I know that I shouldn't be writing anything else but I think this could lead to something. What do you think? Be honest.
Time Stands Still
By Angel of Death
Christmas is a tradition for traditionalists. Seeing that we were all readying ourselves for the seasonal holiday, we could be called traditionalists. Things were the same each year, Eric, my obnoxious little brother attempted sneaking a peak at the presents but that always failed. My dad, who couldn't even build a doll house, even if the instructions were included, was outside drinking a cold one. Mom, well mom was being mom. She was frantically running around the house, making sure everything was perfect. This was a job that took hours of unyielding attention, which is why she often asked everyone to stay out of her way.
It was the best time of the year and I was feeling like crap. For the past four weeks, I've been dealing with the disastrous break-up with ex-boyfriend Denver Scott. By dealing with it, I mean, getting drunk off of Rocky Road Ice Cream and having seas of tear-stained tissues blanket my floor. If I didn't find out that Denver was sleeping with my best friend from by best friend, maybe I'd be handling things differently. I'd be out, scoping the city, buying cute clothes and focusing on the things that are really essential to life. Instead, here I am, feeling dumped like garbage in a can. A couple of days ago, my mom sat me down and we had the talk. She lit a fire in the fireplace and lined the table with mounds of my favorite candy. Hot chocolate heated on the stove, dancing with the sugar cookies lodged in between my heart and my throat. We were snuggled up under the blankets, watching the classics: Titanic and The Princess Bride. Everything was going fine, tears were streaming down my face when Jack sunk into the ocean, and then the bomb was dropped. After the credits rolled, my mom held my hand and started talking about how I was too young for a serious relationship and yada yada yada. To makes things even worse, she had to put Jack Dawson into the whole lecture.
"Look at Jack Dawson and Rose, their relationship went plummeting down into the dark depths of the cold, black abyss....and Rose turned out fine," she said, her eyes frowning.
When both the movies were just pictures in my mind and when the hot chocolate was only a bitter taste in my mouth, I went back to my room, still feeling depressed. I knew deep down that my mom was only trying to help me, but her idea of helping wasn't the best. So, here I am, lounging on the plush green sofa, dreading another day of solitude. Along with the usual rules of Christmas, my mom ordered everyone not to talk to me. Her specific words were "Anything you say can make her worse than she is now"
Even as my life stopped others were still in motion. Like every Christmas, my little brother was easing his chocolate stained fingers towards the presents nestled beautifully under the tree. Ornaments clinked together, sounding like a crowd of beer infested men, anticipating a great fall. Before the paper left the box, a sound as loud as the bells of Notre Dame flowed through the room, making Eric jump up. A box fell out of its place, and slid into the middle of the room. Pouting, Eric retrieved the box and placed it in the right spot, leaving traces of his crime behind.
Covered in flour, my mom sprinted towards the door and thrust it open. Surprised and tired faces filled the room, bringing with them the familiar noises of Christmas. One by one, people filed into the den, placing bags sloppily against the tree. Shining for all the world to see, the star atop the tree's green peak, shakes, spilling light across the curtains. I recognize my Uncle Jerry first. He was dressed in an orange sweater-vest with a green and red tie. His dark hair was parted to the right, hiding his huge bald spot. When I met his dark green eyes, he smiled and I politely waved. Next, his wife Ginger came into the room. She was one of the most jolly people I've ever known. The sky could be falling and she'd still be as optimistic as a half-full cup. Her white-blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, exposing her huge diamond earrings. With one quick glide across the room, she was at my side, kissing me lightly on the forehead.
This happened a lot throughout the evening. People were kissing me on the forehead, and asking me dumb questions, as if I were a kid. My face was displaying a civilized smile but behind my thick skull, words that were too bad to mention aloud, brewed. By the way the women in my family looked at me, I could tell my mom informed them on the whole ordeal. My Aunt Ophelia was probably contemplating on whether the gift she got me was appropriate for my mental state and my cousin Cheryl was most definitely teasing me in her head. Once everyone was here, we retreated to the dining room. The utensils, in their shining glory, were sitting in neatly wrapped decorative napkins, waiting to delve into delicious food. Smells of pumpkin pie mixed with melodies of cinnamon and chocolate, making my stomach growl. Turkey simmered in gravy, screaming for the knife to cut through its skin so that it could bleed cranberry sauce. This room exuded Christmas.
Food was passed around the table, being licked from the plates. Soon, only the bones and the legs of the turkey remained. In my family, that was a sign that dinner was over and it was now game time. I didn't pay much attention to board games, so I quietly left the room, looking for a place to be by myself. The only room that wasn't occupied was my mom's office where she displayed her various paintings. One, a young woman in a colorful dress, hung above her bookcase. It was my favorite. I stared at it, wondering if that one day I'd get a chance to be as free as her.
"Maybe one day I will be," I thought, taking a seat in my mother's chair.
As my legs swayed back and forth, my eyes began to swim in endless circles. Before I realized how fast I was going, my face was already pressed against the plush tan carpet. Two crusty boots stared at me as I lifted my head up. Snow covered the soles, slowly melting away. My eyes moved up towards the head of whoever was standing there. Dressed in a black suit jacket, a blue collared shirt and jeans was a beautiful boy with electrifying brown eyes. Around his chiseled face, fell black locks that curled here and there. To show I wasn't one of those girls who froze in the mist of beauty, I smiled and then tried to stand. Two hands braced around my arms and pulled me up, making a shiver resonate through my body. It was almost as if we shared an electric current.
"You alright?" he asked, stepping back.
His accent boiled in my ears. From the way his watery voice rose and fell smoothly, I could tell that he was from somewhere down South.
"Um...yeah...sure," I stammered, cheeks getting hot.
"Oh I'm Orlando...and you must be Willow?" the guy replied, softly.
Before I could answer, my Aunt Ophelia burst out into the hallway laughing one of her hardy laughs. In her hand she held a tall glass of eggnog which was probably spiked with alcohol. A card was hanging on her forehead and when she saw me she smiled.
"I see you met Lanny," she said waltzing towards us.
I shrugged, not really understanding what connection she had with Orlando.
"Yes, I did. Why?" I retorted.
"Well he was supposed to be your Christmas gift but I..." she started, laughing.
Aunt Ophelia didn't bother to finish explaining, she just walked towards the second front door and pulled it open. Cold air poured into the office making my arms wrap around my body. Still clinging onto the eggnog for dear life, Ophelia stepped out into the winter and closed the door behind her. As we stood there not saying a word, I refused to look at 'Lanny.' It was always like my Aunt to go against my mother's wishes and take matters into her own hands. Being a professional matchmaker, Ophelia could spot a couple from a mile away. Usually, when she put two people together, the relationship never lasted for more than a week. Using her own advice she found and married a man named Calvin eighteen years ago. Although they were never happy they managed to have two kids and start a small business together. Now divorced and 'free-spirited', my Aunt finds a way to fit a drink in with her daily meals.
"Look, I'm sorry if you're..." Orlando started.
"Save it," I said firmly, marching back to the den.
Comfort and joy danced against the door, spilling their sloppy steps into the hallway. I listened, knowing that I wasn't going in there even if my life depended on it. It seemed like only yesterday that Denver and I were sitting in front of the tree hanging the ornaments his mother left him in her will. Usually I wouldn't force myself to remember the little things about my ex but now, as I tried so hard to find my true self, I needed to. Suddenly, the door opened, revealing a short frail body. It was my Grandma Georgie. With her snow white hair and her silver rimmed glasses, she looked exactly like Mrs. Claus. I smiled, not wanting her to see the pain in my eyes.
"Hi Gran," I said, hugging her.
"Hello Willow, why are you out here?" she asked, moving a strand of my hair from in front my eye.
"Oh, I was..." the grandfather clock nestled in the corner of the hallway tolled, signaling that it was twelve o'clock. Present opening time. Amongst the laughter, I could hear Eric's cries of excitement. Eyes fell on me and Gran as the presents were being passed around. We were going to walk in to join everyone but then Aunt Ophelia busted open the door and ran towards us. The eggnog glass was absent from her hand, and as she braced my shoulders, I was able to see the fear prominent in her eyes.
"There was...there was..." she cried, collapsing into my arms.
"Ophelia, honey, what's wrong?" Gran asked, patting her on the back.
Gran and I exchanged worried glances and then walking hand and hand with the cold wind was the loud voices of our neighbors. Without hesitating, I pulled my Aunt towards the door and Gran trudged slowly behind us. Outside, the snow was falling heavily to the ground, sticking like glue on the tar. Mixing with the icy tears, were the longs sheets of rain. The streets glistened like glass plates as the streetlights flickered. Neighbors were coming out of their houses, lining up and staring down the street. The black shade of the sky matched the way I felt when I saw the red and blue lights of the police cars. Totaled, smashed into a garage, was a silver Toyota, with a big pink star on the side. I'd know that car anywhere, it was Scarlet's. Behind the police cars sat an ambulance and being placed inside were two stretchers. Letting go of Aunt Ophelia, I took off running down the street, slipping and sliding on the ice. When I reached the accident, they were closing the doors to the truck.
"That's my cousin in there! Let me in!" I screamed.
"I'm sorry ma'am but you're gonna have to follow in the police car," the paramedic said, frowning.
On his face was a sympathetic expression that only meant one thing. Scarlet was dead. And the other person they pushed inside was dead as well.
To Be Continued.....
