I met Jessie when I was thirteen. It was Christmas Eve.
Dylan and I had put up a little tree. A Charlie Brown tree, we'd jokingly called it. We'd hiked out into the woods, cut it down ourselves, and dragged it back to the cabin. It was spindly and sparse, but we did the best we could. We decorated it with some tinsel and cheap plastic ornaments we'd found at the local five and dime.
We were proud of that stupid little tree, but it didn't do much to put us in the Christmas spirit. I don't think either of us felt much like celebrating. What was there to celebrate" There were no presents under the tree. No turkey roasting in the oven. No family to share the day with. All we had was each other and that pathetic little tree. We should have been grateful, but instead, we were both miserable.
Dylan had, at least, made an effort with breakfast. Instead of the usual Corn Flakes and toast, we had bacon and eggs. We talked for a little while, mostly about football. He was a Steelers fan, and I favored the Cowboys.
After the dishes were done, I retreated to my room, while he relaxed in front of the TV. I had always wondered who actually watched TV on Christmas. Now I knew. People like us.
I had just flopped down on the bed after putting a Led Zeppelin record on the turntable, when Dylan knocked on my bedroom door and announced that we were taking a road trip.
"We're going hunting on Christmas?" I asked incredulously, sliding the cherished black vinyl disk back into the worn out jacket sleeve.
"Demons don't take a holiday," he reminded me, adding, "We're not going hunting. Not this time."
"Where are we going, then?" I asked, all too eager to go somewhere. Anywhere. Even at thirteen, I had a bad case of wanderlust. I can probably thank Dylan for that.
"It's a surprise," he winked and flashed me a rare grin. "Pack a bag. We may be gone for a few days."
I nodded, a little confused. The only time we went anywhere was when we were out on a hunt, and then I was usually confined to some cheap motel while he was out hunting. I spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what I'd do if he never came back.
Dylan had plucked me out of a boys' home when I was eleven, and we'd been together ever since. He liked to tell people he was my uncle. It saved him from a lot of unnecessary explanations, but we both knew it was a lie. Still, he did his best, and he was the closest thing to family that I had.
"Don't forget your toothbrush!" he called, as he headed back down the stairs.
I hurriedly packed a bag, shoving everything in it I could think of that I might need for a couple of days. I wasn't sure where we were going, but wherever it was, it had to be better than spending the holiday alone with Dylan and our pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree.
In the end, I forgot my toothbrush.
((Author's Note: This piece has been resurrected from The Catacombs in hopes that I actually finish it. It's part of Rhys' memoirs, but I gave it its own thread because it's a story in itself. Hopefully adding more soon. Thanks for reading!))
Dylan and I had put up a little tree. A Charlie Brown tree, we'd jokingly called it. We'd hiked out into the woods, cut it down ourselves, and dragged it back to the cabin. It was spindly and sparse, but we did the best we could. We decorated it with some tinsel and cheap plastic ornaments we'd found at the local five and dime.
We were proud of that stupid little tree, but it didn't do much to put us in the Christmas spirit. I don't think either of us felt much like celebrating. What was there to celebrate" There were no presents under the tree. No turkey roasting in the oven. No family to share the day with. All we had was each other and that pathetic little tree. We should have been grateful, but instead, we were both miserable.
Dylan had, at least, made an effort with breakfast. Instead of the usual Corn Flakes and toast, we had bacon and eggs. We talked for a little while, mostly about football. He was a Steelers fan, and I favored the Cowboys.
After the dishes were done, I retreated to my room, while he relaxed in front of the TV. I had always wondered who actually watched TV on Christmas. Now I knew. People like us.
I had just flopped down on the bed after putting a Led Zeppelin record on the turntable, when Dylan knocked on my bedroom door and announced that we were taking a road trip.
"We're going hunting on Christmas?" I asked incredulously, sliding the cherished black vinyl disk back into the worn out jacket sleeve.
"Demons don't take a holiday," he reminded me, adding, "We're not going hunting. Not this time."
"Where are we going, then?" I asked, all too eager to go somewhere. Anywhere. Even at thirteen, I had a bad case of wanderlust. I can probably thank Dylan for that.
"It's a surprise," he winked and flashed me a rare grin. "Pack a bag. We may be gone for a few days."
I nodded, a little confused. The only time we went anywhere was when we were out on a hunt, and then I was usually confined to some cheap motel while he was out hunting. I spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what I'd do if he never came back.
Dylan had plucked me out of a boys' home when I was eleven, and we'd been together ever since. He liked to tell people he was my uncle. It saved him from a lot of unnecessary explanations, but we both knew it was a lie. Still, he did his best, and he was the closest thing to family that I had.
"Don't forget your toothbrush!" he called, as he headed back down the stairs.
I hurriedly packed a bag, shoving everything in it I could think of that I might need for a couple of days. I wasn't sure where we were going, but wherever it was, it had to be better than spending the holiday alone with Dylan and our pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree.
In the end, I forgot my toothbrush.
((Author's Note: This piece has been resurrected from The Catacombs in hopes that I actually finish it. It's part of Rhys' memoirs, but I gave it its own thread because it's a story in itself. Hopefully adding more soon. Thanks for reading!))