Sweet December
Four
December stares at the sixteen dollars in her hands, the birthday card forgotten on the foyer floor. When she hears Uncle Sam’s heavy footsteps though, she tucks the money away and picks up the trash. His looming frame casts a shadow over her, face harboring gentle emotion and pity. The pity in his eyes is enough to make her heart ache.
“Another birthday card from your dad?” he questions, but they both know it is.
December’s not even sure she can call the person who sends her cards her dad. The only memory she has of him are pictures, a handful of old movies from when she was little; too little to remember anything. On days where she’s feeling extra lonely, days where her cousin Sage is off having a social life with his friends, she watches the videos over and over and over again. With her knees hugged tightly to her chest, thin arms wrapped loosely around her body, she sobs.
Those are the worst days, the ones where she can’t stand even breathing, living, when she knows that the only people she has in her life are Uncle Sam and Aunt Sarah, her cold and distant cousin Sage. She wishes she could be a normal teenager, tag along with her cousin to parties and lose herself in copious amounts of alcohol. But she’s not a normal teenager, and she wasn’t a normal child. Growing up in a small house built for a family with one child is hard. December feels like a constant nuisance, a burden.
But her Uncle is too big of a softie, he has too large of a heart. So when she gets on his nerves or forgets to do simple things like the dishes, he lets it go. Instead he channels his anger, what little bit of it he musters, onto his son, which is a large part of Sage being so distant.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, the card getting crumpled in her tightened fist, “Just another card.”
“Hey, don’t worry, he’ll come around.” Sam murmurs, and his hand practically engulfs her shoulder.
“You always say that.” December replies, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. A weak, forced smile stretches her lips before she walks away.
Up in her bedroom – which used to be Uncle Sam’s study, before they had to make room for her – December looks at herself long and hard in the mirror. She inherited her mother’s curly blond hair and thin build and got her hazel eyes from her father. Her Uncle tells her often that her attitude comes from her dad as well – fiery, hell bent and determined; all accurate descriptions of her.
And not for the first time she wonders if maybe her dad would’ve kept her around if she didn’t look like her mom as a baby. But it doesn’t matter, she decides, walking to the dresser. Her hand grabs at the sixteen dollars in her pockets, fingering it, before she deposits it in her cash jar. She’s up to $500.00 now, what with all the birthday money and under the table jobs.
Soon enough she’ll have a life of her own, one without worry and sorrow over her dead mother and M.I.A. father. She won’t be a burden to her Uncle and Aunt anymore or an embarrassing eyesore to her cousin.
“Another birthday card from your dad?” he questions, but they both know it is.
December’s not even sure she can call the person who sends her cards her dad. The only memory she has of him are pictures, a handful of old movies from when she was little; too little to remember anything. On days where she’s feeling extra lonely, days where her cousin Sage is off having a social life with his friends, she watches the videos over and over and over again. With her knees hugged tightly to her chest, thin arms wrapped loosely around her body, she sobs.
Those are the worst days, the ones where she can’t stand even breathing, living, when she knows that the only people she has in her life are Uncle Sam and Aunt Sarah, her cold and distant cousin Sage. She wishes she could be a normal teenager, tag along with her cousin to parties and lose herself in copious amounts of alcohol. But she’s not a normal teenager, and she wasn’t a normal child. Growing up in a small house built for a family with one child is hard. December feels like a constant nuisance, a burden.
But her Uncle is too big of a softie, he has too large of a heart. So when she gets on his nerves or forgets to do simple things like the dishes, he lets it go. Instead he channels his anger, what little bit of it he musters, onto his son, which is a large part of Sage being so distant.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, the card getting crumpled in her tightened fist, “Just another card.”
“Hey, don’t worry, he’ll come around.” Sam murmurs, and his hand practically engulfs her shoulder.
“You always say that.” December replies, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. A weak, forced smile stretches her lips before she walks away.
Up in her bedroom – which used to be Uncle Sam’s study, before they had to make room for her – December looks at herself long and hard in the mirror. She inherited her mother’s curly blond hair and thin build and got her hazel eyes from her father. Her Uncle tells her often that her attitude comes from her dad as well – fiery, hell bent and determined; all accurate descriptions of her.
And not for the first time she wonders if maybe her dad would’ve kept her around if she didn’t look like her mom as a baby. But it doesn’t matter, she decides, walking to the dresser. Her hand grabs at the sixteen dollars in her pockets, fingering it, before she deposits it in her cash jar. She’s up to $500.00 now, what with all the birthday money and under the table jobs.
Soon enough she’ll have a life of her own, one without worry and sorrow over her dead mother and M.I.A. father. She won’t be a burden to her Uncle and Aunt anymore or an embarrassing eyesore to her cousin.