I found this bit on my laptop this morning and thought I'd share it.
I have learned to lead a life apart from all the rest.
If I can't have the one I want, I'll do without the best.
- "Aubrey," Bread
At twenty-four, the temptation of a normal life came to a peak when a holiday card arrived, postmarked December 24th, as if it came as an afterthought. It was a thoughtful card, green and blue with a tree covered in tinsel and 'Merry Christmas' spelled out in loopy cursive below wrapped presents. Inside, neat, feminine writing wished the family a good, safe holiday season and a happy New Year.
It was signed by a girl neither addressee had met, and seemed rather impersonal despite the quick but familiar scrawl of Sam's name just under someone named Jessica's.
The card was tossed out with the next day's trash; staying in one place for too long was a danger neither wished to tempt, even if said place was home.
There was something sweet about it, the cute message written inside to make the card more personable, more intimate between family members, even estranged ones.
You can't be estranged if you know each other's addresses and phone numbers.
Though there was something to Sam's newfound normality, even if it came at the cost of hidden truths and a family he pretended had day jobs. But there it was, a cute holiday card like the ones their mother would send out with a family photo tucked inside.
Perhaps this flirtation with normality was the by-product of a bad break up a few months earlier, when the girl Dean had been seeing grew sick of his unsteady "work" schedule and inability to commit -- she threw some choice words in his direction and tried her best to kick him out of her apartment. It seemed both sides were working against him; tell her the truth, and there was a very large possibility she'd freak out and call the cops, lie, and the inconsistencies in his life would only make things more complicated.
His break came in the form of his first solo job, just after his twenty-forth birthday outside Denver, Colorado. It wasn't a difficult one -- just a routine haunting with a clearly marked grave -- just a little something to get him on his feet and give his father a little time alone. He had the car, his father was tucked away at home, and after one day, Dean was on his own.
So he went on vacation.
No weapons, no guns or demons or spirits to hunt. Just a sandy beach, hot girls in small bikinis, and three credit cards in separate names to finance his little escape. He spent the week on the beach sleeping and swimming, hitting on girls and attending parties until the wee hours of the morning. He wasn't a ghost hunter, just a normal guy out having fun like everyone else.
The vacation came to an abrupt end when a poltergeist reared its ugly head at a club down in Little Havana just as Dean was forgetting all the bitterness built up after years of weapons drills and mythology lessons.
When he returned home, scratched, tired, disappointed, but okay, all his father said to him was, "No matter how hard you try, you can never be normal. It's not even worth considering."
