Fluffy white snow fell softly in large flakes. I it from my small bedroom window, ears pricked up in case someone discovered that I was out of bed so long my stupid seven o clock bedtime. It had begun just after midnight, painting the grungy old play park with the squeaky swings and the wonky slide in a soft, pale blanket. The littered tarmac of the road was hidden under a good few centimetres of beautiful, shimmering snow and for the first time, I really believed that the dingy neighbourhood we lived in was beautiful. Of course, I just knew it was going to snow tonight. It had to. What was a Christmas morning without a fresh blanket of pure white snow? Palms pressed right up against the window pane I fall asleep smiling to myself. I dream of soft pale clouds and delicate white flakes of snow.
Something was poking me. Hard.
"Dean! Wake up!" another sharp prod to my ride shoulder startles me and I shift positions in my still half asleep state.
"Go away, Sammy." I mumble groggily, tired green eyes staying firmly and decisively closed. "It`s too early. Go back to bed and leave me alone."
The younger boy`s thin lower lip trembled, fat tears threatening to fall. Sam was stood there with his arms crossed, hugging a brown and white teddy bear to his chest. The too long Batman pyjama bottoms must have been stolen form my draws because they hung loosely on his bony hips, the frayed ends dragging behind him on the rough floor. One foot was bare, the other was still partially covered by one fuzzy warm bed sock that had somehow managed to cling on. He may be tall and skinny, but he sure had big hands and feet. The kid was like a mini hurricane most of the time and it was my job to make sure he didn`t get himself into trouble. A huge responsibility for such a small child, but I didn`t mind.
"B-but it`s Christmas…" He pleads, pouting and opening his eyes impossibly wide, doing what I had lovingly christened the "Bambi look."
"Santa will have been with toys and I might have gotten that book I asked for and then we could spend the day curled up on the sofa and you could read it to me."
I sigh, but agree sleepily and drag myself away from the cold glass. It was a special day, Christmas Day and whatever adorable little Sammy wanted, he got. It didn`t matter that I was exhausted and was so tired I could quite happily curl back up against the frosty glass.
"Alright, but no hissy fits if you didn`t get everything you wanted, okay?"
There was no need for the stern warning, but Sam nods along quite happily anyway. Tired and aching from sleeping crushed up against the window, I stretch, groaning at the delicious feeling as my limbs and muscles reawaken. Wrapped almost painfully tightly around my ring finger was the usual waterproof plaster. Sammy often asked about it, but he was never supplied with any answers to his probing (nosy) questions.
"You go down and check to see if the big fat man has come. He might not have you know, you were pretty naughty this year. You might have been given coal instead of presents." I tease my pink, pointed tongue poking out briefly to taunt my younger brother that little bit more. No way the fat guy in the red suit hadn`t come. Sam was the best four year old I knew. Kind and funny and playful and he always, always did whatever he was told. The only one around here who might be getting coal in his stocking was me.
Sam stamps his bare foot. "He has too been." Sam huffs stomping his feet again, the remaining sock flying off onto the floor. "I was really good this year!"
Dean reaches out a chubby arm and ruffles his soft dark hair affectionately. "I know you have been, buddy. I was only joking."
He accepts this with his usual grin and hugs me tightly. Even though I was older than him by a year, he was still the same height as me and quickly overtaking.
"I`m going to wake up mum and dad!" Sam said cheerily before half running and half skipping away out of the untidy room and down the hallway.
"Yeah, you just do that, Sammy." I sigh miserably, absentmindedly rubbing at the too tight plaster.
I really didn`t see what the big problem was. Why my parents had tried to hide the name of my destined soul mate from me was a baffling mystery. Why mum got up extra early in the mornings before dropping us off at school and nursery just to apply a silly little bandage to one finger was something I couldn't make sense of. Not just one plaster, but three. Clearly what was written on my skin was something she really didn`t want anyone else finding out about, but why? James was a perfectly nice name, in my opinion. Much nicer than dad`s name. John was a horribly boring old man`s name. the reason had to be because it was a boy`s name and not a girl`s.
I still don`t understand why that was such a big problem to them.
Why did I have to keep my mark hidden? Why do I feel like I can't tell Sam about it? Because of our parent`s reaction towards it? Or were they right? Maybe I should keep it hidden. Maybe the other kids would pick me if they knew the truth.
When I get downstairs I can see that Santa Clause well and truly had visited in the night. Footprints had been made in the flour that Sam had point down to try and prove that he had been here and all that was left of the cookies we had left out was a few crumbs. The glass with the snowmen that I had picked out to put the milk in had been drank from and the bright orange carrots for the reindeer nowhere in sight.
Breakfast was typically fend for yourself, and Christmas Day was no exception. I make cups of coffee, one with sugar and one without for mum and dad while Sam pours us both some colourful, sugar filled cereal. The kind we were only allowed on weekends or Birthdays. I make my way upstairs slowly, narrowly avoiding tripping on a discarded pair of shoes on the top step, spilling a few scolding drops of coffee.
"I brought you both a drink." I tell them, forcing a convincing smile onto my lips.
"Thank you sweetie, now go and bring me the first aid kit so I can put your new plaster on while I let this cool." The pretty young lady smiles down at me but I feel cold. This wasn`t how it was supposed to be. Mothers and fathers were supposed to hold you when you were scared and read to you and kiss you and tell you they loved you unconditionally.
"Okay mum." I agree, but the word leaves a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.
Sam was delighted with his Christmas presents which was the main thing. Colourful mountains of crumpled and torn wrapping paper, cello tape and git tags littered the living room floor and piles and piles of open boxes stuffed with toys surrounded us. One or two of the smaller ones had my name on and so did a bike, but the rest belonged to Sam.
After the rubbish had been binned and dad has done his annual moaning about being woken up so early, we are told to scarper so they can enjoy a glass or two of wine and control of the television before dishing up the feast of turkey, vegetables and Yorkshire pudding.
"Go to the park and play on your new bike. Don`t forget to let Sam have a go."
"Yes Sir." As if I wouldn`t let Sammy have a ride on my new bike. He was likely to have the first ever shot if he pulled out the old Bambi eyes.
The park wasn`t far, just across the road. I had the perfect view of it from my bedroom window. A lot of the time when I was bored or couldn`t sleep I would climb out of bed and just sit there staring out at it for hours like I had done last night. It was usually overflowing was small children, pushchairs and the defeated looking parents, but it was still really early and anyone who was awake was still likely to be opening their new toys Santa had brought them. I push my bike along beside me and lay it down carefully by the swings.
"Wear this helmet, ok?"
"Okay." Sam nods and takes hold of the cherry red safety helmet I had been offering him. His chubby four year old fingers struggle to fasten the buckle so I do it for him and help him clamber up onto the seat. I place one hand on the handlebar over his smaller one. The other was placed firmly on his back so there was no way he could fall off.
"I will push you but you still have to pedal, alright?"
He nods excitedly, clearly anxious to get going. When he has gotten the hang of it I sit down on one of the swings. The rusty metal chains creak under the weight as I begin to sway back and forth, keeping a watchful eye on Sammy at all times.
The clicking of the metal gate alerts me to the fact that someone else has just entered. It was another boy, maybe a year or two older than me with dark, windswept hair that partially covered his blue and a long winter coat at least two sizes too big for him. The outfit was completed with knee high snow boots, a rainbow bobble had and matching gloves. Checking on Sam once more I wander over to the slightly older boy, leaving the creaky old swing behind me. He was playing in the sandpit, despite the snow and the fact that everybody knew local cats came and peed in it. He was rolling up three separate balls of snow and sand not caring that the two different materials were all mixed together.
"Weird kind of snowman." I comment, cautiously sitting down on the ground next to him. I didn`t want to sit on cat wee. Or possibly even worse.
The corners of his chapped lips threaten to curve upwards into a smile. "Yes, it is rather."
He continues silently building his half snow half sandman and I carry on watching him, mesmerized. Halfway through he takes of his multi-coloured gloves and tucks them away in his pocket.
"Why do you have girl`s gloves?" I question. This kid was weird, but at the same time he was really very interesting.
"They are my sister`s. Her name is Anna. She doesn`t like the cold or the wet very much so she let me borrow them."
"Oh."
He puts the second biggest mound of snow on top of the slightly larger one, patting down some of the sand and snow to secure it down. Something draws my attention to his left hand. I can`t put my finger on what it is that seem wrong about it at first but when I do my heart stops.
He sees me looking and tilts his head as though he were confused. ""What is it?"
"Y-your finger. You don`t have one!"
He frowns. "I don`t have a finger? Dean, I have five."
I was too freaked out to notice that he called me by my name.
"Yes, but on your left finger you don`t have a name."
To check I grab hold of his hand and stare at the finger in-between the long slender middle one and the dinky little pinkie. Nothing. Nada. I couldn`t explain it, but my throat suddenly felt dry and my head was spinning. My heart did a weird leap and I dropped his hand as though it had stung me.
"Shouldn`t you be keeping an eye on your brother?" he swiftly changes the subject.
My eyes widen in horror. How could I possibly have forgotten about Sam?!
"He`s fine, look he is over there riding round and round the climbing frame." He points with a long skinny arm and goes back to his creation.
"Wait, you little jerk! Answer my question!" I demand, grabbing him my both shoulders and shaking just roughly enough to frighten him but not to hurt him. I got into fights a lot on the playground, but I didn`t want to with this weird boy for some reason. Not this boy with the bright blue eyes and the funny hat and the oversized coat.
"How can I answer your question when you haven't ask me one, Dean?"
This time I do notice that he calls me by my name.
"How do you know my name and why don`t you have a soul mate mark on your finger?" I ask, ripping off my plaster in one smooth motion to show him mine. Only it wasn`t there anymore.