces.
Violet broke free from the throng of people, shaking off the cloaked feeling of being boxed between sardined bodies. She averted her gaze upward, paralyzed immediately upon contact.
Violet felt like she knew him, despite never having laid eyes on him. She knew that he took his coffee with an extra dash of sugar. That he always turned the radio dial to an even number, or a multiple of five. That he drove in kilometers, even in the states, more adept to do the quick math than give up a glimmer of home.
Harry knew her all the same. He knew that she cut her apples into exactly eight slices, and refused to squeeze lemon juice onto them. That she wouldn't leave the kitchen at night until all of the dirty dishes were clean because of her grandmother. That she couldn't sleep without a warm mug of chai with a drizzle of honey. That her smile was a force of nature, with a cosmic power to heal the world.
Neither of them questioned it, like the way the earth simply accepts the rain falling from the sky. No force existing that can stop the gentle pattering of rain on rooftops, just as no one could stop their ebb and flow into one another. Glittering Christmas light glow illuminated the snowflakes drifting around them. Sliding off of their glass snow globe and packing along the sidewalk in a ring of winter.
Violet smiled up at Harry, head tilting slightly to the side as if in recognition. A chorus of soft bells rang in the backs of their minds. Magnum opus.
Harry's heart fluttered in his chest with the passing breeze of her solar wind. He smiled back; he would always smile back.
"Hey, you."
- The End -
About the Author: Hi! I'm Rhi and I'm so happy that you're here. Thank you so much, as always, for reading. I've been writing, mostly poems, for as long as I can remember, but I have a handful of stories on my account, as well. "Pirouette," a sweet little dance story about vulnerability and blueberries; "Yours Truly," a dash of my poetic side wrapped up in a short story about birds, grief, and flying; "Under the Mistletoe," an atrociously cheesy Niall Christmas short story; and "Ladybug," a 50's greaser story with ducks and motorcycles and human complexity. Thank you for reading through this one shot; I am so honored to have had the opportunity to join this collection of incredible authors. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you take whatever minuscule chance you can to make someone feel a little less lonely, both during the holiday season and every day after that. We're all just looking for a little companionship. All of my love, always. Stay Gold.