Merry Christmas
Alpha!Dave talks to a gravestone.
"So, I was just coming up to say Merry Christmas, figured I did it last year it would be the right thing to do it this year, even though I really didn't know you, but I guess I kind of do." You shuffle in the snow, your nice red chucks getting just that little bit colder, the fabric doing nothing against the elements.
You didn't really care, the cold feeling in your feet helped to keep the cold feeling from getting into your heart.
"I found a kid, poor guy was buried at the bottom of some crater, I was lucky enough to get a babysitter to stay the night with him so I could drive up, I have to pay her way more than I would have liked but fuck it, if that means I get to come up I guess it's not too much."
Your fingers were getting that kind of cold that made it feel like they were in a fryer instead of a fucking snow storm.
"I had a few more dreams since I've seen you last, and I would have come sooner but… well I got this deal going with some big wigs in the movie biz, they liked some of my ideas for a comedy thing going on… don't really know how well it'll do, but I think I'll get quite a bit out of it."
And this was usually the point when you would feel retarded, driving down to Maple, Valley Washington State, talking to the headstone of some dude you never met, and whom you are sure you really never met in your lifetime.
"… It still bugs me your last name is Crocker. It feels wrong; I think you'd hate it. I hate it. It's supposed to be somethin' else… "
You waddle where you stand, and wish you had brought a better jacket.
"I dreamt about some crazy shit, I mean it's always crazy shit, but this time you were flyin' around like a happy canary, hitting some giant green dude with a hammer. Other people were there, I actually got in contact with a lady I think was… well I think was important. Rose, she has a kid… daughter. Don't really talk to her much, but when we do it's usually, really awkward, can't remember shit, can't remember each other, but we do. It's fucking stupid, sometimes I just think I happened to find someone that reminded me of this kid I dream of, and you were the unlucky fuck, cosmic coincidence and shit…"
You look down at the gravestone and feel your throat close up, and this reaction always surprised you, it was the same feeling you had when the thought had struck you to drive to Washington, to look at the first graveyard you could find, and to look for a John Crocker.
"I miss you."
You don't say more, there is nothing more you could say, and much like your last visit you walk away with a heavy heart, like you are walking away from someone that would have never walked away from you.
That heaviness follows you back to Texas.
It never really goes away.