Guest: My goodness, thank you! You really are too kind, but I'll take the compliment! Hopefully the story stays great! Enjoy the chapter! :D
The Flame Alchemist 13: Your review made me so happy, you have no idea. My life has been crazy recently so I can only write whenever I get a chance or I have enough energy after work. It's been a slow process but I'm determined to see this story to the end and it makes me so happy that you and so many other people are in it 'til the end with me! I know, Al's story really breaks my heart. He was taught by his parents to always tell the truth and when he did, it got him in so much trouble. That's actually part of why Al has such a hard time talking to people - his mind always flashes to that point in his life and he can't seem to say anything. It's really sad. Anyway, here's your update and I hope you like it! :D
Hey, guys! I'm back! I know I said I would have something by the new year but that just wasn't possible. Working evening shift in a nursing home really ate away at a lot of my time and really killed my personal life. But, I'm happy to announce that I dropped to part time with that job and accepted a second job with way more flexible hours meaning I'm at home a whole lot more than I used to be. Obviously, my friends and family are fighting to see me as they never got to for almost six months, but I have a ton more time to write now! I am in the process of moving out, so I don't know when I'll have something new, but I'm hoping that I'll at least be able to update once a month so you guys won't have to wait two months for an update. Anyway, thanks for sticking by me despite how insane everything has been and I'll see you all next chapter!
Turns out the cows spend more time indoors during winter than they do any other time of year. Oh well. Al still had fun 'cause the creamery has an area where you can go out to part of the barn and visit the cows so we still got to see them. We also got that ice cream that we went to the creamery for in the first place so that was a plus. I love the creamery's ice cream and they also had some non-alcoholic egg nog so Dada bought some of that. He wants to save it for Christmas Eve but we'll see if that really happens. Chances are, it'll be mostly gone by then 'cause people will drink a little of it every time they open the fridge 'cause it's that good. Anyway, after we had ice cream, we went home to study for our last final, had dinner, then went to bed.
As per usual, me and Al didn't exactly sleep well but we took our final like champs and now school's finally over for the semester. It was like a weight had been lifted off my chest when I turned in my last final. I hadn't been the best student this semester considering I was having trouble remembering what I did in school all semester. I mean, I guess I could have just said "fuck it" and not even done my homework or something, but for me not paying attention is being a bad student. I don't know. Anyways, now that the semester's over, Christmas can officially begin. My family always does an advent calendar so I guess in that way we've been in the Christmas-mood since the first day of December. But in between school and all the shit that we've been dealing with this year, I haven't really felt Christmas-y. But if I'm gonna be honest, I don't think I've felt Christmas-y, like the way you feel when you're a little kid around Christmas, since I was six. Dada says we base our Christmas-y feelings around how we felt about Christmas when we were little kids. Considering how much my whole family loves Christmas, that feeling was an all-consuming, swallowed a whole bunch of cider, feeling. When I think of feeling the happiest I could ever feel, Christmas when I was a kid comes to mind. Since I haven't really felt that way in years, I guess I don't really like Christmas the way I used to. I mean, I still get excited but lately it just feels like Christmas comes and goes without even saying "hi" to me.
Al, on the other hand, has been in the Christmas spirit since October. He's talked about it off and on in the months leading up to it and now it's all he can talk about. We put our tree up the day after Thanksgiving like usual and all Al could talk about was going to Chicago and Christmas shopping and gingerbread houses and going on our annual tour of the lights on Christmas Eve. He's the one that reminds me and Dada in the morning that we need to do our advent calendar and he's asking about Mom a lot. I don't know how, but Al managed to preserve that Christmas feeling he had when he was little despite all the shit he's gone through. I shouldn't be surprised by that, though. I mean, Al's managed to preserve all those gentle, kind parts of himself that by all accords should have been absolutely destroyed by her over the years. That's why Al is so freaking strong. He kept his personality intact throughout it all. I, on the other hand, feel like I've lost myself most of the time. There's part of me that got lost after That Night and I've never been able to find it. I may never find it. I honestly think it's a waste of my time to look for that piece of myself 'cause it died almost ten years ago. That's probably why I never feel Christmas-y like I used to. That part of me died and now Christmas just isn't what it used to be. I don't know.
On Christmas Eve, my family always does the same things at the same time in pretty much the same way. It's been that way since I was born. Here's the run down. Our festivities start at precisely 4:30pm when we head over to a church on the square and attend a candle-light service with Granny and Winry. After the service, we drive around Resembool looking at all the Christmas lights and listening to Christmas music in the car. When we've seen all the lights we can see, we go to Granny's house where we have our Christmas dinner and open presents together. Dada and Granny have coffee after that and everyone watches cheesy Christmas specials together. At around 10:00, Dada, Al and I head home and we get a new pair of pajamas. We always get a new pair of pajamas, always have, even when she was around. Dada always tells us the story of how when Mama was pregnant with me, she thought it would be a good idea to give me a new pair of pajamas on Christmas Eve so I could wake up in those new, warm pajamas on Christmas morning and open presents. While it's rare that Al and I actually wake up in the same pajamas we went to bed in, it's a nice tradition. After we put our new pajamas on, Dad comes up to our room and reads the Christmas story to us out of the book of Luke. That version was Mom's favorite. I think it's the most detailed version of the story in the Bible. I think. I don't know that for sure, though. Anyway, while the tour of the lights is Al's favorite part of Christmas Eve, the Christmas story in the new pajamas is mine. I love how gentle Dad's voice is. It's so soft and calming, and it gets softer and softer as me and Al fall asleep. I don't know if that's something he does as he notices we're getting sleepy or if his voice just fades out as we fall asleep. Either way, it's my favorite part of Christmas Eve. Hell, it might be my favorite part of Christmas in general.
I turn over in bed, unable to fall asleep. I stare at my alarm clock on my nightstand, watching as it goes from 11:59pm to 12:00am. Well. It's Christmas now. After we open presents in the morning, we're going up to Chicago to visit Dada's dad in the nursing home. After that, we're going to visit the rest of Dad's family. He's got some cousins and things like that in Chicago. His family's not all that big to begin with. A lot of his family died in Germany between 1939 and 1950. I don't know all the details, but I do know that my grandpa fled Germany with his sister and that's how the von Hohenheim's got to Chicago to begin with. Dad doesn't talk about himself or his family all that often. Granny says it's 'cause Dada likes to keep to himself so he doesn't "burden" others with his thoughts and feelings. Reserved. That's the word Granny likes to use. I roll over on my back, my mind stuck on my grandpa. I wonder what he's like. I know I've met him before but I was a baby back then. I don't remember anything about him and since he has Alzheimer's, I doubt he remembers anything about me, either. I snort softly – that's a blessing if you ask me.
"Brother?" I sit up right, my brother's voice piercing the night. I turn toward Al's bed, Al sitting on the edge of his bed. Picard's sitting happily on my brother's lap, Chico tucked under Al's arm. It's too dark to see his face.
"What's the matter?" I ask. I can hardly see him, but I can make out Al shrug.
"Can't sleep," he replies.
"Me either," I answer. I watch Al gently lift the cat off his lap and place him on the bed. Al stands and walks over, sitting down next to me. Without saying anything he curls up under my covers, his shaking body warming mine. "You wanna sleep here?" I feel Al nod.
"Yeah," he says softly. I smile fondly at him and lie down next to him.
"Okay," I say. We lie next to each other for a few minutes, Al still shaking. But Al always shakes so I don't worry about it.
"Brother?" Al asks softly after a while.
"Yeah?" I reply in question.
"What does Christmas feel like for you?" Al asks me. What a strange question. I mean, I know how it feels in my head and in my heart, but I haven't truly felt it in so long and trying to describe how a feeling physically feels is damn near impossible. But I have to try. For Al.
"Well, I don't know," I say. "I mean, I do, but it's hard to explain. Ya know?" Al hums beside me.
"Yeah," he yawns. "I know."
"But," I go on, petting his hair so he'll go to sleep, "I guess it's like…. Warmth, you know? Like my whole body feels warm. It's like being in a warm bath or always drinking something warm like apple cider or hot chocolate. I don't know. It's something like that."
"Everything feels good, you know what I mean?" Al adds tiredly. I nod. When I was a little kid, yeah. That's exactly how I felt. Everything was good. Everything was warm and had a little bit of magic behind it. That's how Christmas is supposed to feel.
"Yeah, I do," I tell him.
"I wish I could feel like that all the time," Al confides in me. "If I did, maybe life would be better."
"Maybe," I say, "But since it only comes around once a year, it makes it special. It's the feeling that makes Christmas so special. If we felt that way all the time, life would be good, but it would be boring too, I think."
"Mmm, yeah," Al agrees tiredly. "That's true."
"No more talking," I tell him as he yawns again. "Go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow." Al nods and curls up even closer to me.
"Okay," Al yawns. "G'night, Ed. I love you." I snuggle up closer to him, hugging him instead of Lamby and say,
"Love you, too."
Like every Christmas, we get up at the crack of dawn to open present. Dada meets us by the tree, his eyes twinkling as he watched us sit down. Cinnamon rolls are there, too, the smell reminding me for the first time all year why I love Christmas. I had been so worried that since I wasn't feeling in the spirit like I had when I was a kid that when the morning came and he cinnamon rolls were made and the presents were under the tree I wouldn't feel that happy, warm all over feeling. But I think I do. I think I might feel it. I think I felt it last year, too. And the year before that. After seven years of not feeling it, I can finally feel it again. Maybe next year, I'll feel that happy feeling throughout the holiday season. Not every day, obviously, otherwise when I feel it on Christmas it'll be old news, but you know. I wanna look at Christmas lights a week before Christmas and get that surge of Christmas feelings. We eat our cinnamon rolls, Dada sipping his coffee and talking about Mom. On Christmas, we tend to talk about Mama a lot. Christmas was Mom's favorite time of year. Granted, it's lots of people's favorite time of year but still. Mom loved it more than anybody else ever. That's the way Dad talks anyway. He loves to talk about how detailed Mom was with decorating and present hiding. He loves to describe her face when me and Al would run down stairs and react to the presents she spent nearly all year picking out for us. It's one of the days of the year that I feel close to Mom again, despite her being gone for so long.
After eating cinnamon rolls and opening presents, we all get dressed and pile into Dada's car. We're gonna spend the rest of the day up in Chicago, meeting family that we don't really know. Well, Al and me don't know them. Dad does. On the two-hour drive to Chicago, we're all quiet. Dad knows Al and I are super nervous about meeting our family so he's not trying to keep a conversation alive. The most we've said to each other was that the weather this year has been weird. We haven't gotten a lot of winter weather and the temperatures have been cold at worst and mild at best. It's been weird. But that's all we've talked about. Not that I'm complaining. I don't really have much to say right now since I'm so anxious and besides – Dad got me and Al the new Pokémon game for Christmas. It's a remake of older games, Ruby and Sapphire, so I'm excited to see what changes they made in the remake. I wish I could actually play it, though. Right now I'm so anxious that all I can manage to do is stare at my game while running through worse-case scenarios of meeting my family in my head. This is gonna be a long car ride.
After two nearly silent hours in the car, we've finally made it. The nursing home isn't in Chicago city limits, so we're not in the city yet. I mean, it's only, like, five miles out from the city but still. It's in Lincoln Park. Dada parks, turning the car off as Al shifts nervously in his seat. Al and me have no idea what to expect when we get in there. It's been nearly ten years since the last time we visited a nursing home. Nana is still independent so she doesn't need to live in a home; her husband died of a sudden heart attack so he never lived in one, either. I don't know what happened to Dada's mom (he never really talks about it) so this is the only relative I have in a nursing home. I haven't been in one since I was practically a baby so I have no idea what I'll see when I get in there. Is it like a hospital? I hate hospitals. Is it like those freaky mental health wards in movies? Or like a prison? I have no clue. Dad turns around in his seat and smiles at us.
"You ready?" He asks us. Al and I exchange glances.
"Uh…" I trail off, Dad ruffling my hair from the front seat.
"It's okay," he assures me. "It's like a dorm for old people."
"A dorm?" I ask. I've been in those. Those aren't scary.
"In a way, yes," Dad explains. "My dad's in a memory care unit. It's not like the other part of the home. It's like a little community. There's a living room, a dining room with a kitchen, and lots of places to sit down and talk. Only sixteen people live in the unit."
"So it's not like a hospital?" Al asks worriedly.
"No, honey, it's not," Dad replies. "You'll see. It's nothing scary."
"Will he like me?" Al asks pathetically and I look expectantly at Dada. Yeah – will he like us? Dad chuckles softly.
"Of course he will," Dad answers. "He likes you already. You just don't remember." We look anxiously at him and Dad gestures to his door with his head. "C'mon, boys. Let's go." I look at Al, his face draining of all color. I tell him with my eyes it'll be okay – I'll hold his hand the whole time. Al nods and puts on the bravest face he can muster.
We all get out of the car and I instantly take Al's hand. I look toward the building and see that it doesn't look like a hospital, a mental hospital, or a prison. It looks like an apartment building or a dorm, just like Dada said. Dad leads us through the front doors, a nice lady greeting us and instructing all of us to sign in and get visitor badges. She obviously recognizes Dad 'cause she starts up a conversation with him right away. They mostly talk about me and Al, the lady smiling warmly at us as Dad goes on and on about us. God, please stop. I pin my visitor's badge on to my shirt and stare at my shoes. I really hate when Dad talks about me when I'm standing right next to him. It's embarrassing. Al just kinda stands next to me, twisting his shirt in his hands. Just standing at the front entrance is really stressing him out. It's the anticipation of meeting our grandpa being allowed to grow while Dada talks to the random secretary instead of just taking us to see our grandpa. Finally, their conversation ends and Dad gives us a mini-tour of the building. He shows us the main dining room and I gotta be honest – it's nice. It's a pretty room with dark wood flooring and crystal hanging lights. It's visible from the front door so I guess they gotta impress the families so they feel less guilty about leaving their parent there. Makes sense. There's a stigma around nursing homes. Lots of old people tell their families to never put them in one and I understand why. It must be lonely. We walk through the hall, some of the staff and even some of the old people smiling and waving at Dada. We get to the end of the hall and there's a set of double doors in front of us. Our grandpa lives in a locked down unit. People with Alzheimer's and dementia tend to wander so the nursing home gives them a place where they can walk around without the risk of them escaping or getting lost. There's a code to get in, one I guess Dada has memorized 'cause the secretary didn't give it to him. He punches it into the keypad and opens the door, Al and me creeping in behind him.
I look around, my heart pounding in my chest. Okay, it does kinda look like a dorm or maybe an apartment or something. There's a common sitting area, a couple old people just chilling in a wheel chair or on the couch. There's a nurse at the desk who looks up at us, smiling and making brief small talk with Dad. Guess they know each other, too. God, how often does Dada come up here? Everyone knows him! He introduces us to the nurse and she says how it'll be good for our grandpa to see the grandchildren he talks about all the time. He talks about us? So he really does remember us? Huh. I figured Dada just told us that so we'd feel better. When he told me that our grandpa remembered us, but thought we were still babies, part of me thought that Dad just said that to make us feel better about visiting. It didn't, really, but I did like the idea of our grandpa remembering us. I don't know. Dad walks away from the nurse so I guess they're done talking. I squeeze Al's hand and follow Dad. He says hi to the old people and takes us to what looks like a living room. There's a TV on the wall and a bunch of living chairs and couches. There's a few people sitting in there. Dad walks over to a man sitting in a green chair and my heart stalls. That's him. That's my grandpa. Me and Al just stand and watch as Dad gets my grandpa's attention. They start speaking hurriedly in German, Dad gesturing over to us. His brow furrows and he smiles gently at us.
"Come here, boys," Dada instructs softly. "Come see Papa." Papa? I…. I think I remember calling him that. We visited when I was, like, three and I do have some fuzzy memories from back then. I hesitantly walk over, Al hiding behind me, and get a good look at Papa. He's like a wrinkled version of Dada. He has silver hair that I can tell was once blond like Dad. He wears glasses and has the same long nose Dada has. He's even got the same gentle brown eyes. The eyes I have, too. Papa smiles warmly at us; the same Dad smile our own dad has. My heart slows down, Papa grabbing my hand and rubbing the skin with his thumb.
"Very big," he says, his voice thick with a German accent, "So, so big." His voice his shaking and I can tell he's on the verge of tears. Apparently people with Alzheimer's and dementia can get super emotional really easily.
"Don't cry, Papa!" Al cries suddenly, pushing past me and grabbing Papa's free hand. "It's okay! Please don't cry!" Papa leans forward in his chair and kisses Al's forehead. Al gives him a big hug, Papa holding him close.
"When'd you get so big?" Papa asks, his voice strained. He pulls away from Al and chuckles weakly. "Last time I saw you, Alphonse, you were up to my knee!" Papa gestures to his knee with his hand, Al giggling weakly at him.
"I called last week and told you how old the boys were now," Dad tells Papa as he moves some chairs so we can all sit together.
"Did you?" Papa questions, Dad nodding. "Oh, my. How did I miss so many years?"
"It's okay, Papa," Dad assures him. "It's been a while since you've seen them in person."
"I remember them when they were tiny," Papa begins. "Al wasn't good at walking back then." Dad chuckles and we all sit down.
"He did the penguin waddle," Dad laughs, my brow furrowing.
"Penguin waddle?" I ask.
"He walked like he had a full diaper all the time, even when he didn't," Dad explains, Al's cheeks turning pink. "It sort of looked like a penguin and Trish really had fun with that. Al had so many sets of penguin pajamas when he was a toddler."
"Glad I grew out of that," Al laughs nervously.
"It was cute," Papa snorts, a smile on his face.
"You speak really good English, Papa," I comment. "How long have you been speaking it?
"I don't know," Papa replies with a chuckle. "I learned as a child in Germany. My family was well off and we only got the best education. My siblings and I got a tutor for the English language when I was…. Twelve? I think I was twelve, but I might have been younger."
"How do you say 'twelve' in German, Papa?" Al asks.
"Zwölf," Papa answers instantly. "Can you boys speak any German?"
"I'm in German class," I reply. "And Al can count to ten and say some easy stuff."
"Ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn," Al counts, Dad chuckling at him.
"Good job, Al," Dad praises, Al smiling happily. Dad leans over and picks up the gift bag he brought in to the nursing home. He hands it to Papa and says, "Here, Papa. The boys and I got you something."
"What is this?" Papa asks, taking the bag.
"It's Christmas, Papa," Al chirps happily.
"It is?" Papa questions. We all nod.
"It is," Dad tells him. "I get you something every year." Papa smiles and says,
"I didn't realize it was Christmas already, but I do have gifts for everyone, even Trisha." Papa looks around and his brow furrows. "Where is Trisha, Victor? Is she not feeling well?" Al and I exchange glances. Dada had mentioned before that Papa thinks that Mom is still alive. So what in the world is Dad gonna tell Papa? Is he gonna tell Papa the truth and ruin Christmas or is he gonna lie?
"Papa," Al sighs, Dad holding a hand up to silence him.
"Trish hasn't felt well lately," Dad lies, his eyes sad as he talks about Mama, "The treatment has been hard on her lately. She didn't feel like she could make the trip up here to Chicago to see you and Edith. Has Aunt Edith been by to see you?" Papa shrugs, his brow furrowed.
"I'm not sure," Papa answers. "I think I saw her last week but I'm not sure. This old brain doesn't work like it used to, son." Papa begins to remove tissue paper from the gift bag and Al asks me why Dada would lie to Papa about Mom. I reply by saying maybe it's 'cause telling him the truth would upset him more than it would do any good. I don't know. Papa finally pulls out the gift we got him – a photo album with lots of recent photos so Papa can look at it and see what we look like. Dad said that the pictures really won't help Papa remember how old we are, but it might help him to recognize us as his disease gets worse. He flips through it, a smile on his face.
"Your boys are beautiful," Papa comments.
"And smart," Dad adds proudly. I blush and Dad goes on, "They're both in challenging classes in school and they've always been inquisitive. Trish and I are so, so proud of them."
"Well you should be," Papa says, closing the album. "Edith always wonders when you two will have more children. Says you're the type to have a house full." Papa shakes his head and stands. "I always have to remind her that you and Trisha may not want a house full."
"Maybe not a house full, but when the boys were younger we talked about having more children," Dad says softly. "It's too late now."
"Cheer up," Papa tells Dada. "I'm going to get your presents. It's Christmas, right?" Dad nods.
"That's right," Dad replies. Papa hurries off and Dad quickly turns to us.
"Okay, boys, he probably got you something for very little kids so be nice and don't say anything to him," Dad instructs hurriedly.
"Like we'd do that," I scoff, giving him a look. "I mean; do you know Al at all? He doesn't have a mean bone in his body." Dad chuckles weakly.
"Yes, I know, but I just wanted to preface the gift so you weren't offended," Dada tells me.
"It's not his fault if he got us baby toys," Al points out. "He can't remember how old we are." Dad nods and Papa comes back. Nothing's wrapped – he clearly had no idea it was Christmas until Dad told him it was. He managed to conceal the gifts in plastic Wal-Mart bags, though, so I give him points for that. Papa sits back down in that green chair and hands Dada a bag. He hands one to Al then one to me.
"Go on," he says eagerly. "Open!" Dad chuckles and pulls his gift out of the Wal-Mart bag. It's a wallet. My brow furrows as Dada's eyes get sad. Why would he get sad over a wallet? I don't get it. Dad's thumb runs across what I guess is really soft leather and he sighs.
"I've been needing a wallet," Dad says softly. "Thank you." Papa nods happily and looks pointedly at me and Al. I laugh nervously and examine my bag. A stuffed animal of some kind is wrapped up in the grey bag. The bag conceals it enough that I can't tell what kind of animal it is, though. Huh. I guess Papa really does think me and Al are babies. I pull the bag off the animal and take a good look at it. It's a stuffed tiger. It's bigger than Lamby is, but not by like a whole lot. It's really soft and if I were a little kid, I'd be flipping my shit. Al gasps happily, obviously pleased with his gift. He got a stuffed lion, obviously made by the same company.
"I bought these thinking you were much smaller than you are, I'm sorry," Papa apologizes.
"It's okay, Papa," I say quickly. Papa shakes his head.
"My mind just doesn't work like it used to," he says, handing his last bag over to Dad. "I wish I could have gotten you something better."
"I like it, Papa," Al says happily. "It's really soft!"
"Are you serious, Alphonse?" Papa asks. Al nods and I can't help but smile. Of course Al likes it. Al likes everything. And Papa wouldn't know, but Al has always really liked stuffed animals. He's kinda started to grow out of it recently, but he has shown interest in collecting them before. He hasn't talked about it recently that I can remember so I don't think collecting them is on his mind, but I do know that he still likes them.
"Yup," Al chirps. "Stuffed animals are really cute and I know I might be too old, but I still like them." Dada smiles fondly at Al and Papa holds Al's hand in his.
"You are such a sweet boy," Papa comments.
"He really is," Dad replies, holding what I am guessing is Papa's present for Mom. Papa lets go of Al's hand and we talk for a bit longer. Dada never opens the present for Mama, though I keep glancing over at it hoping that he will.
Dad never opened the present Papa got for Mom. We hung out with Papa for a little while after he gave us our presents before heading out to visit Dad's Aunt Edith. She lives in the city itself in an apartment. Apparently a few members of Dad's family are going to come over for dinner. The present for Mom is still wrapped up in the Wal-Mart bag, my eyes naturally drawn to it. I wonder what in the world Papa got for Mom. And why in the world was Dad so sad when Papa gave him a wallet? I really don't get it. I have to admit, Papa seemed way more normal than I expected. At the same time, though, he was really strange. At times, he seemed like just a normal old person. He talked about what life was like when he was young, cracked a few jokes, and offered us candy a lot. But there were times were I could tell his mind slipped away. He'd stare off into space and start talking about things that didn't make sense or he'd ask Dad where his kids were. Papa couldn't remember that today was Christmas, regardless of how often Dada said it was. He couldn't remember giving us our presents and greeted us like it was the first time he saw us all day a lot. He even started speaking really hurriedly in German to Dad about something and it took Dad a while to calm him down. It was around then that Dad suggested we leave. It was really weird. I hope Dada never gets Alzheimer's. The disease really ruins people and I understand why Dad never takes us up here to see him. It is super depressing.
"Dad?" Al asks from the backseat.
"What's the matter, Al?" Dad replies in question.
"Did you not like what Papa gave you?" Al asks innocently. Dad shakes his head, a sad sigh leaving his lips.
"Oh, it's nothing like that," Dada answers sadly. "It's just he gets me a wallet every year for Christmas."
"How come?" I ask, interested.
"The year he got Alzheimer's, I told him I really needed a wallet so he got me one for Christmas that year," Dad explains. "That year tends to be the year his brain gets stuck on a lot, so he constantly thinks that I need a wallet."
"Oh," Al breathes.
"Are you gonna open what Papa got for Mom?" I ask. Dad shrugs.
"I don't know, Ed, maybe," Dad replies. "It's just, you know, we should be happy on Christmas and if I open something meant for Trish…. I don't know."
"Mom would want us to be happy," Al says. "So if opening Papa's present makes you sad, we shouldn't do it." Dad nods and we fall silent. He makes a turn and I decide to say,
"I understand why you stopped taking us to visit Papa."
"You do?" Dad asks.
"Yeah," I say sadly. "It's sad when he loses himself when we're talking to him."
"Loses himself," Dad muses sadly. "That's a good way of putting it, Ed."
"I don't know how else to say it, honestly," I laugh weakly.
"It is sorta like Papa just disappears sometimes," Al adds. "But, you know, Dada, even though it's sad, I wanna visit him more often. He's really nice and even though he's only gonna get worse, I wanna get to know him before it gets so bad he's nothing like he used to be." Dada's chin quivers and he nods.
"You are so mature sometimes, Al," he praises softly. "If that's what you boys want, we'll do it. We'll visit more often."
"Cool," I say, looking out my window. The sky is getting darker as we approach Aunt Edith's apartment and I realize I'm not anxious. I'm not scared. I'm excited to meet a part of my family I haven't seen in a long time.
"What's Christmas with your family like, Dad?" Al asks.
"We have dinner together and just spend time together afterword," Dad replies happily. "We drink coffee, share stories, and exchange gifts between those who brought them. It's a lot quieter than Christmas at Nana Elric's, that's for sure." I huff.
"That's partially 'cause you have less family than the Elric side," I scoff. Dad laughs – his dad laugh that makes me feel warm inside – and nods.
"Oh, I suppose that's true," Dada agrees. He parks the car and goes on, "Well, we're here. You boys okay?" I nod and so does Al.
"I'm a little anxious, but I'll be okay," Al says. "I'm with you." Dad nods and I can tell he's proud of Al.
"Then let's go," he says. We get out of the car, the sun almost completely gone by the time we reach the door.
I was scared that I had lost my Christmas spirit when I was a little kid. I was afraid that the abuse had killed that part of me and that no matter how much better I got or what happened, that part of me would never come back. Today, though, I think I learned that part of me survived. When I was sitting at Aunt Edith's table, laughing at her weird stories and meeting more of Dad's family, I felt that Christmas feeling I was terrified I couldn't feel anymore. I was hardly anxious all night and for the first time in a long time, I felt normal. I felt like myself. We had dinner, only about twenty other people joining us. Dada smiled and drank and told stories, and occasionally I even chimed in and told my own. Al was silly and the whole family enjoyed seeing us at Christmas for once. Al fell asleep almost as soon as we got in the car, but I watched as Chicago disappeared in our rearview mirror. Turns out the aquarium is closed on Christmas. But who cares. We'll come back and when we do, we'll go. I'm sure of it.