*This chapter is rated NP for Non-Pussy. Rough language. Look out for that shit.*
Sooner than I expected, it was Christmas time. It was cold outside, and snow came falling on the dry landscape in the night, unveiling in the morning the wonderful masterpiece it made on the streets.
Every balding tree glowing of new life under the soft weight of that perfectly white snow. Every house and every rooftop elegantly decorated.
The morning was cold but not grey. The snow gave dark Clyde Street a new, natural light. It was all quiet. No birds singing, no cars running. The neighborhood still sleeping softly, as smoke slowly ascended from fireplaces covered in puffed snow.
I stood by the window, with my hands and my legs hooked to the heater right under it. The heat coming from it gave my skin goosebumps.
I'd woken up earlier than usual. Everyone else still snoozing to heavy dreams, moments before they'd return to their routines. I didn't need sleep to dream.
I thought about my first kiss. It was amazing. It was terrible. It was overwhelming. It was overdone. It was relaxing. It was stressful. It was all I needed. It was unnecessary.
I wanted more.
And when I thought about the sender of said kiss, I felt the anxiety related to her. I felt the need to do something. The need to have someone talking to me. I felt the need to delete all controversies. But I couldn't.
So I thought about Evelyn. I thought about me telling her that I love her. I thought about her telling me that she loves me too. I thought about her telling me that it was nice to have me around.
And I felt nice. And I felt happy and warm, and weightless and cool.
"I miss happy you," I said softly to Evelyn through the phone.
"I'm happy when I talk with you," she said to me.
"How are you feeling today?" I asked.
"I'm doing better. I think. I'm going from 'miss him' to 'hate him'. Even though I often miss his kisses," she said.
And I was afraid that I could relate. But "I wish I knew what it means to miss a kiss," is what I said.
"You never kissed?" she asked.
"No," I lied, "never."
"Right now," she said, "I'd say that it's a good thing. You know... given how I'm feeling for it. But it wouldn't be true. I hope you have your first kiss soon."
Her voice felt nice and warm, but her words were better off unsaid. They left an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I guess I kind of hoped that, after that last call, something had started to grow in her.
But I understand that it was kind of dumb to think that. How could a girl like her like a boy like me? I went in over my head after that kiss. Because I never expected a girl like Amber to kiss a guy like me. So I felt like the whole world was at my feet. But it was not like that.
I was still Peter Charming, loser without redemption, as Captain Hook once said.
I think today I'm going to watch Peter Pan, I suddenly said to myself.
"I hope too," I said, "and fuck Sean."
"Fuck Sean always," she agreed.
"What kind of name is Sean anyway?" I chuckled. "Never liked that name. I always want to spell it like 'sin'. Why not just call him Shawn, you know, with the H and the W... like Shawn Michaels... that's way better."
She laughed and I felt good. I was glad that she could be happy because of me.
"And if Sean is spelled the way it's spelled," she said, "then why the heck isn't Dean spelled 'dawn'?!"
"Exactly!" I laughed too. "You see what my point is!"
• — • — • — • — • — • — • — •
Holidays with family are the worst. It's always the same story, over and over again. Everyone is happy to be all together but no one really is.
My mother got all tense every time holidays were near. I don't really know why, but I can guess.
She is so used to her own routine, barely leaving the house, having to deal with only two people in her days, that, when holidays come around, that little personal universe she's created for herself gets dismantled and outer world comes crashing down on her.
When holiday with family comes around it is time to dust off the conventional mask and put it on. My mom hates her own mask, but she can't do without it.
My father, on the other hand, is a hothead. But don't get me wrong. It's not like he doesn't put a mask on. He does. We all do. But his mask is despicable. His mask has 'hate me' written all over it.
He likes to start fights with my mother's dad, my grandfather. And that is if we're spending the holidays at my mother's parents. Because, otherwise, he likes to start fights with his own dad too.
As a matter of fact, my dad likes to start fights with everyone. His reputation among the family is vastly critical, but no one ever said it out loud.
Me, instead, I was normally loved by my grandparents. But I had no way to fit into their conversations. They all talked about either politics or other adult's stuff. So it would get pretty boring pretty soon for me.
That year, we were spending holidays at my father's side of the family. Needless to say, I preferred the other side.
We stopped to greet that side anyway. My dad immediately grabbed a beer from the fridge without even asking.
"You grow more and more everyday," my smiley grandma said as she kissed my cheek, "I have to pull you down to greet you now."
Just a few years ago, I was the same height as her. Now I was looking at her from above. Where she looked older. My grandpa, on the other hand, was about my height. He was staring at me from across the room. He looked proud, for some reason.
"Tyler, drink with me," said my father, as my cousin Tyler appeared from my grandparent's bathroom.
"Thanks, uncle Matthew," he said softly, "but you know I don't drink."
"That's how nice of a boy he is," said my mother as she approached him and kissed him. And she was right. I loved that he was proud for not drinking.
"Hi, aunt Mariah," he said to mom smiling, "merry Christmas."
I improvised a smile his way. He came closer to me. "Hey, Pete-O. How are you?"
"I'm great, Ty-Ry." I chuckled because of the nickname.
He made a face. "You sure? You didn't seem very okay when you called me the other day."
"Yeah, you're right," I said, "I was having a moment. It's all good now, really. Don't worry. What about you?"
"A-okay," he said, "couldn't be happier to be back home."
"Really?" I cringed. "You don't like it in New York?"
"Of course I do," he said, "I just miss home, you know."
Maybe I'm weird, but I couldn't relate with missing home. Not that much. I was doing nothing but waiting to get out of there. Maybe I would change my mind when I was going to be effectively out of there, but in that moment I saw no reason to miss it.
We stayed there for a few more minutes and then we left. I prayed we'd stay more. And so did my mom, I believe. Tyler was the only positive thing about holidays with family.
And then it was time for the other side of the family. I barely exchanged two words with my cousin Scott. We used to hang out all the time when we were kids, but now he had grown up. I could hardly see him as a relative of mine.
And then of course my father started to yell at his own parents. Political dissent. I could see my mother wishing so hard there wouldn't be any holidays around.
I started a conversation with uncle Robert. We talked about technology and stuff. I could barely hear the guy over the sound of my father's voice.
So after a bit, I decided to go into my father's old room and watch Peter Pan on the old VHS.
My father's old room looked like time never touched it. There were posters of science and maps of hot places in the world. A Spanish flag hanged on the side of the wall. A desk full of weird gadgets like maracas and a crystal ball that had thunders inside of it if touched.
And then, of course, the old small television from the 80s where I was watching the cartoon.
Even if I only stayed in bed, that was the moment of the day where I could fly. I thought about getting up and going back into the civilization, but I didn't. Some kind of tiredness stopped me. Instead, I just stood there, on the bed. Thinking about my family and dreaming about a different one with my eyes fully open and fixated on the screen.
I imagined my dad as a gentleman, never going out without his suit and tie. I imagined him smiling at me, laughing with his parents and joking with my mom. I imagined my mom to be blonde and younger looking. I imagined her a little bit stressed but still happy to spend quality time with her family and the family of the man of his life. And I imagined myself looking exactly the same, but not locked inside a room. I imagined myself talking out loud with my entire family. I imagined myself blunt. I imagined everyone else a little shy as I held the conversation with all of them.
I imagined life to be nice. I imagined being okay.
"Oh, here you are," my mom entered the room, "barely seen you in this chapter."
"Yeah," I sighed, "here I am."
"You're watching Peter Pan?" she asked.
"Yep," I said.
"It's always funny to think about that day at the hospital," she said.
"Yes, I know, mom." I said, "the little girl in the hospital. Good times."
"Eh, good times?" She cringed, "you can't even remember it."
"Maybe I can, mom," I said, "maybe I can..."
I decided to send a text to Evelyn. "Today is the epitome of boredom. Take me away from here."
She replied after a few minutes. "I would love to spend the holidays with you."
That text brought a little life back into me. Enough to turn off the TV and go back into that mess we called a family.
***
Pretty melancholic chapter, uh? Well, merry Christmas everyone... wait. It's not Christmas. Oh well, never mind.
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