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Winter Solstice
(21 January, 2025)
My breath billowed in small clouds as I hustled down the sidewalk, anxious to get to our meeting spot. I was already running late.
Mum had needed me to run down to the shop to get her some tea real quick just as I was heading out. Of course I said yes not expecting the errand to take me that long. Little did I know that everyone would be out bloody shopping for groceries at that exact moment when all I needed to do was buy one box of flippin' tea. Once I got that done, I had sprinted back to our flat, nearly slipping on a patch of ice, but placed the box on the counter and gave mum her change. She was a bit suspicious as to why I was so anxious to leave.
"What's your rush Ian?" She asked me casually while giving me her suspicious mother look.
I tried to calm myself a bit, "The suns gonna be setting earlier today and I just wanted to go out before it gets too dark."
That sounded like a valid excuse right?
"You sure about that?" her tone carried just a hint of accusation, "I don't want any bloody policemen knocking at my door later with you in their custody. Understood?"
"Yes mum," I said appeasingly.
She gave me a peck on the cheek as well as a smile and thank you for the tea. She hasn't asked me a single time after all these years why I go out at nearly the same time on the same day every three months. Maybe it's a mother's intuition thing; I shrugged it off.
Once outside the door to the flat, I was off like a shot; racing to the staircase while checking my phone.
It was 1:16 PM.
"Oh bullocks," I grumbled under my breath as I shouldered open the slate grey door leading out of the building.
That's why I now look like a complete fool, rushing through last night's slushy snowfall in order to not be devastatingly late.
Last time I'd checked, the temperature had just dropped a bit below 0° C and snow seemed to be predicted for later on. Bundled up in my worn tan jacket, long black trench coat, deep blue scarf, black leather gloves, and deep blue ear warmers, the chilly wind still managed to make me shiver.
Turning past the two neatly squared hedges, I climbed up the gravel path that leads to the bench. Almost in a sprint, I raced over to it.
There he is: sitting nonchalantly with one leg resting in his lap and leaning against the back of the bench with restless fingers tapping out a senseless rhythm. His black trousers with the slate grey overcoat match the season, they always do. A navy blue cap sits snugly on his head, successfully hiding away the most of his frosted chestnut strands That seems to be a color he fancies, blue, but only in that exact shade. Once again that favorited blue pokes out around his neck; one of his favorite scarves, like the one I'm wearing, but made out of fleece instead of a cable knit. Of course the whole ensemble wouldn't be him without a pair of trainers; todays are midnight blue with almost no scuffs on the toes. He swivels his face my way, that enthusiastic smile lighting up his pinking cheeks.
"There you are!" he exclaims happily, a puff vapor lingering in front of his nose.
I quickly shuffle the last few steps towards him, "Yeah, mum had me run an errand just as I was about to leave."
"It doesn't matter, you're here now," he pulls me into a quick tight hug.
Leaning back he looks me over, "So how've you been Ian?" He asks, keeping his hands on my biceps. He's giving me the 'don't you lie' look.
I laugh, "Good. I've been a lot better actually."
"Well that's good,"
We both smile and sit back down on the bench. My dark jeans start growing cold from the slight slush on the seat. Up above the heavy overcast clouds seem to confirm that there's more snow to come. No dappling sunlight to warm up our granite bench.
Another chilly gust of wind seems to agree with the heavy overcast.
"Blimey it's cold out," he says, adjusting his hat and scarf slightly.
"They're predicting it to be a pretty cold one this time, much more than last years," I tell him.
He only nods before rubbing his hands together, then his nose.
I glance over at the now barren oak, all grey and lifeless, standing solemnly against the heavy, blanketed sky, but nonetheless strong and stable.
"You should've seen John and Donna at Halloween;" I tell him a bit wistfully, remembering how the streets were filled with color not too long ago, "John was convinced he was going to dress up as an old navy captain,"
He smiles at this and I know why, "and Donna: that was a WHOLE other issue."
He snorts at this, "What did she want to be?"
"She wanted to combine her favorite princess, Ariel, with Hermione Grainger from Harry Potter and Katniss Everdeen from the Hunger Games." I sighed, massaging the bridge of my nose.
"Oh really? How did that turn out?" His face was alight with curiosity and amusement.
"First me and mum tried to get her to pick one, then two, and then we were stuck trying to brainstorm a get up for all three of 'em," I shook my head, chuckling quietly.
He raised a questioning eyebrow, expecting me to describe it.
"It's kind of hard to explain what the end result was," I slid my mobile out of my pocket, "but I snapped a photo of it."
"I can't wait to see this," he mumbled gleefully.
I shook my head as I looked for the picture I took of John and Donna just as we were about to leave. Their small faces alight with excitement. Sidling a bit closer to him, I handed him my mobile with the picture of them pulled up.
"Oh wow," he said with hushed awe, then it hit me.
This is the first time I've showed him a picture of them. In four years.
He pulled out his thin silver framed glasses and perched them on his nose before examining it closely.
In the photo, John's wearing a faded midnight blue navy coat, complete with the brass buttons and shoulder plates. He wore wool black trousers and a navy blue oxford, complete with black boots. His grin reached from ear to ear, clearly showing his missing front tooth. Short copper hair was slightly poofed forward thanks to mum's careful manipulating, and bright hazel eyes were alight with excitement, the pale green hue showing through just a bit more dominantly. John had his arm slung around Donna's shoulders in a friendly pose.
Oh Donna.
I snickered inwardly as I looked at the picture with him once more.
She had a proud smirk on her face, her pink Cupid's bow lips drawn tightly up and her hand was sassily placed on her hip. For every Halloween costume I've ever seen, hers had to have taken the cake in eccentricity and creativity.
Mum had braided her long multi-toned light brown hair with some red extensions, 'For Arial's red hair,' she had said. Next, she had on combat boots; it took me ages to find those bloody things in her size. She had tights and a plain white t-shirt on underneath the robe mum made her; the robe had all the flow of the mass produced ones from the shops, but this one was hand-made and customized. The hood held a teal and green fabric pairing, for Ariel's sea, while the crest on the front was of the lion, for Gryffindor. Next came the 'utility belt' around her waist; carrying a few different wands and seashells of all shapes and sizes. My favorite part however, was the bow slung over her small shoulders. Even though it took me hours of diligent work to make, seeing her face light up when I handed it to her was incredible; well worth the hard work. Her eyes glowed with determination, the baby blue and brown within them mixing and blending perfectly together.
She had Dad's nose and freckles. Mum had said his eyes as well, but both of them. I had never understood what she had meant.
I watched quietly as he ran a finger along both of their faces.
"First time I see my own twins," he says with a bitter laugh.
"And not the last," my voice seems soft, as if we've swapped the role of father and son.
"How are they? Now, I mean. It is nearly Christmas after all." He looks up at me as he hands me back my mobile.
His solemn eyes betray so much sadness within their chocolate brown depths.
"Excited as you get for banana cake with edible ball bearings," I laugh, "Mum and I can barely keep them out of the gifts underneath the tree. We've had to resort to stashing them in the oddest places," I twiddle my thumbs and smile, "There's a few stashed in the piano, several underneath false plants all over the house, and two stashed in mum's room, in her memories box…" I trail off.
Dad titters quietly, "So she still has that box, huh? Your mum always did seem to have a need to keep random mementos."
"Yeah," I chuckle back, "I've never seen what she keeps in it though."
A somber look passes quickly over his face before he literally shakes it off.
"So how was Thanksgiving then? Did your Gran cook? Oh god how much I hate her cooking," he drawls teasingly," but she makes a spot on tea."
His ancient chocolate eyes turn to look at me, waiting for an extravagant answer. Naturally, I don't want to disappoint, but for the past couple of years, it hasn't been the same.
"She set your spot at the table like she always does, Gran even put a red paper crown on your seat, said it was for the good old days."
"John asked if you were coming." He turned to look at me expectantly, breath billowing from the cold.
"What did you tell him? Or at least your Mum," His voice was so low, barely notable if you weren't in a conversation with him.
"She didn't answer, like she does every year. Left me to come up with a tangent about the history of Turkey and Pilgrims," I train my gaze on the bark of the oak once more.
"Did you tell correct information?" I can tell he has an eyebrow raised, exhibiting false seriousness.
My silence speaks for my apathy of caring about facts.
"Because if you didn't they're going to live the rest of their lives believing some inaccurate...tale..."
He trails off a bit before, taking a second to think before suddenly coming to attention. I glance over at him curiously, wondering why he suddenly stiffened up.
The sly smirk on his face has me a little bit disconcerted. A finger rises to point at me, in my defense, a bit accusingly.
"What?" I ask thoroughly perplexed.
He keeps pointing, but adds a slightly maniac sounding laugh.
"What!" He's starting to worry me.
"Don't think I've forgotten," he smirks, seeming very proud of …well whatever it is he knows.
"Dad, don't be daft," I scoff lightly, creasing my eyebrows.
"How's the situation with Kaitlyn?"
Oh….OH. Bollocks he remembered. My cheeks pinken even more, if that's even possible. The nippy wind doesn't help to rid the burning flushing my cheeks.
"Um, it's good…"
He stares at me, laughter dancing in his eyes as he keeps the smug smirk on his face.
"Just good Ian?" He crosses his arms.
"Yup," I quickly respond, popping the last syllable slightly.
The judgment brow rises, "Really?"
His voice seems to be straining to keep out the mirth.
I let out a resigned sigh, "I still haven't tried to go past just being mates with her."
Slumping down the bench back dejectedly, I'm one hundred percent sure I look like a petulant child.
"Sure we hang out, and we're the best of mates, but it seems like she doesn't want anything more at the moment," I mindlessly pick at a loose thread on my coat, "Mum's met her; she said she approves when the time comes…" I pause, "If the time comes."
He shuffles a bit before slinging his arms on the back of the bench, "Has she gotten her own bloke yet?"
Has the oak tree always had those notches in the base of its trunk?
"Well, Ian?"
"Yeah, but he's a right prick," I hiss, rage starting to boil deep inside me.
"Oi! Language young man!" he chides, giving me a quick disapproving glare.
"Sorry," it comes out as a reluctant apology.
"It's just that, his name's Nick. He's one of the rugby blokes at school and is just such a bloody jerk!"
He gives me another stern look but now I'm off on a tangent and could care less,
"Every day he puts her down; mocking her, teasing her fashion, or just getting angry with her for no damned reason! It gets her very upset, but then he's all like 'oh babe, you know I didn't mean that.' And the prick,"
I hear his admonishing 'OI!'
"Is magically forgiven! She never completely forgives him, especially after the one time he hit her for confronting him about shooting up about two months ago. Oh Dad, I can still remember that day so vividly; I've never seen Kaitlyn so upset. She came to the flat and was soaking wet from sprinting away from his car in the rain. I opened the door and there she was; her clothes soaked to the bone, stuck against her strong frame; sleek dark auburn hair was plastered to her scalp. Oh but Dad, the worst part was the angry red mark covering most of her left cheek."
I take a shaky breath and met my Dad's eyes. Understanding sat within the turmoil of emotions he seemed to be sorting through.
"She looked so broken. I barely had time to register she was there before she fell into my arms. It took me a half hour to convince her to let me grab a towel for her and change of clothes before she actually let me. Mum had taken John and Donna to visit Gran's for the day so she couldn't help me out with Kaitlyn. After she came back from dressing out of her wet clothes, she just sat down on the couch staring off blankly into space. It looked like she was staring out of our balcony doors, but her normally bright steel grey eyes were unfocused and blank. I had given her one of my jumpers along with one of mum's sweatpants and t-shirts hoping she'd be more comfortable in that then in damp jeans and blouse,"
I glanced down at my hands, knuckles blanched with effort from the memory I was retelling my Dad,
"It took me another twenty minutes of sitting in front of her, holding her hand before she came out of her spell. When she did come back to me though, her steel grey eyes had begun to fill with tears once more.
"He hit me Ian,"
She had told me, her voice soft, broken, and lifeless. I didn't know what else to do Dad, so I just held her; trying to comfort her as best I could while she sobbed into my shoulder."
I took another deep breath, tilting my head to look up at the slow low lying blanket moving above.
"Never before in my life had I felt so angry and useless at the same time. There she had been: crying inconsolably with nothing much I could do to comfort her but hold her and she had a vicious red welt forming underneath her left eye and most of her cheek that I couldn't do much to get rid of completely,"
"I know the feeling," my Dad muttered darkly.
"Two and a half hours passed before I finally got her to move to the kitchen. I made her a good cuppa, just like Mum showed me how to make, before I started checking her over for any other injuries."
"Her cheekbone and eye socket wasn't damaged in any other way. Normally Katie would banter with me, saying how us Brits use tea as a comfort mechanism and that we think that it can solve any kind of problem, and how she was perfectly fine, but she just sat there lifeless, Dad. All aspects of the Katie I knew were gone for the moment; she was an apathetic version of herself. What Mum had taught me about traumatic experiences in patients kicked in and I carefully explained to Katie that I was going to try and find some medicine for her cheek and that I would be back soon. While I was going through our medicine cabinet looking for some of Mum's special topical cream, she said that it had been Nick. Don't get me wrong it was very quiet and subtle, but I rose up so fast and forgot that I was in the cabinet; gave myself quite a knock on the back of the head."
I chuckled mirthlessly, "The only thing I could see Dad, was red. I was beyond pissed with rage. Only one thought was racing through my mind: I wanted to strangle the wanker with my own two hands."
I knew my Dad was sitting next to me, worry casting over his normally impish features; a dark look shadowing his eyes.
"I shouldn't have said anything, I knew it would make it worse, but I did. I told her she should rethink her relationship with him, report him to authorities, tell Mum so we could keep her safe; but she flat out refused. She said that Nick needed her, that she needed to make him better. That's when Katie broke down again; I remember the rage dying down inside me a bit. I found the topical cream and put it on her cheek. She looked up at me and Dad; she had so much trust in her eyes, so much trust in ME. I apologized for making her cry again and she gave me a small smile."
"We talked a bit about what happened before she told me that was the most she felt comfortable talking about for the moment. She fell asleep on the couch after she finished her tea; I called Mum told her that she was here because something pretty bad had happened and assured her that nothing else had gone on. Katie stayed for dinner after Mum came home, she had left John and Donna with Gran because of the circumstance, then stayed the night after Mum called her exchange family, assuring them that she was safe and sound. After she left the next day, we're now closer than ever; but she has never mentioned it again…"
Once I was done, I realized that my breathing had grown heavy, increasing the size and frequency of the puffs of cold air settling in front of my lips. My fingers were clenched into tight fists; it took me a few seconds to restart the circulation in my hands. My Dad hadn't said anything since I'd finished, I turned to look at him, his lanky form tensed up on the bench. He had a fierce gaze trained on me; recognition, understanding, and sympathy pouring through.
After several moments of his silent analyzing and my quiet recovery, he spoke up, "You did the right thing Ian, and I am so, SO proud of you," his voice was filled with raw pride.
He gave my shoulder several strong pats.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"I know it's not always the easiest thing to do," he said earnestly, "but it was the best thing to do. I know how it feels to have to deal with a situation like that; it's not the best feeling."
The wind died a little bit, but the deep chill still lingered in the air.
"My gut instinct tells me that this will always be true but nonetheless, keep Kaitlyn safe. Make sure she doesn't get into any tough situations, but if she does, be there to support her Ian. Did you make that promise to yourself? Sometimes the best solution to a difficult situation isn't judgment, but support."
I pulled more air into my lungs with a loud breath. He was right. Being judgmental never helps a person who is traumatized or confused; even I know that it only makes things worse.
My eyes focus on the far-away look plastered on his scruffy face. His stubble has now grown out into a well-kept beard; bits of his frosted chestnut brown hair sneaking out from underneath his navy cap. He seems a lot more distinguished, a bit older even.
"Mum's good to her." I break the silence, "We invite her over to dinner now and again. John and Donna love her."
He only nods but keeps his gaze looking towards the horizon.
"How've you been?" He turns his attention back to me, "What else have you seen so far?"
The dark stalemate he seemed to be in shatters as his eyes light up once more.
The corners of his lips turn up a smidgen, "I just got back from visiting Norway; wanted to take a trip down memory lane before the holidays,"
His face lights up in sudden recognition, "Oh! And I wanted to give you something," he starts rummaging through his coat pockets, patting here and there, "Give me a sec….aha! Here it is!"
Now with his cheeky smile and impish eyes flashing, he holds his hand still inside his jacket pocket.
"Hold out your hand,"
I snort at the childish game he wants to play, but deep inside I am thrilled that he's able to give me something this year. Nevertheless, I comply with his wish, holding out my hands and closing my eyes.
My ears sensed the rustling of wrapping paper as well as some parchment paper. The slight weight is placed into my waiting hands a few moments later.
"Merry Christmas Ian," he says softly.
I open my eyes to see a small box wrapped elegantly in metallic royal blue paper. For a moment it seems to have a circular pattern hidden underneath the shine, but it quickly vanishes. Awestruck, I smooth my gloved fingertips over and around the delicate silver bow.
"Wow," I breathe.
There's even a little place card with my name in full carefully printed in an imperial calligraphy.
"Thanks," my voice is quiet as I continue admiring the little box.
Dad looks beyond content; a small smile gracing his face. It takes me a moment to notice the envelope clasped in his hands.
"That for Mum?"
He shakes his head, "Nah, this is still a part of your gift."
I watch him dubiously, "There better not be anything else in there," I warn him playfully.
His laugh fills the cold air between us, warming me straight down to my heart.
"No Ian, it's just a letter that pairs up with it."
The pale parchment envelope is stuck out in my direction,
"You sure?" I'm still a bit dubious.
"Positive." He grins.
Crisp paper moves under my digits as I gently take the envelope.
"Tha-" My phrase is cut short as an alarm goes off on my mobile:
3:25 PM
Warning Bell
I can feel the smile fall slightly off my face as I realize exactly what that alarm means.
So does Dad. We both rise stiffly from our cold granite bench, shaking the chill out of our knees.
"Thank you," my voice is heavy with gratitude.
"You're welcome Ian," the slight crinkles around his eyes remind me of just how much older he looks than last time.
"Until next time yeah?" I ask.
"Oh you know it; and you know what Ian? I bet you're gonna have a great start to the New Year." His megawatt smile betrays the sadness in his glassy eyes.
"Alons-y," I joke back at him, tongue lightly pressed against my top teeth.
He laughs at this before moving in to give me a huge hug, "That's for John, Donna, and your Mum too. You'd better give them some of it!" He playfully scolds.
I stay in his warm hug for just a second longer, lingering just to avoid the inevitable. I desperately try to imprint his scent in my mind once more before he leaves again; the smell of spice and well-worn books.
"Bye Dad and Merry Christmas."
"And a Happy New Year. Bye Ian."
He gives me one last smile and pat on the shoulders before turning on heel and starting down the path.
I mimic him; but only in the other direction, tossing the small wrapped package gently in the air.
Just as I start down the gravel path, thick snow starts to flutter lightly down.
"It's already been a good year," I murmur to myself before pocketing the gifts he gave me and heading home to Mum, Donna, and John.
