Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The Ruby Slippers
Seth was right. It gets colder—much colder.
The weather has forced me to invest in a men’s black down-filled coat, which aids anonymity.
As I walk down the street, the heat of the sun on my face seems like a distant memory as my cheeks are repeatedly struck with frost-laced blasts of air.
But it’s never colder than when I’m forced to escape my cocoon of covers in the morning.
Another day, same routine. The dreams of my life before haven’t lessened, but this life I am building makes it easier.
Seth, Joey, and Sasha… Helping her through this difficult time has actually helped me more than she knows, while the threat of betrothal has reminded me to enjoy my limited time here.
After a few months at the bar, no matter the resistance, this place has swept me into its community like a juggernaut.
I had hoped not to get comfortable, but here I am.
With the intimidating presence of Smith the doorman, the pervs and creeps have moved on to other bars where women are more scantily clad, leaving us with a group of regulars, and we converse like friends.
If it weren’t for them, the weekdays would drag, but they talk to me on their downtime, inviting me to play a hand of cards, or even a darts tournament when it’s quiet enough.
But it’s another level when Joey is there, and we chat constantly, growing as close—if not closer—than Sasha and me.
There’s something about this time of year that makes everything harder.
The cold, the dark mornings and nights… And then there are the celebrations.
It took a lot to get through Thanksgiving with a smile on my face, but there’s never enough time to recover with the close follow-up of Christmas.
For all its jovial appearance, I am not replenished enough by the time Christmas Eve sneaks up on me.
My mood is running solely on the fumes of my social side.
It’s hard to imagine surviving until spring while feeling this low.
It’s hard to imagine that this is the height of my independence, potentially the peak of my happiness.
It’s a vicious circle, as I have only bad news to comfort myself with—the equivalent of soothing a burn with a handful of poison ivy.
I tell myself it’s just a regular Sunday, but my heels continue to drag on my way to work.
My third holiday season away from home. My third trip around the sun without family.
And this time next year, I’ll be watching the last grains of sand sink from my hourglass. We’re running out of time.
I dump my things behind the counter and idly prepare to open, when I hear Joey.
He’s humming as he comes into the bar’s porch and bursts through the door, singing a tuneless version of The Pogues’ “Fairy Tale Of New York” while dancing towards the counter with his hands in the air.
His enthusiasm makes up for his lack of singing ability, but I can’t help but laugh at him. He’s such a dork.
He pulls his headphones off, wrapping their cable around his CD Walkman as he stuffs it into the middle of his puffy coat. I take it from him and tuck it behind the counter as he comes around to help.
“What a song! Always gets me in the holiday spirit. You excited…” He cringes. “… for … coming into work tomorrow?”
With my unimpressed stare, I say, “No, Joey. It will be fine, though. I might as well be here with the guys. It makes me feel a little better to look out for them.”
“Ugh, you should have said no to working. We could’ve tried to get permission from Krick for you to spend it with us. My brothers would have loved to have you over.”
“That would have been a blast, I’m sure, but there’s no way Krick would have allowed it… Nah, I’ll be here. I’ll only sulk if I’m stuck in that boxy apartment, and Sasha is in no mood to celebrate.”
“Did you celebrate Christmas … like … with your family?” he asks with a slanted smile while pulling off his hoodie.
We’re close, but I’ve yet to open up to anyone about my family, and he keeps trying with a gentle curiosity.
“Yeah. We did.”
I smirk, and he smirks back, pointing his finger at me. “Oooooh, a peek into the life of Lee! I feel like I know you so well after our time together.”
“I just… I don’t know.” I blush while crinkling my nose. “I don’t talk about it. I don’t talk about them.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets, young padawan. But if you ever choose to open up to me, that would be the best Christmas present.”
“But why would I do that when I already got you a present?” I reach into my bag, pulling out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, and slide it across the counter.
His smile fades as he takes it from me. “What’s this?”
“A small token for a good friend,” I say, nudging him with my elbow as he stands shell-shocked.
His voice is small. “But I didn’t—”
“It’s not tit for tat. I wanted to get it for you, and … you deserve it, anyway.”
His face is still as he tears the paper back to reveal a CD case, and his smile widens as he exhales a laugh. “The Pulp Fiction soundtrack?! How did you…? How?”
He has mentioned how elusive it is, calling it the Moby Dick of his soundtrack collection.
My heart pinches at his reaction. The sheer disbelief.
That smile, so different from the one he hosts constantly.
It’s light and enough to tip his eyes upwards, and his dark lashes seem to curve in response.
Witnessing it is so visceral that it becomes something I need to see again as soon as it’s happened.
“Sorry, it has a crack in the case. I asked around with a few of the guys, and we were able to source it, so it was a team effort rea—”
His arms fling around me, and my halted words turn to a heavy exhale.
My shoulders sink, and I melt into him as his head rests atop mine.
It’s nice to be held. I close my eyes as my face is pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent of coffee and motor oil from his T-shirt and hair.
He pulls away, and I wobble with the loss of his embrace.
I feel unsteady on my feet, either from the lack of support or the overwhelming feeling of being touched.
Has anyone ever held me so tentatively? My mind blanks as I try to recall.
Not since I left the farm. I had been with guys during my last placement, but I guess we weren’t really close like Joey and me.
He tucks his hair behind his ears as he looks down at me, his smile soft, but enough to tilt his eyes with a spark of joy. “Thank you. It’s perfect,” he says, running his finger over the crack of the case. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless. Maybe that can be my present?”
Joey spends the entirety of the shift smirking and shaking his head in complete disbelief.
I learnt at a young age that gifts don’t have to cost if there’s enough sentiment attached, and I would often forage a record or DVD for my fathers.
The more thought, the higher the reward, and I felt that with Joey’s gift today.
When the lunch rush dies down, we come to rest in our spots against the counter, but he spins before me with praying hands.
“I can’t let this settle. Give me one thing. Like your holiday traditions. I need to even the score.”
I try to avoid his pleading stare. There’s a crinkle to his nose, each line striking through the freckles like a dot-to-dot. He jokingly pouts like a begging pup with a tilt of his head and a slight whine.
I smother a smile and can’t help but finally give in. “All right.”
His face lifts, but I shoot my index finger an inch from his nose and raise my brow. “Anything I ever tell you about me is for us only, okay? No brothers. No bar customers. Just us,” I say, offering my little finger to strike a promise.
His radiant smile fills his face as we interlock our pinkies, shaking them to seal the deal.
Every Thanksgiving and Christmas was different, as we always seemed to be on the move. The farmhouses, friends’ attics, abandoned towns… Each year was a new experience, and some were painfully lean, others delightfully indulgent, but there was always one thing we did religiously.
I lean in conspiratorially. “The Wizard of Oz.” He presses his brows together, and I explain.
“The presents, the food—they’d change, but we would always watch The Wizard of Oz, with popcorn or some sort of treat.
One year, we moved suddenly, and it must have gotten left behind.
I was only maybe eight? Anyway, they couldn’t find a replacement copy in time.
So, they performed it, with me as Dorothy.
” My grin’s so big, my cheeks push my eyes into a squint.
My eyes glaze over as I watch the memory like a tape on a TV screen in my mind.
“They even made a yellow brick road out of straw outside. I had red slippers. Malcolm had a tinfoil hat.” I shake my head, refocusing as my father’s name slips from my lips.
“They were singing and dancing … terribly … and they couldn’t remember half of the lyrics, but it didn’t matter.
I think it was ten times better than the film.
” My voice turns light beneath the weight of emotion threatening to bleed through the words.
I offer a melancholy smile. “But yeah. That was our thing, and I haven’t seen it since I left home nearly three years ago. ”
“Wow. That is awesome.” He shrugs with a smile, but his brows are tight with concern. “You okay?”