The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves

by Richard Heredia

  Sophie rolled her eyes and half-turned to walk away. “You have issues, James, serious ones.” She did turn from him and walked a few steps away before she thought better of it, wheeling about to face him once more.

  “We didn’t hold hands. I stumbled and you stopped me from falling, and maybe we touched hands,” she clarified with a demonstrative shake of her body. “And, it wasn’t just you and me talking in the rock garden, James, there were like… four other people with us.”

  He just stared at her like a deer in the headlights.

  “What is wrong with you!?!” she asked with so much vehemence, he leaned back up against the wall again.

  “I’m dying… Sophie,” he mumbled, his face wrinkling with the beginnings of a sob.

  “You know what, James, that’s it; you just stay away from me, ok? Don’t you ever come around me again, because, right now, if you tried to pull this stupid shit on me again, I’m gonna just kick the shit out of you and ask questions later, you got me?” Her eyes threw daggers at him. “We were never, ever together!”

  He just stared back, silent, unmoving, except for his lower lip, quivering again, so slight, but of its own accord.

  “Do you understand me, James?!?” she demanded. “I want you to leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with you! Do you understand that?!? Nothing! I don’t want to see you within a football field of me and my friends, you fucking weirdo!” With that, she spun on her heel and began to make her way toward the back of the school where her mother was waiting for her. There was little doubt in Sophie’s mind she’d be pissed off by now.

  Behind her, James Henley, Jr. stared after her retreating form, his eyes locked onto her, savoring her curves through misty eyes. His heart was thudding in his chest, the blood racing at his temples. She walks like she’s walking through the clouds, so light, so delicate. She walks…

  A long time later, a voice sounded in the quiet. It began tentatively at first, but grew in strength and conviction as each new syllable emerged into the cold air of the day. The warm breath made false clouds in the failing light. “I know you’re just hiding how much you truly love me, because you’re being brave. I know, Sophie, don’t worry, I know. One way or another, we will have our time together,” he spoke aloud, subdued, but to no one in particular. His thoughts, once vocalized, were made real in his mind. How could she not love him, especially after all they had been through together? Why would the rest of the world want to keep them apart?

  Sophie, my Sophie, being so brave by hiding your true feelings from the likes of everyone else, but I know your secret. You’ve shared it with me many times when we were lying down together on top of the covers of my bed, touching, feeling. Under the loving caress of my hand, you told me the truth. Yes, I remember now. You said you had to hide your feelings, because you had no other choice. You had said it so earnestly.

  “James, I must!”

  Then you were in my arms, our clothes falling away. I was lost in you. Yes, I remember.

  Oh god, you are so brave... and so beautiful…, my Sophie, my Sophie Reed… my woman, my love…

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 12 ~

  Again?!?

  Friday, November 19th, 6:39 pm…

  Louis Willigan sat on the edge of his bed in a rare, unusual funk of despondency. He had one leg curled underneath his butt, the other stretched out, this foot flat upon the carpeted floor of his room. He was silently staring into his lap. His straight and coarse, brown hair covered the broad features of his face. His plump cheeks and the extra roll of skin forming beneath his chin when he looked down were unmoving. Absently, he watched with hazel eyes as he picked, using the nail of the index finger on his left hand, at a small deformation in the weave of his jeans. He’d long since removed his shoes, put them away in the shoe carrier hanging from the inside of his closet door. He’d changed the shirt he had worn to school as well. It was dirty. In its place he’d opted for a baggy, “knock-around” t-shirt he could wear to bed later, after dinner and after his nightly shower.

  He wasn’t a fat child per se, but was definitely flirting with obesity. It could be said he was big-boned - the term normally used when adults didn’t want to injure a child’s self-esteem. But, with Louis, there was a degree of truth to it. He was tall for an eleven-year-old, nearly four feet ten inches, possessing a broad set of shoulders and hips. His thighs, though large for his age, weren’t blubbery or loose. They were somewhat firm actually and didn’t jiggle when he walked, belying mounds of fat underneath his pants. Most of what made him appear overweight was in his face and in the roundness of his belly. Usually, he had a jovial look about him. So, when coupled with that extra roll of fat about his waist, this did seem add to the impression he was chunky.

  Normally a happy-go-lucky youth, he was full of energy and an infectious exuberance for life, Louis was the lifeblood behind any joke, the source of any laughter, the life of the party. Even at this tender age, he felt life should be lived and enjoyed with every waking hour. He was a fountain of pranks, funny quirks and laughable ways of putting things to words. It was these traits that made his current mood bizarre to anyone who knew him well.

  Louis was depressed. This, most definitely, had to be one of the few times in his life, he felt thus.

  Being very different from most kids his age and having an alternate perspective to the world around him, the wellspring of his dissolution wasn’t typical to this child growing up in the vast sprawl of Los Angeles. It wasn’t due to his behavior and a consequent punishment for being disrespectful or unruly. It wasn’t because one of his classmates had made fun of him or teased him about his so-called “fatness”. He wasn’t the object of some mean childhood hazing or anything of that sort. It wasn’t the result of a youthful rejection to some misbegotten puppy love either. There was no boyhood crush dashed, because the object of his affection didn’t feel the same. It was nothing like any of that.

  Simply, Louis wanted his family to be together more often than they’d been able since his father’s promotion. This new job put him in charge of larger organization, spreading across the entire western portion of the Unites States. It also demanded he travel on a much more frequent basis than he had in years’ past. Sometimes he was gone for weeks on end. It was something Louis had yet grown accustomed.

  His mother’s growing happiness over their much improved financial situation did, in fact, make him smile on occasion. The added monies had eased enough, so she could do some of the things she’d always wished to do in the past, but had held off in lieu of saving for Louis’s college and investing for their retirement. Seeing his mother, begin her study of Interior Design and its ever-growing application about their home, fascinated him. It sparked his imagination as he witnessed the transformation of his mother. He found himself wondering how doing something as mundane as studying could make a person so happy, maybe even complete. This, of course, had led to many more smiles and hugs from her, which Louis absolutely loved and wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world. Except for the chance to spend a little more time with his father, as they had before.

  And yet, all of this really wasn’t the crux of the issue clouding his otherwise bright and cheerful mind. He was sitting there, on his twin bed, fingering his jeans, uncaring of any of his toys or books littering the many shelves and cases about his room, because of what he’d heard. He had overheard his parents talking a few minutes ago. His mother perturbed. His father, to him, was defensive, then apologetic, as he informed his wife he was going to have to leave for New Orleans later on that night and would be out of town until Thanksgiving Day.

  Louis realized he wasn’t going to have his father on the sidelines during his soccer game tomorrow afternoon and they were probably going to cancel the family barbeque on Sunday. His mother had yet to learn how to use the new high-tech grill his father had just bought. So, great! Now that too was out of the question. Why did everything have to always be so complicated? Why couldn�
�t things just be, devoid of difficulty, without mitigating circumstances?

  His weekend was all jacked-up now. The only good thing he could think of at the moment was he had a shortened school week ahead of him. But, what good would that be if his father was gone the entire time? He almost wished there was going to be no Thanksgiving this year. It would’ve been better if he was in school for the entire week like usual, because that way he’d be busy and wouldn’t have to think about all the time lost with his father. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than going to school and maintaining his usual schedule. He wouldn’t have to watch as his mother prepared for the holiday. His favorite, because of all the food, all of the desserts - things he loved most in life. It wouldn’t be the same without his father there to exclaim and carry-on over all their plans and their progress. It was something he’d always looked forward to, and now…

  What a jip!

  He banged his other hand, balled in a fist, into the soft fluffiness of his comforter in anger. He felt the beginning of a sob develop in his throat, but tried with all of his will to internalize his frustration, not wanting his parents to overhear. He didn’t want them to know he’d eavesdropped on their conversation, that he already knew what topic they were going to approach him with during dinner.

  He stood, some of the pudginess of his body flattening out as he did so. He glanced about his room, trying to figure out what he could do in order to distract him, while he waited around for his mother to finish dinner. His toys didn’t really raise any interest for him nor did any of his books. Even his computer didn’t make a good choice. His brain was overloaded enough already without the additional onslaught of outside stimuli. He’d probably go bonkers if he tried.

  He sighed heavily. Then looked at the door leading to the bathroom he would share, if anyone was staying in the guest room. An idea sprouted in his brain. Finally, one that made him feel good. He walked over to his chest of drawers and stooped to open the lowest one, extracting a pair of comfortable sweatpants. He opened an upper one next, much narrower drawer, grabbing onto a pair of tube socks and a clean pair of boxer shorts. A smile spread across his face.

  For the first time, Louis, without being prompted or told outright, was going to take a nice, long and hot shower. This was one such occasion that called for drastic measures, because he, without a doubt, had to relieve some of the troubles in his young life. He was purposefully going to be very un-Louis-like for the remainder of the evening.

  He closed and locked both doors to the bathroom, turned on the hot water and let the steam fill the small space. He began to strip, already feeling better. I’m going to wash away all these bad thoughts. Down the drain, down the drain they’ll go…

  It was twenty minutes later when Louis emerged from the bathroom, his face flushed. His skin was so clean it was pink. Though the thoughts of his father’s soon-to-be absence were still bothering him, they didn’t seem to carry the same weight upon his shoulders as they had before. Now, he could cope with them. He would make do. He would be a good boy, make things smooth for his mother. He would celebrate Thanksgiving with even greater fervor than usual. His father would be home by then! All would be well.

  “Leeda, shut up!”

  It was his father, shouting at his dog from the backdoor, downstairs.

  Louis moved to the window of his room, looking out onto the terraced backyard of his parents’ home, searching for his pet. He could hear her barking now, as clear as a bell, except, she was doing so fiercely. Something she only did when she felt their family was threatened.

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked his mother from below.

  “Hell if I know!” replied his father, annoyed.

  Louis saw her. She was on the highest level of the yard, the largest, barking ferociously at something farther up the hill, shrouded in darkness. She looked like she was getting ready to pounce.

  “I better go get her before Dad tried,” he said to himself. “He’ll spank her for sure…” He bent in search of his slippers. “…I don’t want him to hit my dog.”

  “God damn it, Leeda, don’t make me come out there and get you!” bellowed his father.

  Oh crud, I better hurry!

  In the upper region of the yard, Leeda continued to bark.

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 13 ~

  Unexpected

  Saturday, November 20th, 10:42am…

  “Come on, Elena, you’re taking forever!” exclaimed Mikalah. She was waiting outside the backdoor, upon the verge of her grandmother’s backyard. It was much cooler than a usual mid-morning in Los Angeles, even though this was the latter half of November and winter was just around the corner. This southern California city didn’t experience temperatures in the middle forties this early in the afternoon all that often.

  So, Mikalah had been instructed to put on her light blue sweats and matching sweatshirt along with her longer, thicker cotton socks that stretched all the way up and over her small calves. On her feet were her favorite, multi-colored Nike’s that sparkled in the bright light of the sun. She had her straight, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, out of her face. A small black beanie atop her head, placed just over the tips of her ears, kept them warm. Over her hands, she’d donned a matching pair of black, cotton gloves. While, in each palm, she held the barrels of two different toy machine-guns – one, an ever-familiar AK-47, the other, an ever-stylish AR-15.

  Her and her sister were supposed to go hunting enemies this morning in her grandmother’s backyard, except something was keeping Elena much longer than her typical snail’s-pace. Since she was the punctual of the two, more aware of time, delays of this nature went against her grain. Mikalah had been forced to wait and wait and wait.

  Now, she was thoroughly irritated.

  The wind blew cold over the girl’s exposed face. She could already feel her cheeks chapping from it. She shifted slightly to her right and balanced on her tiptoes to look at her reflection in the glass of window showing into her grandmother’s office. From her reflection, she could barely make out the redness on her cheeks. Man, it sure is cold today! she thought to herself, opting to step a few more feet into the yard, into more of the weakened rays of the sun. She hoped the chill would loosen its grip on her a bit, blinking in the bright glow of the day. She set the “guns” against the back of the house, turned, shielding her eyes with her hand, to gaze over the wide expanse of the backyard. Even to an adult, it was huge.

  At a third of an acre, it was clearly the largest backyard for miles around and it was perfect in Mikalah’s eyes. Everything about it, she loved. Its many terraces, walkways, and patios weaving around and about trees and plants and hedges were the perfect setting for a child’s imagination to run wild.

  As was hers; she could almost see the mean villains out there, making their evil plans, stalking the innocent. They would hurt people if she and her sister didn’t do something about it. They were hiding now, but she knew they were there, behind a tree or lying on the ground concealed by a bush or a heavily leafed plant. She smiled in anticipation. Then frowned slightly, remembering her sister was moving as slow as molasses this morning, postponing all of her fun. Jeez Louise, what the heck is taking sooo long!

  Thoughts of her annoying sister arrested suddenly. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized all of the family pets living with their grandmother were present. Whether sitting on their hindquarters or laying on all fours either panting or lounging in the rays of the sun, they were grouped together, having placed themselves around her.

  Mikalah’s frown deepened.

  They weren’t just haphazardly about her either. They were “bracketing” her against the back of the house as if they meant to protect her from something in the yard. On her left, upon the ground, stretched her grandmother’s dog. She was an aging German Sheppard named Kodiak, who gave the appearance of resting. Her head nestled upon her two front legs. Yet, Mikalah could see it was a rouse, for with every bird-twee
t or squirrel-chatter, Kodiak’s eyes and ears never stopped moving. Her tan coat twitched every so often, as if she anticipated something was to happen in the next second or so.

  On her right, sat a tiny, black-colored, mangled dog, named Mugzy – it was her sister’s pet. He was a Brussels-Griffon, though a lesser of the breed. He was a toy canine with a squashed in face and a coat that never seemed to untangle. Even if combed, it always looked the same – matted and knotted. Most of the time, there were leaves and small twigs twisted up inside it as well. He was always a stinky, hot mess, but was so full of love and charisma, he was irresistible even to the hardest of heart. Mugzy would find a way in, just like water.

  Today, as Mikalah glanced over at him, he was perched upon his haunches, not even trying to hide his vigilance, as the hulking Kodiak was attempting to do. Rather, he was whipping his head back and forth much like a Marakeet in the deepest heart of Africa. He seemed to look everywhere at once, on the brink of a bark that never quite left his throat and only produced a low grumbling down in the middle of his chest. His focus was the entire back yard. Why is he doing that? thought Mikalah, as she continued to peer out at the yard. There is nothing out there.

  She decided to look again, but with greater scrutiny, just to make sure. From the furthest she could see down to a few feet in front of where she stood, she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Her eyes to her brother’s goofy cat, Garfield, next. He was yawning, atop a large upside-down planter her grandmother was drying out in the sun (she was transplanting one of her plants that had outgrown its current residence and needed more room to grow). He was your typical orange and white striped tabby, although a little larger than most, because of his big fat belly. Everyone, but her brother, made fun of him. He looked like a middle-aged man with a beer gut. He was butt of many jokes and even more laughs. He looked comical.