The Red Thread (19 page)

“Wow, Mom. This all looks amazing.”

She turns around and smiles. Strands of hair stick to her sweaty face. She’s doing this all for me. How can I thank her for all of this?

“Do you need help?” I offer.

She nods and soon I’m at work right beside her, cracking some eggs and breaking chicken cutlets. Mom, Clara, and I sit around in the kitchen and we laugh and talk. Dad is asleep in his armchair while the parade is on television.

No one comes over to our Thanksgiving feast. At dinner, we each go around and state what we are all thankful for, and my mom says she is thankful to have me back home. Everyone says they are thankful to have me home, and I want to believe them. I want to be happy in life. I want to be normal.

I
need
to be normal.

A MONTH
goes by, and I wake up on Christmas morning with a smile on my face. This is the first time in years I’ve been excited for the holiday. I turn over to see Adam’s gift wrapped up and a card lying on top. We made plans to have a small minicelebration tonight. After dinner with my family, I will walk over to his apartment, and we’re going to be together. My first Christmas with someone, and it’s exquisite. Only my favorite word seems about right. I like this new happyish me. It’s much better than the morose, sullen version that I’ve always lived with. Today is just a wonderful day, and I am glad to be alive.

For the past month I’ve been happy, and it feels so nice. I feel like I’m almost a human being. Clara went back to school for a few weeks, after Thanksgiving, but now she’s back home once more. It seems like she just can’t stay away from her family.

I’ve been spending every free moment I have with Adam. I start off every day with a text from him and then we meet up when we can. Every little moment we catch is pure magic.

The rest of the morning goes along superlatively. Superlative is the word of the day. I think it goes along pretty well with how I’m feeling right now.

Superlative; adj.

Excellent, magnificent, wonderful, marvelous, supreme, consummate, outstanding, remarkable, fine, choice, prime, unsurpassed, unequaled, unparalleled, unrivaled, preeminent, wicked, brilliant.

Antonyms: mediocre.

For example: Adam makes me feel superlative. And it feels damn great.

I finally get myself out of bed, and I find my way downstairs into the living room, where a few gifts are stacked in a messy pile. There isn’t a ton, but it’s a decent amount for just the four of us. Mom hands me a cup of tea, just the way I like it, and I thank her. I take a seat on the couch right next to my sister, her long hair kept back in a ponytail. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I throw my arm over her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas,” she says in a sleep-filled voice.

“Merry Christmas, Clara.”

“What did you get me?” she asks with a small smile.

“Nothing,” I say with a laugh.

“Bastard.”

She grabs a pillow and hits me against the chest.

“Bitch.”

“You deserved that one, Jess.”

Mom sits on the couch on the other side of the room and she sips her own cup of tea. The taste of my tea is soothing to my insides, and especially my mind. I need my mind to be at ease because I hear my father’s footsteps walking downstairs, and then he appears at the entrance to the living room. He sits on the couch next to Mom.

“Who wants to open their gift first?” Mom asks us.

“I want Jess to open mine.”

Clara jumps from her spot on the couch and grabs a rectangular gift from the pile of presents. My name is written in a beautiful cursive along the wrapping paper.

“I hope you love it.”

I unwrap the gift to see a novel. It’s an old-fashioned hardcover novel, my favorite kind. They are always so classy, in my opinion. I run my fingers over the silver words etched into the novel.

“Thank you so much, Clara.”

I pull her into a hug, catching her by surprise. I’m never one to start a hug. She hugs me back and smiles.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you. An old-fashioned novel screams your name. I know it isn’t anything much—”

“No.” I cut her off. “It’s perfect. Really, thank you.”

The gifts are exchanged, and it’s just a good morning that leaves me content. My family is surprised and happy when I hand them each a gift. I don’t get them anything much, but I wanted to do a little something after all my craziness they’ve had to put up. My mom gets an antique teacup I saw her looking at when we were in Knickety-Knacks. I went back later that day to buy it. I bought my father a DVD season of
Law & Order: SVU
. That show is his obsession. He smiles and tells me he loves it. I smile as my sister opens her gift—a silver chain necklace, with a small heart pendant. She seems so happy when she opens it, and she has me put it on for her right away.

For the first time in years, we seem like a normal, happy family. I pretend like none of this past shit has happened, and it just feels great. I feel like a new guy, living a new life. It’s nice to just be with my family. For once, we can celebrate Christmas. Last Christmas was a disaster. I just sat in a corner quiet all day and wouldn’t say a word. The Christmas before that, I wouldn’t leave my room. I want to stay like this. I want to keep my parents happy. Everyone seems so happy, and right now it seems like one of those picture-worthy moments you always see. You know, those cheesy pretaken pictures in frames that can be sold at your everyday Target or Walmart.

I look at my parents as they sit on the couch. They smile at each other, and I watch as my father kisses my mom. When he is around her, his tough exterior seems to disappear. My mom used to tell me when I was a child that they were soul mates. For me those are like the idea of fate.

Soul mates. Fate. The universe. I just don’t know. People always talk about the idea of someone having
the one
, but is that possible? Is there really only one person for each of us out there? If so, then shouldn’t there not be any divorce, or do most people make a mistake the first, second, third, whatever time. People say that it’s in the stars and that God brings us together. The universe is so expansive, that if there
is
a God, which I doubt there is, why would he care about any of us? And especially about whom we date?

What happened to me being happy and wanting to stay that way? I really kind of suck at doing this whole happy shtick. Adam is always so happy; I should take notes from him and see how he does it.

As we all sit down to breakfast I laugh and joke along with the rest of my family. I try to get away from my dark feelings. I just don’t get why it’s so hard for me to escape them. Everyone else I know has such an easy time being happy, but with me I might as well be dragging a two-ton boulder up a steep mountain. I think that would be easier to keep doing. No matter how good everything is, that darkness always manages to seep its way through into my light. It is like it’s ripping through to say “Hello. Fuck you.”

“Jess?”

I look up to see everyone staring at me. Each face is concerned.

“Yeah?”

“I was calling your name before,” Mom says.

“Oh sorry, I was thinking.”

I see everyone’s faces turn white. Me thinking is like an atomic bomb waiting to go off, and my body is just Japan waiting for the effects to take over.

“Don’t worry. I don’t have plans to off myself again,” I joke. I awkwardly laugh, but no one makes a comment afterward. “Too soon?”

Everyone ignores me. Geez, if we can’t joke about this, then what can we do?

“I was wondering if you would like to invite Adam over for dinner?”

“Tonight? Me and him already sort of made plans.”

“Not tonight, but one night soon. I would like for us all to really get to know this boy you’ve been seeing.”

It never crossed my mind that now that Adam is my boyfriend, he’d be meeting my family. I guess it’s about time. I just hope I don’t do anything to embarrass myself in front of everyone. Most people are afraid their family will embarrass them, but not me. They are normal; I’m not.

“Yeah, I’ll ask him. It could be cool.”

“Lovely.” Mom seems so happy. I like when I can do that to her.

I really do like how she is trying to be respectful and appreciative of my newfound relationship. I think she might just be happy that I actually met someone for a change. My mom has told me that all she wants is for me to truly be happy in life. That is all I want too, Mom.

That is all I want too.

Breakfast comes to an end, and we all sit together in the living room and watch a movie. Every Christmas morning we watch
A Christmas Carol
, the 1951 version with Alastair Sim. We don’t have a lot of traditions. We don’t decorate, nor do we put up a tree, but every year we watch the same film, and that is the only tradition we have. And every year, later that day, I go up to my room and watch my personal favorite Christmas film, a slasher film from 1974 called
Black Christmas
. Who doesn’t love some terror mixed in with their Christmas joy?

As the movie comes to an end, I watch as Mom wipes a tear from her eye. No matter what, she always tears up at the end, even if she has seen this movie a billion times. You would think it would lose its emotional resonance after a while. Oh well, my mom is an emotional person with movies.

I’ve caught her many times late at night sitting in the living room and watching her DVD of
Titanic
. I think a part of her wishes she could have a time like that again, before I went totally insane. A time when I was innocent and looked at her like she was God. After all, every child thinks of its mother as God.

The rest of the day passes by, not feeling anything like a holiday. I bring my opened gifts—all clothes and books—up to my bedroom. I hang up the clothes and add the books to the piles of books sitting around my room. This has been a nice Christmas… well, compared to the many years of Christmases that felt like I was already locked up in a hospital before I actually was.

That’s the thing about depression; it’s not that you’re just sad. It’s like you’re locked up inside yourself with no escape.

It ruins lives.

I am not the only one who is having a good Christmas, though. Two days ago, Nick drove down to see Alex, and they spent the day together, and I know Nick slept over as well. I hung out with them for an hour, and Alex just radiated happiness. He and Nick held hands the entire time and even kissed every once in a while. It made me long for Adam to share a secret kiss with as well. I’m just happy for my friend now. When you see Alex’s smile even at the mention of Nick’s name, it’s like there is nothing but pure happiness inside his body. He’s always been one to fall fast. It’s the problem of being a hopeless romantic.

The next morning, Nick drove back to his grandmother’s.

I sit in my room and read the new novel my sister has bought me. It’s not bad but might be a little too melodramatic for me. It’s one of those classic love stories, but everything is so damn perfect, and all these characters have such great lives with no obstacles. It’s boring. I don’t want to read about perfection. If I want to read a romance, I want to read about the obstacles they must overcome to get to one another. Life is hard, and while novels are supposed to be an escape, I still want to see the hardship of life in there. Maybe I should be a writer. I at least know the basic functions of writing. I used to write short stories as a kid, and my mom and sister loved them. They were all these fantastical little things that could only come from a child’s mind. They were all pretty much the same. There was always a young handsome knight who fought off evil witches and dragons and had to go through a castle full of evil henchmen to get to the princess he loves. It was basically
Super Mario Brothers
, but with more sword fighting and a less annoying princess. Seriously, what is up with Peach? To get kidnapped that much, she just isn’t worth it. She must’ve been good in bed or something for Mario to always go back for her. I don’t really have any of these stories anymore, but I think Mom kept some of them. Knowing her, she probably scrapbooked them or put them in a photo album.

When I was in high school, I took a creative writing class with Alex. It was Mr. Hartwell’s class. It wasn’t very big, and he was the only person who taught the class. Wilshire High School didn’t exactly have a big elective program. Creative writing seemed the most fun to me, and I actually did love it for a semester. I got really into writing some of those stories, and the teacher even admitted that some of them were pretty damn good. He said I
showed real talent
.

He also thought my stories were fantasy. Most of them were about a young man with a mental illness. He never once assumed the characters were based off me and my batty life.

I close the book and place it on my nightstand. It’s okay, but the perfect lives of the characters are starting to annoy me now, more than it did before. I just want to strangle them and tell them to shut up. Geez.

I hear my phone go off, and I look to see a text from Alex.

Merry Christmas—Alex

I wish him a happy holiday, and I also text Tommy. He doesn’t respond, so apparently he still doesn’t want to talk to Alex or me.

Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!!!

Adam’s text comes in, and it’s dorky and cute as usual. I love how even in text, his personality completely shines through his words.

Merry Christmas, Adam!
I text back immediately. I never like to waste time when it comes to texting him.

How is your holiday?

Mine is well; how is yours?

Great! I’m with my Uncle Martin now. He says hello! He can’t wait to meet you.

What do I say to that? When I finally meet his uncles, what will they think about me? They’re probably not even going to think I’m good enough for their nephew. I mean, I’m just this insane guy who got out of the hospital. Who wants
that
dating their family member? I know exactly what Adam’s uncles will think the moment they meet me:
Who is this guy dating my nephew? He’s not good enough.