Remembrance
By Caroline Billard
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011/2012 Caroline Billard
Cover art copyright © Lukas Hardes
http://sed-rah-stock.deviantart.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher.
For my mother,
thank you for your love and support.
One can never expect what twists they will be surprised with during their life.
Wes, a young adult, overlooked the simpler things in life. He was a typical teenager, just wanting to live; to not care about much, to do whatever he could and to keep things interesting. While he was not a terrible person, Wes was ignorant and lived without many cares. Never could he have guessed what was to become of him.
A completely unexpected snow storm caused panic within victimized areas. Applewood, a small town in northern Vermont, was hit with slick ice acting as a shell on the roads and snow covering everywhere else. It being late October, no one was prepared for such a thing.
After an unavoidable car accident, Wes was left in a hospital, lucky to be alive. Seemingly fine besides a couple of cuts and bruises on the surface, everyone was surprised when he woke up, only to find that he had no memory of anyone or anything, besides his mother.
Once fully recovered and released from the hospital, Wes was thrown back into the world with a huge task at hand: re-learn what life is all about.
New insights on society, nature and just the world in general are found as he ventures deeper into newly found thoughts. Even the simplest of things are taken to the heart and have a profound impact on Wes.
Lessons, new wonders, and re-living the best moments one could have, Remembrance is inspired by life and everything that happens in it.
Chapter 1
“Where am I?”
Wes rubbed his aching head and sat up where he lay, just waking up from a deep sleep. Jolts of pain shot up and down his spine, causing him to fall back into the soft pillows behind him. For a moment, he was motionless, staring at the ceiling. Sighing, he pushed himself up again, this time in a gradual, less painful manor, and looked around. Slowly, he realized that he was not home. He was in a hospital. No one else was in the room, creating a sense of fear. What happened? Panic quickly consumed him, causing more pain and an increased heart rate. The pace of the beeps from the monitor beside his bed rapidly gained speed, not helping the situation. He’d always hated hospitals.
A nurse in the hallway swiftly responded, running into the room and shouting, “He’s awake!” Immediately, the nurse came into the room with a doctor following. They rushed to Wes’s bedside, coaxing him to lie down again. Looking to another nurse walking by the door, the doctor commanded, “Call Patient 448’s home and get his family down here immediately.” His attention was hurriedly turned back to the teenager.
“Everything’s fine. Glad to see you’re awake. Just stay calm.”
Closing everything out for a few moments, Wes took a few deep breaths, chafing already irritated, strained eyes. Beeps became less common from the heart rate machine. Obviously stressed, Wes got sympathetic looks from the hospital staff. Unclenching his jaw, he directly addressed the medical team. “Tell me: where I am, what’s going on, and how I got here. Go.”
“You’re in the Manchester Memorial Hospital, in the town over from Applewood. We brought you here after a car accident almost killed you and left you in a coma for a few days. I can see you’re recovering quickly… You’re quite alert— a healthy sign.” He looked at the monitor screen, observing a normal heart rate. “Good…” the doctor whispered under his breath.
“What’s Applewood?” inquired Wes, who was presenting a look of confusion on his face. “What accident? Coma? Wha—”
“Relax,” said the man in the white coat. “Just relax.” He tapped the nurse’s shoulder and twitched his head towards the door. The two walked out of the room and closed the door behind them. With windows surrounding the room, Wes could easily see that they were talking about him, apparent from their glances back at him a few times during their discussion. Listening closely, he could hear a bit of what the doctor was saying:
“He doesn’t seem to remember much… not even his own hometown. It’s odd… he’s alert, a good sign, but his memory seems to be lacking, obviously seen by his confusion…” The short back-and-fourth talk ended and before long they were in the room once more. The nurse pulled up a chair next to Wes’s bed, clipboard and pen at hand, and the doctor took a standing place next to her.
“Hun,” the young woman started, “You know your name, right?”
Wes rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Wes Huxley.”
She scribbled on the paper held by the clipboard. “Do you remember anything from before you woke up just now?”
A moment of silence turned into two, and two into three. No response came from the teenager. No memories surfaced. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and his jaw was soon clasped again. The nurse wrote on the paper again, frowning. “Take a second and think about anything— anything you remember before waking up.”
“Uhh,” Wes was stumped. “…my mother. I remember my mother…” he stopped, and then looked at the nurse with a piercing glance. Nothing more came; he couldn’t remember anything else. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Her blue eyes subtlety filled with water as she looked at the lost patient. She glimpsed at the doctor, he nodded. As she was about to speak, a tall woman with dark auburn hair and light green eyes burst into the room. Spotting Wes, tears rolled down her cheeks. In a flash, she was beside him, stroking his shaggy russet hair, murmuring, “My baby, my son…” He looked at her with soft eyes, a small smile appearing. “Mom…”
“Ms. Huxley,” the doctor said, grabbing her attention, “Wes seems to be fine. He’s awake and alert, but he’s going to be a little sore. Bed rest should fix that…” trailing off, the man sulked, lowering his head and turning away. Immediate concern flushed over Wes’s mother, whose gaze pierced the doctor. “What? What is it?”
“Well, Sara, it seems that, from tests we just conducted, we’ve come to a discovery about your son…” Wes intently listened, the nurse took a few steps back and the mother stood motionless over her child. “It seems that Wes lost all memory of what happened before the accident. He only remembers you; nothing from right before the crash, or anything before that. He most likely remembers most skills and lessons acquired from school, his speech is fine, but no personal memories are coming up.”
Wes looked at his mother, harshly hit by the conclusion. “I’m sorry, everything’s just blank… I just want to go wherever home is.”
“It’s okay, Honey…” she sat on the edge of the hospital bed, one hand on Wes’s shoulder. “We’ll go home soon…” she turned to the doctor. “When can he be checked out?”
“Later today, after we conduct a few more tests… otherwise, he’s fine. Keep him on bed rest; make sure he takes his pain medication. After a few days, he should be back on his feet without a problem. The only thing is…”
“He has to be re-taught what life is all about? Everything he’s known before now, trying to patch together a shattered memory?”
“Yes… and that. Ms. Huxley, I’m sure it’s just temporary… we’ll call you again when you’re son can come home.”
A somewhat cold stare was exchanged between the two, but Wes’s mother got up and kissed her son on the forehead, telling him, “I’ll be back soon. I love you.” She walked away, out of the room and down the hall.
“Love you, too…”
* * *
“Keep us updated on anything that changes,” a short man at a desk told Wes as he checked the former patient out of the hospital. Reaching under his desk, the man pulled out a spiral notebook and handed it to the teenager. “Use this, too. Write down anything that comes to mind. Like a journal.”
Wes nodded in response and took the book, even though he wasn’t really listening to what he was being told. “Thanks…” said Wes, softly. He scanned the area, looking for the one familiar face that would take him home. A small, sporty car pulled up in front of the automatic doors, and soon his mother walked in.
Hurriedly, she filled out any last paperwork, and both she and Wes signed the final release signatures. The receptionist called as they were walking out of the building, “Have a nice day!”
Once they got outside, Wes’s mother faced him, tears in her eyes again. With no hesitation she hugged him tightly, then kissed his cheek and looked him the eyes. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Honey,” She told him. “If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I would do…”
Wes smiled. He could feel the unconditional love that his mother had for him. She returned the smile with another hug before they got in the car. “Let’s go home,” Sara announced. She buckled herself in and stepped lightly on the gas petal. Not going far before stopping, the protective mother shot a look at her son. “Seatbelt.”
“Huh?” Wes responded dazedly. His mother tugged at her own seatbelt. “Oh, right…” Pulling the belt down, he fastened the metal clip in. “Never ride without a seatbelt,” Ms. Huxley warned, as most parents would.
“Yeah, I kno-”
“Always wear one.”
“Got it.”
While the concern over how important it is to wear a seatbelt is something all parents preach to their children, this time it meant so much more. After just getting out of the hospital because of a car accident, one that could have easily ended Wes’s life, any precaution would be taken to keep him safe.
Soon the hospital was out of sight from the rear-view mirrors, and the two were on their way home. The car ride was quiet; Wes was still dazed from everything and his mother was carrying such a mix of emotions that she didn’t talk much, because she didn’t know how she would carry herself.
Wes tapped his fingers on the armrest by the window, near the passenger seat controls. He watched the world pass by outside as they sped down an empty road. Tall snow banks had formed on the side of the roads, and no bare ground could be seen. A blanket of snow covered everything but the road. Finally, a voice broke the silence.
“What’s today?” Wes asked, referring to the date.
“October. October 26th, 2011,” was the given reply.
“Then why is there snow on the ground?”
The response was quick, “It wasn’t supposed to snow... No one predicted it. A couple of completely unexpected storms followed each other. Not only were they unexpected, but they were powerful as well. Some people still don’t have power. We’ve got our generator running on our house, though, so we don’t have to worry about heat or electricity.”
“Hmm…” he reflected on what he was told about storm for a bit, then changed thoughts, “So… our town…”
“You don’t remember?”
“Not really…”
Sara took a breath. “That’s fine… well, we live in a small town called Applewood. It’s quiet; everyone knows each other, like a tight-knit community, just a bit bigger. It’s a very pleasant place to live, without a doubt. The holidays are celebrated with passion, especially Christmas.”
Wes nodded. He knew what Christmas was, but had no recollection of any that he has taken part in. Something to look forward to, I guess.
Another half an hour passed by and not much talking had taken place. Almost falling asleep, Wes’s head began to nod to one side, but he tried his best to stay awake. While not going to sleep, he rested his eyes after he found a comfortable spot for his head against the window. The glass was cold, but he didn’t mind. The cooling was more relaxing than bothersome.
“There it is,” a sharp, yet soft sound hit Wes, causing him to jolt and sit up in the seat, moaning, “Whaa-?”
His mother raised an eyebrow for a moment, and then decided to elaborate. “Applewood. Right through those trees.” Pointing, Wes followed her direction and saw a few small buildings. There was only one main road connecting Applewood with the rest of the world— Main Street. The rest of the town had a web of smaller roads to get around, but they never cut through the evergreen forest surrounding Applewood.
They made their way into the town, navigating a few narrow roads to get to a small, wooden house. All of the homes in Applewood were made from timber, creating a cluster of log cabin-looking homes. Business buildings were brick. As the car pulled into a slushy driveway, a person that was sitting on the front porch got up and started moving towards the car. Wes and his mother parked and got out of the car, and the two went to meet the short, old woman that was waiting.
Not completely sure who the person was and why she was there, Wes couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you..?”
The older woman stepped up in front of the boy and rested both hands on his shoulders. “You don’t even remember your Gramma?” She smiled, but there was still a dull tone to her voice.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really remember anyone… Gramma.”
“It’s okay dear,” A light hug was given. “You’ll remember, in time.” Wes returned the hug and nodded. Gramma looked at Wes, and then turned to her daughter, saying, “Now, it’s freezing out; I’m going back inside. C’mon, I’ll make everyone some hot chocolate…”
The older woman led the way into the cozy home. Immediately to the left as they walked in was the living room, which held two small couches, a huge rug in the center adorned with a glass coffee table, and a beautiful fireplace. A small fire burned, adding welcoming warmth to the cabin-like home.
“Take a seat.” Mrs. Huxley told Wes, leading him to the couch. Gramma made her way to the kitchen and began to boil water.
“So, I’m home…”
The mother nodded, sitting next to her son on the couch. Both watched the fire dance in its memorizing way, and enjoyed the warmth it gave. It was much better inside than outside. An early winter is never pleasant, but a nice fire can lighten any glum day.
“It’s sad that I didn’t remember how nice my home is.”
“Well, now you get to enjoy it as much as you did when we first moved in.”
Wes nodded. A few moments later, Gramma walked in carrying three mugs of perfectly made hot chocolate. Not too hot, not too cool, just enough chocolate and three large marshmallows with a hat of whipped cream. Gramma sat on the couch opposite from her daughter and grandson, not wasting time to start sipping on the delightful drink.
“This is amazing!” Wes complimented after taking a gulp of his hot chocolate, leaving a mustache of cream.
“Always is.” His mother chimed, flashing a grin.
Gramma nodded in satisfaction, “Damn strait.” She always had a little attitude, but that was her; everyone loved Gramma. One could never find her grim or upset— she was always the one bringing joy to others, even if there was some sarcasm involved. The small family laughed as the night continued, slowly sipping on their early-winter beverages and talking until the fire was only embers.
Chapter 2
November, the harvest month, was difficult for Wes. He had skipped the Halloween celebrations, and was soon back at school once he fully, physically recovered. Though he wasn’t sure how to react to being thrown in a prison of learning without a choice, as well as being tested on things he wouldn’t need to know in the real world to pursue a career, he had to go.
Because everything is so close in town, everyone walked to school, or was driven by a parent. The money not used on bus routes was instead used to fund more arts and activities. Although it was small, the school had a lot of opportunities for the students.
Also, because it was a small town, one school held every grade from second through 12th. There was a separate building for preschool through first grade. The brick building was two stories and widely spread out, almost separated into two different buildings; one side had the younger grades, second through seventh and the other had the eighth through 12th.
Classes were small. At most, for a whole grade, there would be about 75 students— and that was the very high end of the scale. Applewood was a small, cozy town, not a growing city. No one bothered expanding it, not many people were moving in, and not many were moving out. The town was barely on the map. The major problem was the weather; a lot of people wouldn’t enjoy the weather there, especially the winters. It was too cold for most peoples’ taste.
No one really minded that it was a small town. In fact, they thought it was nice that everyone got the chance to know one another and form a tightly-knit community. “Appleites” could depend on each other.
When Wes arrived at school, there was another person standing at the front doors of the right wing of the school— the “high school” side. She was average height with long, dark brown, almost black, hair and glinting hazel eyes. She seemed to be waiting for someone, because she anxiously looked at every stopping car to see who would be getting out, and scanned every face walking past her on the sidewalk. As Wes approached the school, the girl caught sight of him and became ecstatic. Running to him with open arms, she wrapped them around Wes and lightly squeezed him. The embrace confused Wes, and he wondered why this strange girl was hugging him.
“Wes, I’m so glad to see that you’re okay! You were in the hospital for a while, and I visited, but you were out cold. Then I heard you came home, but I figured I’d let you stay with your family without any visitors for a bit, so I reckoned today would be a great day to hang out. Are you feeling better?”
“Uhhh…” Wes gently pushed her away and took a step back. “I don’t know who you are, so that was really weird…”
At first a blank expression was shown on the girl’s face. Then, she was struck with a thought, like a slap in the face. “Oh! Right! You lost your memory…” Her smile faded a bit. “I’m Heather,” she re-introduced herself. “Your best friend.”
Hmm. A random girl tackle-hugs him, claims to be his best friend. Okay.
“Sorry. I wish I didn’t lose my memory-”
“But you did. It’s okay, I understand. Well, I don’t understand, because I’ve never lost my memory, but anyway, you get the point. I’m just glad you’re up and about, and seem to be completely better, well, besides forgetting everything, and, yeah... At least you didn’t break a leg or anything. Crutches are annoying, I broke my foot once and it was terrible, especially walking up and down stairs. Too much of a hassle. Am I rambling? Sorry, I ramble when I’m in high spirits…” A bell echoed inside and out of the building. “Oh, that’s the bell to go to class. C’mon, I’ll show you where to go; we have the same classes. Well, everyone has the same classes, for the most part. Follow me.”
With that, Wes followed Heather to their first class, History. Everyone was glad to see that Wes was okay and back in school. Well, no one was happy to see him in school, because they didn’t want to be there at all, but they were still glad to see him. Many were relieved; they thought he had died.
The whole day seemed to drag on for a long time. Each class just went on and on, and there was no escape. Just adults tormenting teenagers with useless information, for the most part. Strict rules had to be followed, the students were expected to know the answers to questions they don’t understand or have a grasp on, and overall, everyone hated it.
Not soon enough the final bell rang and a flood of people poured through the front doors of the school. Many stopped by while walking past Wes to greet him and say that they were glad to see he was fine. Some asked what it was like to be in a car accident, and his response was just a shrug, and, “I have no idea, I can’t remember.”
Many thought that if a person lost their memory, they’d revert back to a child-like state. That was not true. Wes retained all of his educational memories, just no personal ones. He did change, though. A lot of the slang and varied language that teenagers tossed around left him much more confused, being that the ever-changing teenage language was more of a personal memory, not how he was taught to speak. It was almost comparable to a very, very sheltered, home schooled kid going to a public school for the first time.
He made it through the day, though, and he decided to walk home with Heather. Being that they were best friends before he lost his memory, he figured he should continue the friendship. He just needed to be reminded of a few things.
They walked slow, almost matched in stride. Wes’s backpack swung behind him, hinged on one shoulder. Heather’s bag was much like a large laptop case with a flowery design. Her bag was also perched on one shoulder with her arm placed on the side to prevent her bag from swinging, unlike Wes’s.
“So…” Wes started, looking around. He kicked at some leaves in his path, flashing a cluster of dull red, orange and yellow. The snow stayed off of the sidewalk, because it was salted earlier. The roads were also salted, more than normal. It was extremely important that the roads stay clear of any ice and slush.
“How did we meet?”
Heather looked towards the gray sky. “Well…” she thought for a moment, then looked at Wes. “I think it was in 4th grade. You just moved here from some weird city or something, and you always talked about odd adjustment to such a lonely town. A lot less people, a different atmosphere, everyone is nicer, and it’s just overall more awesome. Anyway, you came into class, and we were sitting at our assigned desks before our first lesson started. You were dropped off by your mom, but she didn’t treat you like a kindergartener, so you weren’t embarrassed. Smart.” She grinned.
“So I just walked in, you saw me and said, ‘that kid is amazing, I’m gonna be friends with him’?” A cheesy smile, accompanied with two thumbs up, followed the question, only to be rejected by a, “Yea— no,”
“You sat down, took out a pencil and piece of paper, then started drawing. You may not have been that great of an artist, which is why you haven’t signed up for any art electives, I guess,” After a quick chuckle, she continued, “But you stilled liked to doodle. That day, you decided to draw your cat, which you didn’t have anymore.”
“What happened?”
“She ran away…”
“Wait, what? I had a cat that ran away—”
“…but that’s not the point! Anyway, you were drawing your cat. At the time I loved cats. I don’t know why, I’ve never had a cat, I just adored them. Especially kittens, with their huge eyes, and their tiny paws, and their fluffiness—”
“Rambling.”
“Right! So, your drawing caught my eye, and when I recognized that it was cat, I jumped up and down, shouting, ‘Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!’,” Heather mimicked her younger self. “And you said, ‘Yep, that’s my cat.’ From there, we talked about cats in-between lessons. We were weird, and still kind of are, but in a good way. Eventually we figured out that there’s much more to talk about than just cats, and we ended up becoming the best of friends.”
“…Weird story… but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”
“Yeah… after the younger grades, we just went through school together and embraced our oddness, that’s really in everyone. Some people just don’t like to admit and show it. So yeah, we got to high school and still kept our younger spirit. No one could kick us of that, and eventually they just gave up. Why change something so harmless, right?”
“So we embraced the child in us that is supposed to be weaned out, rather than let it slip away…”
“Exactly. Life’s boring enough; why not make it interesting with a hint of mischief— good intentioned, of course.”
“Oh, of course...That’s cool… that we didn’t let that get away from us. We were all kids once, after all.”
Heather nodded. “Take a look at the teachers. Some of them are cool and fun, but a lot of them, especially the older ones, are pretty nasty, right?”
“From what I noticed today.”
“Yep. Teachers think that, since they have to deal with kids, they have to represent a strict, unmovable authority, something above and completely separate from the younger generation. What they don’t get is that they don’t earn any more respect by being uptight like that than they do if they’re fun and show a younger spirit. In fact, they probably gain more respect from the students, because they don’t have to be cruel and strict to maintain order in a classroom, and the students feel like they can relate to the teacher. I’ve noticed that everyone likes a weird, funny teacher over a strict one, and they both teach the same things. If the kids learn and pass the tests, there’s no problem in my book. People need to learn that the child-like spirit isn’t something bad; it’s just a connection with an essence of youth, not something that can hurt someone. Children have the most pure, innocent views on the world. They have genuine hearts. What’s so wrong with embracing that, even if you’re way past being an actual kid age-wise?”
Wes took it all in. This was something he once knew so well being re-taught to him. Heather explained everything so perfectly, and Wes felt like knew exactly what she was talking about. Even though it was in the slightest bit, he caught a glimpse of his memory. “Wow…” was just about all he could say.
“Sorry, I know I talk too much. It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you, and I missed you. My best friend, let me tell you, it’s hard to get through things like school without you. I had no one to talk to about things I could only share with you that no one else would get. That sounds selfish, but that’s not even the worst part of what happened— it was you being in the hospital. I was worried sick, to be honest. Your mother, Gramma and I found comfort in each other, but that didn’t solve the problem. We could only chat to distract our minds for so long… It was terrible. But thank God you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done without you. All three of us didn’t even want to imagine the worst.”
Wes thought it was sad how much sorrow he brought just by being in the hospital, even though it wasn’t his really fault. Of course, since he was unconscious he had no way of saying that he would be okay, and to ensure he would be okay, he can see where the worry came from. The only ones who could relay any kind of information was the doctors and nurses, and they weren’t sure themselves how Wes was recover
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, truly feeling upset with ‘his actions’. Heather looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re sorry?”
“Yeah… you guys were so distressed and worried about me, and I didn’t wake up or do anything to show you I was okay. Heck I’m sure it was my fault I ended up in the hospital, anyway.” Heather looked at him, wondering where this was coming from.
“Shut up. None of that was your fault. The accident was just that— an accident. There was no way you could have prevented it. Things happen, and I think they happen for a reason. And in the hospital you were out cold, you had no idea what was going on! None of that was your fault. We care about you, and that’s why we were worried. What happened wasn’t even about us and how we felt. It wasn’t that at all. It was about you, and how you were; if you were going to be okay. That’s how it was supposed to be.”
She abruptly stopped in front of a house surrounded by a small, cute fence that was painted white. A path was rested on a slight incline, leading to the top of a miniscule hill. Atop this tiny hill was a modest house. It looked as if it had a large downstairs and just a two bedroom upstairs. Harvest decorations, like pumpkins, maize and pilgrims were hung on the door, in the windows and were sat on the porch.
“Home already… sometimes the walk home doesn’t last long enough. But it is kinda cold out… I’ll see you tomorrow, Wes.” Heather gave a smile, opened the front gate of the fence and walked in and closing it behind her. She walked up to the porch, turned around to wave and opened the front door. Just as she was about to walk in, Wes realized something.
“Heather!” he shouted. “Heather!”
She stopped and then turned again to see what Wes needed. “Yes, Wes?”
“Uh… well…”
“What is it?”
“How do I get back to my house from here…?”
Heather, still smiling, rolled her eyes, walking back through the gate, and to stand next to Wes once more. “It’s down that street,” she pointed ahead. “Make a left at the next intersection, then a right and then another left.”
“Okay, thanks!” Wes memorized the directions and was off.
To his surprise, a few moments later, Heather jogged to catch up to him. “Oh, hi again, Heather.”
“Wes, I was kidding,” she said, holding back laughter. “I’ll show you where you actually live.” That showed how Wes would innocently believe anything he was told.
“Promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
Not needing much more convincing than that, Wes nodded and walked beside his friend, with her about a step ahead of him. She just wanted an excuse to walk me home. Wes thought, smiling.
As they walked deeper into town, they got a bit distracted by shops and other people on the street that wanted to stop and talk. People asked about Wes, how he was doing, where he was going. The friends did not want to be rude, so they didn’t ignore anyone who asked, but they tried keeping the answers short and to the point.
Mrs. Huxley was waiting on the porch, and Wes headed for the front door much like Heather was going to do before she needed to show him where he lived. He, and his mother, thanked Heather and Wes was guided inside. His mother had a lot to talk to him about, like his first day back at school; it was like a little kid’s first day of preschool. They both waved back to Heather as she made her way back through town to her own home. She didn’t mind taking the extra time to walk Wes home.
Chapter 3
Thanksgiving seemed like an odd tradition for someone celebrating it for the “first time” while having a full understanding of things; he knew what Thanksgiving was, but Wes didn’t really get it. A lot of the food cooked for the holiday wasn’t eaten by the Indians and Pilgrims at their famous feast. And the parade? There were no gigantic balloons and cheesy musical performances (in some cases, a lot of floats just had popular performers. Kermit the Frog is amazing, and didn’t count in that case, though) back then.
Still on his school time schedule for waking up, Wes was downstairs early, wandering aimlessly for a bit. Finally, he just decided to watch TV and have a bowl of cereal. A couple of hours later, his mother came down to find him lying on the couch flipping through channels. A pre-show for the Macy’s parade was on, and he was told to stop.
“Leave it on here.”
“Okay.” He put the remote on the couch’s arm, and watched the screen. After getting a mug of almost black coffee, Sara joined her son on the couch, almost sitting on his legs before he moved them. Wes didn’t mind, although lying on the couch was comfortable.
“I love the parade,” his mom stated. “I’ve watched it ever since I was a little girl. You liked watching it, too. The balloons always amazed you.”
“Yeah…” Wes trailed of, not even knowing what he was going to say, or if he was going to say anything.
“What is it, Hun?”
“I dunno… I just think, right now, Thanksgiving’s nothing… special.”
His mother’s, brows furrowed. “What!? No. Just no. Thanksgiving is amazing— it celebrates fall, which is one of my favorite seasons, it gives you two extra days off from school for a four day weekend, and it’s a day where you can eat whatever you can and no one will judge you!”
“Okay, Mom…” His lips were pressed flat. He was neither happy nor sad about the holiday; he just didn’t have much emotion to express about it. Sara looked at her son, astonished. Her child, who used to love Thanksgiving almost as much as Christmas, didn’t care about the holiday anymore. She couldn’t let that go, not on her watch. She was going to fix that major problem.
“You’ll see, Wes,” said his mother. “This is going to be the best Thanksgiving yet, and you will see that you really do love the holiday. You’ll look forward to it every year!”
“Really now, Mom? What’re we gonna do to make this day so spectacular? Not to be rude, but I just don’t think Thanksgiving is important… they should replace it with a better holiday. I don’t know what, but they should.”
“You won’t be thinking that at the end of the day, I can guarantee it.”
“Okay, Mom. Sure.”
* * *
The afternoon rolled around, and cooking was in full swing. The parade was not as bad as Wes thought it would be. He watched the whole thing, and although there were annoying, unnecessary interviews with random people, and seemingly more time of commercials than the actual show, the overall event was exciting. The performances were okay, nothing special stood out.
Some of the floats were extravagant— they were full works of art that looked like they took years to put together. New floats had the crowd in awe, and the older, re-vamped ones just get better and better every year.
But there was one that is classic that didn’t need to be changed each year. It’s a highlight of the parade, no doubt, even though it’s actually at the end of the celebration: Santa’s float. While Santa didn’t exist to Wes, he knew who he was and what he represented, especially for children. He was a symbol of the Christmas season, the most wonderful time of the year. He, if thought about it in certain ways, represented generosity and a kind spirit. Once that float came onto the screen as it turned the corner in the city, people went wild. The official start of the Christmas season was signified. In a storm of confetti and screams, thoughts of good times to come flooded peoples’ minds, hoping for a season better than the year before, as they wish for every year.
For the kids it signified the time to write their lists to Father Christmas, thinking about toys and candy among other things. For the adults, and even teenagers, it was time to Christmas shop which, though worth it in the end, was one of the biggest hassles of the year. To see the look on someone’s face when they open a gift from you that you bought with your own money that you worked hard for is very satisfying. It can always cause that warm and fuzzy feeling inside, and it makes one proud to have given someone that joy.
Wes joined his mother in the kitchen to see the progress of what was going on. The turkey was in the oven, coming out every once in a while to be given a bath of broth and maybe a little sprinkle of more seasoning. Potatoes were lined up the counter with a peeler sitting among them. “What’cha makin’ next?”
“I’m gonna start working on the potatoes. There’s going to be mashed and sweet potatoes, but right now we’re just working on the mashed. I’ll help you make the sweet potatoes, one of the best additions to the meal that is always necessary. You can’t have a Thanksgiving dinner without them. The turkey, of course is the main piece of the puzzle. Stuffing is always needed for the dinner, if you want a traditional one. We have two or three different flavors of stuffing, so you can take your pick. I make green bean casserole, but you don’t like that and I don’t think you ever will. You just like the crunchy onions that I put on top… so saved you just some of the onions, which are actually really good on their own, so you can snack on them while you wait for dinner. Let’s see…” She looked around the kitchen, forgetting her cooking plans. “I got a can of cranberry jelly stuff that I’ll use for something. If anything else pops into my head and we have the stuff to make it, there’s no doubt I will.”
They both looked around at the overpopulated kitchen. There was so much stuff—so much work is put in to a dinner that takes about an hour to eat, if that. Was it worth all of that work? Yes. Yes, it was. Eating is fun, and Thanksgiving brings people together.
The turkey was in the oven, sides were being made, and everything was running smoothly. Gramma came down to start gathering supplies for her apple pie, which was going to be the finisher food of the evening—a traditional autumn dessert. This pie was special; Gramma only made it once a year, on Thanksgiving. She also shared her recipe with no one. While she was making the dessert, everyone had to be in a completely different room.
“She’s made it ever since I was a little girl,” Wes’s mother explained to him. “And I still look forward to it every year.”
“Can’t wait to try it.” Wes said.
“Damn strait!” Gramma called from the kitchen. The other two almost saw that coming.
“Ooo, the Charlie Brown special should be on soon. Let me just check the turkey and I’ll be right back…”
Before going into the kitchen, Sara had to warn Gramma so she could hide everything she was doing under a tablecloth. Sara checked the turkey, got a few more things ready and left, and Gramma quickly resumed her work.
Joining Wes back on the couch, his mother flipped through the TV channels to find the one that would be playing the Peanuts cartoon, which was just about to start.
“You missed the Great Pumpkin,” she said, “but this and the Christmas special will make up for that.”
“What’s the Great Pumpkin?”
“Next year, you’ll see. Now watch, it’s starting.”
For an hour, annoying commercials and all, they watched the Thanksgiving special and thoroughly enjoyed it.
On and off the routine occurred where Sara would have to check the turkey, after warning Gramma, of course. Many different things went in the oven to bake and came out, and the marvelous dinner was starting to take form. Finally, the feast was complete; it was time for dinner.
Before they started to eat, though, there was the tradition of saying what one was thankful for, of course. Gramma was grateful for being able to live in her hometown with her family, and for Wes recovering after the crash. Sara was grateful for Wes recovering, as well, and for him being so intelligent and strong. Wes had to think for a moment.
“I’m thankful for…” He pondered all of the different possibilities. “My family, obviously, and the constant love and support. I’m also grateful for everyone else around me, for helping me get through the past few weeks. And… just life. I’m grateful for life; you really don’t know how precious it is until you figure out, hey, I could die at any moment. I was lucky enough to live, and that’s something that never escapes my mind. I know now not to take what I have for granted, and I can thank you guys for giving me such a great life.”
“That was deep…” Gramma murmured, then, after a brief silence, continued. “Now let’s eat! I’m starving.” Wes rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight a grin.
“Dig in!” Sara shouted.
Over the course of an hour and a half of eating and talking, the Huxley family enjoyed their dinner. Everyone’s plate started out decorated with plentiful foods of all sorts, and over a span of time the contents of the plate slowly disappeared.
And there was no other way to end the night’s feast than a huge slice of Gramma’s apple pie, which lived up to the talk about it. Even if they felt as if they were about to burst, a crumb of pie was not wasted, and the dessert plates were only left with the cinnamon-apple residue.
Chapter 4
December soon came around, and in the small town of Applewood the spirit of the holidays was found once again. Winters were beautiful in town; the snow was perfectly set on the trees and the right amount lay on the ground. Some called Applewood unbelievable, saying it was made like a fictional Christmas village, like in the movies, where everything is set up perfectly to create a perfect holiday setting. Applewood was real, though— the spirit, the cheer, and the beauty.
Thanksgiving’s end marked the beginning of the Christmas season and, in the blink of an eye, red and green was found everywhere. Long strands of lights bordered every building, twinkling like colored stars. White lights embraced the glimmer of fresh, pure snow. Snowmen moved into the town, with their rocky smiles and twig arms, set in a constant wave, greeted any passerby. Lawn ornaments joined in the celebration, waiting all year to make their appearance. Candy-cane pathways marked the way to each door, where fresh pine wreaths hung.
Every morning pathways were cleared from snow and ice and donated to large snow banks for the children to tunnel in. Often times during the work day, adults would leave their stations to indulge in a warm cup of cider or hot chocolate while admiring the beauty around them. As soon as the final school bell of the day rang, children and teenagers alike would rush to embrace the winter wonderland, and annual snowball wars broke out. The first one of the season was about to begin. Wes followed the crowd outside of the school building to a nearby field, where the snowball fights would commence.
Just enough snow had recently fallen, providing the flawless conditions necessary for such an event. A few feet of snowfall lay upon the ground, leaving no dead grass patches exposed. On the small hill in the nearby field two teams gathered, one on each side. Wes and Heather gravitated towards the team with a lesser amount of people to even out the numbers, though Wes was unsure about the whole ordeal.
“So, this happens all the time?” he inquired, directing the question towards Heather as he examined everything going on around him. She nodded. “Yep. Every time it snows and the field is reset. It’s a tradition. You don’t remember any of this?”
Shaking his head, Wes turned to his friend with a slight frown. “Not at all,” another quick scan of everything, “Was I supposed to? It just seems like a kiddie-type thing, ya know? I thought highschoolers were past this kind of stuff. It’s one thing to have a snowball fight with a few friends, but a whole school? It’s a bit much.” Heather chuckled at the comment, provoking a confused look from Wes.
“Oh, really?” she responded, “Well, let me remind you, this ‘kiddie-type thing’ happened to be one of the highlights of winter for you— and I’m sure you’ve remembered by now that winter and the holidays are a big deal around here.” Pausing for a second, Heather reached down and grabbed a handful of snow. As she continued, she started to pack the fluffy powder. “Around here it doesn’t matter how old you are, we all carry a young spirit. Around the time when kids get to be our age, they focus on their future rather than their present, and while a good future is important, we like to celebrate the present a bit more.”
Wes gently nodded, slowly grinning. “A town full of teenagers and adults that still act like kids... my kind of place.”
“Yeah…” agreed Heather. Another pause and she stopped shaping the snow in her hands, sprouting a grin as well. After an inspection of her snowy creation, the girl held up a flawless sphere of snow in her hand. Then, without warning, she pitched the perfect snowball right at Wes, clipping his shoulder. Heather agreed, “My kind of place, too.”
After the first hit, a sudden burst of flinging snow began. Members of each team aimed for their “enemies”, sometimes hitting participants of their own side. Wes caught on quickly, swiftly scooping snow from the ground, forming it into a good-enough shape, and flinging it in a random direction. Blurs of white flashed in every which way, and a child-like madness of unlimited joy and energy inspired everyone.
By the time the epic war had come to an end, the once unflawed blanket of snow was terribly ruined; ugly, lifeless blotches of grass could be seen and the ground looked so uneven that it would take more than one new storm of snow to re-level the field. One by one and in pairs, individuals started to scatter and wander home, picking up hot chocolate and cider at the stand on Main Street along the way. All but two were gone after some amount of time: Wes and Heather.
The initial sting of the bitter cold had faded, turning any bare patch of skin numb. Red noses began to run and throats began to become scratchy, but it was so easy for the two to ignore the normal side-effects of the weather for a short while as they just lay in the snow. For a while, they stared at the sky in silence, until Wes decided to speak:
“You know… so many great things happen in life; there are so many magical moments worth remembering for a lifetime. Things we can look back on and smile. When hard times hit, when something goes wrong, people forget those kinds of things. They just focus on the negative rather than the positive, and they let the good escape from them, as well as prevent anything new and magnificent grace them. It’s sad. ”
Heather sat up, looking at her friend. At first an almost blank, but thoughtful look was obvious on her face. It seemed random, what Wes said. She couldn’t help but ask, “Wow… where did that come from?”
Wes sat up as well, looking at her for a moment, then looking away, thinking. “Well, in just the past month, I’ve noticed so many people lose sight of their times of bliss in exchange for continuing hardship. Why do so many people focus on anything bad when there’s always something better to think about?”
Silence followed the statement— not silence of disbelief, but of enlightenment. Slowly Heather nodded. “You’re right… at one point in everyone’s life they just seem to lose sight of everything that once taught them to embrace the happiness in life. Even if they may have that joy, somewhere, some people don’t appreciate everything that makes them happy. These days a lot of people take things for granted, and don’t really respect the simple things in life. Christmas for example: for some, it’s become quite pointless. It becomes a competition to see who buys the most extravagant gift for another, and fills some with greed rather than an above-average cheery disposition. I mean, what’s better— something that is expensive and ‘cool to have’ or a small, simple thing that holds a meaning? A few people find that question hard to answer, and it’s disappointing. Don’t they watch those Hallmark Christmas specials, or follow that cliché saying, it’s the thought that counts?”
Suddenly an idea rushed into Wes’s head and he looked down for a moment, then back to his friend. “Was…” he started, “Was I like that?”
Heather looked at him— his newfound innocence reminded her of a child, but at the same time he was on a high intellectual level. He cared about how he acted and how he impacted others. She answered, “No. You were never selfish, greedy or anything like that. You loved the holidays.”
“Good,” he whispered, looking at the gray, cloud-covered sky. Small white specks began to drift down to the earth, gracefully dancing until they landed softly on the ground. Slowly, Wes’s frown disappeared, being replaced with a small but noticeable smile. “And that’s how it’s going to stay.”
Heather indicated her concurrence with a nod, following Wes’s gaze. “Yep…” she chimed quietly. They both continued to lay there for quite a time, in silence and thought. Even the frost, fiercely nipping at their skin, did not seem to affect them.
Hazy light turned into emerging darkness. Finally, the silence was broken by a quite remark by Heather: “Come on, we should head home.” For a second it seemed as if the words did not register with Wes, but he responded in a delayed manor, as if to finish one last thought. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Wes got up, helped Heather up and they both patted the excess snow off of their clothing. Their steps were stiff and small, but as they regained heat and blood flow in their legs, they were soon walking normally, towards Main Street.
Once they reached the center of the town, the duo could not pass the hot chocolate and cider stand without treating themselves. They walked up to the stand, which was being run by a jolly man who always greeted with endless energy. “Why, hello there,” he bellowed merrily. “What can I do for ya?”
Heather smiled and the man, learning that his happiness was contagious. “One cider and one hot chocolate, please,” The man behind the wooden counter nodded then turned to proceed in making the pleasant treats. In a flash, they were ready. As Wes reached in his pocket to get some money, but the man shook his head, still not losing his smile, “It’s on the house— enjoy, kids.”
Both returned smiles that said thank you, and Heather made sure to say, “Have a nice day, Sir.” As they walked away, they could hear his deep laugh, then his response, “You too, kids.”
As they walked past the main shops in town, full of variety, they looked into the windows, and went in a few shops, sipping on their drinks periodically. Christmas music spilled from any speakers that worked, and it was hard to ignore. Christmas music is so catchy. They split up to look at different things, and then eventually met again on the sidewalk back on Main Street, and continued their walk.
“So…” Wes tried thinking of something to talk about. “What do you want for Christmas?”
“I dunno, something little. I saw a pretty nice sweater that I’m gonna ask for.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw you looking at that. The gray one, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Wasn’t it knit?”
“Yep.”
Wes grabbed his backpack and slipped it off of his shoulder, unzipping it and pulling out plastic bag. He untied the bag and pulled the same gray, knit sweater, then handed it to his friend.
A quiet squeal came from Heather and she quickly put the sweater on, than gave was a quick kiss on the cheek. Because of the cold, his face was already red, so it was hard to tell that he was blushing. “Thank you! I love it.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“For what?”
“Helping me, teaching me, being a true friend when I needed one, and just being generally awesome.”
“Aww,” Heather kicked some snow on the sidewalk. “It’s nothin’. You deserve a chance to get the life you had back, and you’ve been my friend for as long as I can remember. I could never just sit back and watch you struggle,” She couldn’t help but add, “It’s not like you can fight your own battles. You need my help.” Wes rolled his eyes at the tease, but knew she was genuinely always there for him.
Cozy in her new sweater and warm with happiness, Heather started to walk again, with Wes beside her. They continued to talk about random things, what they love and hate— same old, same old. Eventually they reached Heathers house. She walked up the stone pathway, waving back to her best friend. “Night Wes.” He was given a sweet smile, and a light wave. Soon she was greeted by her father, who said hello to Wes and also gave a wave, then led Heather inside. When the door shut, Wes began to navigate his way home, keeping himself entertained by seeing his frosty breath in the darkness the whole time.
Chapter 5
Christmas was only days away, and the excitement could be felt everywhere. There was no doubt about it; it was the most wonderful time of the year. Well, at least in Applewood. It was almost as if the whole town just wanted to rush the rest of the year just to have Christmas come around again.
Wes sat on the couch watching the dancing fire as he sipped on some hot chocolate. A small amount of snowflakes began to fall outside. The white specks gracefully floated like feathers. Suddenly, a voice came from the TV room, “Wes, c’mon! It’s on!”
One large couch sat in the TV room, enough room for Wes, his mom, Gramma and another person or two. Heather happened to be over, because she knew that one of Wes’s favorite holiday specials was on TV that night: The Polar Express. He didn’t just love it; when he was little, he longed to live the story, which he read every day until Christmas passed. On Christmas Eve, young Wes would clutch his blanket, waiting for the magical train to arrive in front of his house. He checked the pockets of whatever he was wearing, just in case there was a tear. Even though the train never came, dreams of climbing aboard the Polar Express were enough to satisfy Wes’s gentle heart.
And that was before he saw the movie. Once he saw the movie, it seemed as if his life was complete, at least for a short while.
But Wes forgot all of this. He did not know what the story meant to him. Heather, on the other hand, knew. She shared the love of the story with him, and she would not let the joy slip away. She was going to make sure Wes could re-capture his love for a cherished Christmas story, even if he knows it won’t happen. The spirit, though, is what’s so magical.
Wes strode into the room and took a seat next to his friend. His mother was out doing a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, but Gramma joined the teenagers. “What’re you watching?”
No response, but as the title came up one the screen, Gramma whispered, “Ah, I see,” She got up and started to head for the stairs, knowing that she’s a blabber mouth and always talks during movies; she didn’t want to interrupt anything. “Enjoy, Dears.”
For only a moment Wes looked away to give quick smile and thanks to his grandmother, then immediately back to the screen, infrequently taking sips of his hot chocolate. He was so engrossed in the movie, and it barely started.
Whenever anything happened, Wes could feel the emotion. Like when little Billy reconsidered joining the others children on the train, and he ran after it, Wes muttered under his breath, “Gooo! Get on the train!”
As the credits rolled, it was like Wes just had a mug or two of coffee. “That was amazing!”
“Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!”
“Can we watch it again?”
“How often does this play on TV?”
“Why don’t I have the DVD?!”
“I told you that you’d love it.” Heather said, grinning. Wes rolled his eyes, but had to agree. She got up, and then took a quick look at the clock. “I better go.”
“Aww…” Wes frowned.
“We’ll hang out tomorrow— maybe The Polar Express will be on again.” The two shared a laugh, then a hug. As Heather was walking out the door, Wes called, “Thank you.” A smile and nod, then she was gone.
Wes stood silent, staring at the door, still smiling. For some time he didn’t move; that was until Gramma seemed to appear behind him out of nowhere, causing Wes to jump when she said, “Hey, Lover Boy, you’re blocking the stairs.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Mhm.” His grandma went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, then made her way back upstairs, but not before saying, “Head to bed.”
Although he was a teenager with boundless energy and a knack for disobeying his elders, Wes nodded, hiked up the stairs, and went to his room. There was nothing else to do but re-capture his dreams.
* * *
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