(From A Christmas Surprise, Chapter 9)
The first gift he'd ever opened! Part of him wanted to freeze this moment in time and commemorate it so that this wonderful feeling of anticipation could remain. But, remembering the excitement and eagerness of his friends, he grasped the lid of the box carefully and lifted it up and away, revealing the gift within.
Holding the lid aloft for a moment, as if hesitant to proceed, the hunter gazed at the delicate tissue paper beneath. 'Where did they get white tissue paper?' a small part of his brain questioned, but then he realized that white tissue paper probably wasn't high on the list of priorities during a zombie apocalypse. Catching himself before his thoughts rambled further, he reached down to place the lid on the floor beside himself before reaching in to part the fragile paper in order to reveal the present underneath.
Paper moved, his eyes widened as he realized just what that gift was. Reaching in, he grasped the edge of one of the fingerless gloves and held it aloft. He could feel the soft wool beneath his fingers, the warm brown a neutral color that would blend in nicely with his surroundings when he wore them hunting. And suddenly he realized that whoever had given these gloves to him had intentionally eliminated the fingers so that he could wear them while hunting and tracking. They were made especially for him! Turning them over in his hands and rubbing his thumbs against the soft yarn, Daryl was incredibly touched at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. 'For me,' he thought. Someone made these just for me!
Looking up through the fringe of his hair, his gaze swept the room, wondering who he should thank. Though everyone looked excited and happy—for him—he couldn't tell who might have done this for him. And it was obvious that no one was going to take credit. They all seemed to be sticking to the idea that all his gifts were 'from Santa'. Smiling to himself, his meanderings were cut short when he felt another package nudging his arm. Looking down, he spied yet another gaily wrapped package covered with Santa Clauses. Placing the gloves on the seat beside himself, he took the new package-this one lumpy and misshapen.
More than an hour later, surrounded by colorful wrapping paper, ribbons, and boxes, Daryl allowed himself to relax a bit, leaning back in his chair and surveying his bounty. He couldn't believe it—sitting at his feet was a mound of gifts, all for him. From 'Santa'! Well, from his friends. He knew that. But the illusion to the old guy in the red suit, someone who'd never been part of his own life, was comforting. Comforting because for the first time in his life, the little boy hidden away inside the hunter didn't feel different and unwanted. Because of his friends he'd been given the greatest gift he'd ever received—a real and true Christmas. And it wasn't over! There was much more to come. A tiny thrill of anticipation ran through him as he thought ahead to the Christmas festivities he had to look forward to.
Casting his gaze around the room, he looked at his friends, each with their own presents, though none of the piles was as large as his he noticed with a feeling of warmth inside. This, he realized, was what he'd always seen on tv. A family. A family enjoying Christmas together with the tree and all the decorations, Christmas music playing softly in the background, snow outside, and family and fellowship inside. And the presents! Glancing down at his pile of presents, he shook his head in wonder, still not quite believing this was really happening. The knowledge of all that his friends had done to make this day a reality for him—to give him that traditional Christmas he'd yearned for—warmed him to his very soul.
Seeing the happy smiles on his friends' faces, he didn't realize that they were responding to the expression of delight he, himself, wore on his own face. The usually solemn hunter had no idea that at that moment he truly did look like a child experiencing his first Christmas. All he knew was that so far this had been the best day of his life. Well worth waiting for!
Suddenly, though, he realized that while he knew there was more to come, he didn't quite understand what those things were, or when they would happen. Feeling a tiny flicker of panic start to well up inside him again, the hunter took a deep breath, quelling the emotion before it could take over. Deep breaths, he told himself, over and over, even as he tried his best to follow his own command. In and out, deep breaths. There. Sensing that his burgeoning panic was beginning to dissipate, Daryl inhaled deeply one last time, feeling more in control of the situation and chiding himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him—again. At least this time he'd managed to nip it in the bud before it became an issue, even though he sometimes felt as if all that negativity and self-deprecation were always present, just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known.
Glancing around the room he realized that no one was the wiser. He'd calmed himself down, was feeling better, and no one even seemed to realize what had happened. Feeling a bit more confident, he allowed himself to smile tentatively, not noticing the concerned look Carol and Rick sent each other. Not sure what was expected of him now, and what was next on the agenda, he was just preparing to ask when Carl answered his question for him.
"Daryl! Look! It's a Night of the Living Dead Monopoly game. We have 'got' to play. I love this game! It goes on and on and on. And I win a lot so get ready for it! You've got to experience this."
Looking over at the teenager, Daryl scanned the box in his hands. He couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the title.
"We don't have to play a game to experience a night of livin' dead. Ain't we been livin' it? Why we gotta play a game to experience it?"
His comment brought laughs from around the room and the hunter felt his remaining tension dissolve. Getting into the spirit of the moment, he continued.
"We can just step outside the walls without our weapons and have our own night of the livin' dead."
Laughing along with the rest of the group, Carl stepped over boxes and wrapping paper as he made his way to the hunter's side. Holding the box closer to his friend, he pointed to various pictures on the lid.
"Look. This is so neat. Instead of houses and hotels you can buy small barricades and large barricades. And you can choose which zombie you want to be. All the pieces represent the different zombies in the film. Even though I never saw it, but I wanted to. A kid at school saw it, but his mom and dad didn't know. Came in and told the rest of us all about it. It sounded so cool."
Shaking his head in amazement, Daryl marveled over the teenager's ability to completely disregard the absurdity of playing a game about a zombie apocalypse in the middle of a real zombie apocalypse. But then he realized that the game was one of Carl's gifts, and that meant that someone actually gave it to him. Laughing to himself, he marveled over the incongruity of the situation.
Rising out of his chair, Daryl took a few steps over to the coffee table before planting himself on the floor.
"Okay, kid. Show me how to play the game." Looking around the room at the others, he pointed to the board Carl had just placed on the surface in front of them. "Anyone want to join us?
Realizing, out of the corner of his eye, that the movement had stopped next to him, he glanced around to see that Carl had stopped in the process of setting up the game and was now staring at him with his mouth open.
"What?"
"Daryl! Are you saying you've never played Monopoly? Everyone's played Monopoly! It's like…like…like one of the American pastimes. Monopoly and baseball. How can you not know how to play?"
So caught up was he in his tirade, the teenager failed to notice the shuttered expression that suddenly appeared on the hunter's face. The quiet but jovial Daryl of a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by the quiet, guarded Daryl.
"And besides…"
"Carl!"
Stopping midsentence, the teen looked over to his father, recognizing the look of warning being sent his way. Seeming to realize how he'd come across, the boy closed his mouth and ducked his head and it was evident to those present that he was mentally kicking himself for his outburst. Evident to everyone but Daryl, who had ducked his head and was hiding behind his curtain of hair, looking down at the floor in an awkward silence.
Everyone else followed suit, biting their tongues and saying nothing, seeming to all wait and see what the result of Carl's diatribe was going to be. The jovial atmosphere was on hold, as an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Even the music, which had been playing softly in the background came to an end, calling attention to the sudden lack of conversation. For a moment, no one seemed to know what to do, whether or not they should say anything to fill the uncomfortable quiet of the room. Daryl still sat silently, head down, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he visibly tried to control his breathing and his emotions.
"Daryl…"
Carol.
"Hey, don't pay attention to Carl."
Rick.
He knew they meant well, but their good intentions didn't matter at that moment. All Daryl could consider was that his initial fears were well-founded. Carl was right. Who didn't know how to play a simple board game? He didn't, that's who. Daryl Dixon, redneck trash. Hell, he'd never owned a game in his life and he was certainly never asked to play one with any of the kids he went to school with. To them he was 'trashy Dixon'—someone to avoid. And growing up, the kids in his neighborhood weren't the type to play board games of any kid. And even if they were, they wouldn't have invited him to play anyway. He was one of the Dixons and people avoided the Dixons like the plague.
Sensing himself suddenly drowning in negative emotions, the hunter continued to sit still as a stone, convincing himself that maybe this had all been a mistake after all. So consumed was he with negativity about his various failings and inadequacies, he didn't even feel the warmth of the hand that was suddenly on his shoulder, squeezing gently.