Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  I laughed. Our eyes met, momentarily. Denver looked away first.

  “So, whatcha ordering?” Denver asked, playing with the water bottles in the chilled case in front of her.

  “A frappe.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll get one too. What flavor?”

  “Vanilla,” we both said simultaneously. We giggled.

  “It’s the obvious choice,” we said again at the same time.

  “It’s just so honest,” we spat out simultaneously one last time before our eyes met once more. My face burned. My eyes shot down to my feet to scrutinize my carelessly untied laces.

  “That’s never happened to me before. Not even with my best friend,” Denver whispered.

  “Me neither,” I confessed. “Here, let me treat you,” I offered.

  “No, I’ve got this.” Denver flashed her coffee gift card in front of my face.

  “Two vanillas, heavy on the whip,” we ordered together.

  “Jinx.” We blurted out together. Our voices echoed beautifully, like we were in a sound booth ready to record my latest smash hit. We turned toward each other and snickered.

  “We’ve got to stop doing that,” I snorted.

  “Why? It’s fun. I’m having the best time. I’ve never had this much fun waiting in a line for coffee, or, for that matter, this good of a time at the mall, in, like, forever.”

  “Why not?” I couldn’t imagine Denver’s life being anything less than perfect, just like her brother’s.

  She shook her head. “Let’s walk around together for a while.”

  We both stuck our tongues through the open lids and lapped up some of the whipped cream.

  “Here, you’ve got some on your nose,” Denver snickered. She wiped my face with a napkin.

  I rubbed my hand against my nose to make sure the cream was gone. Then, I stuck my finger into my cup and swiped a thick scoop of whipped cream. I shoved my finger in my mouth. I let the sweetness coat my tongue.

  “There. Now my nose will stay out of it.”

  “I believe the optimal method of consumption is through a straw.”

  “Denver, Denver, I didn’t realize you were so intelligent,” I jabbed, sarcastically, as I softly touched her shoulder.

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  We came upon one of those trendy teen stores that I perused earlier.

  “Here’s a fun place. We can begin shopping in here,” Denver suggested. She started to enter until she noticed the poster of her brother at the entrance with two gaping holes in his head instead of eyes.

  “Hey. That’s odd. What happened here?” She questioned.

  She walked around to the back of the poster to peer into the holes. Denver poked her finger into the empty eye sockets, wandering around and around in a circle, perplexed.

  “Hmm, weird,” she said out loud. “I never expected Declan to have any haters. I wonder what kind of person would do this!”

  “I don’t know. I think there’s a better store down the hall. Let’s check it out.”

  I hurried her away from the vandalism.

  “Wait! I need to check out the department store first for some lipstick.”

  Denver ran ahead of me into the perfume department. “Wow, look at this!”

  I found Denver next to the beat up image of Declan. She lifted her brother’s broken head to inspect the damage.

  “Someone must really be out to get my brother today. Maybe I should ask security to look at the camera footage.” She pointed to the orb above our heads. “I don’t want him to be in any kind of danger. What do you think?”

  “Um, I think we should keep on moving and let the professionals deal with this nasty situation. That’s their job.”

  I swiftly escorted Denver out of the store.

  “I guess you’re right. Where should we go next?”

  “Well, I’m getting kind of hungry.” My stomach grumbled at the mention of eating. “Maybe we should get out of this place and head over to a restaurant.”

  “Really? You want to go out to eat . . . with me?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “All alone? Just the two of us?”

  “Sure. Who else would there be? Are you cool with that?”

  “Oh, am I ever!” Her breath puffed air out of her lips in quivering spurts, half laughing, half blowing. “Wow. Sounds so spectacterful.”

  “Yes. Spectacterful. Where do you want to go?”

  “Do you like stir fry? We can meet up at the Mongolian grill across the way.”

  My belly growled and squeaked so loud the sound reverberated against the stark mall walls.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she laughed. “Let me walk you to your car. Lead the way, maestro.”

  Denver gently pushed me. She tenderly squeezed the muscles on my upper arm. We hiked back to my vehicle hidden amongst the soccer mom vans and the family wagons.

  “On second thought, why don’t you drive us over there together, then drop me back off at the mall later? I still have tons of shopping to do, and it looks like I won’t get anything done with you around.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You are simply too distracting, mister!”

  Denver beeped me on the nose playfully with her finger. She flashed me a wide smile, displaying the same bright, hypnotic teeth as her brother. They were both unmistakably spawn from the same impeccable gene pool. Male and female examples of unobtainable perfection. Constant reminders of what the rest of us could never achieve.

  My average reflection glistened in the glass of my car’s windshield. I blinked, contemplating why such a gorgeous creature would follow me to my beater car. Then, my thoughts drifted to Poppy, my main reason for trekking out to the mall in the first place. I refused to lose sight of my mission. Denver was a link in the chain of the roped off corridor that led to my dancing queen, my musical muse. Besides, Denver would never be satisfied with a guy like me. Just like someday her brother would most likely leave Poppy for the bigger, better deal. Hopefully in the near future.

  Denver and I rode together in my beat up jalopy over to the grill. We both ordered tropical fruit punch with extra cherries and little umbrellas. We loaded up a couple bowls with raw meat and veggies for the guy to grill at the large, circular stovetop in the center of the restaurant.

  As the waiter served up our cooked concoction, Denver helped herself to a heap of rice, and a couple tortillas.

  “I have a confession to make,” she said in between bites. She covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed.

  “All right,” I gulped, scared.

  “It’s really embarrassing . . . having a brother like . . . well . . . like Declan. You know?”

  “Why?” I asked, relieved that her confession was not about being embarrassed to be seen with me. Nonetheless, I was confused.

  “Forget it. It’s stupid. Never mind. I’m ashamed I said that. I feel so comfortable, for some odd reason, so relaxed around you. It just came out. But, you see, I hate it. I’m so sick of always having to be nice. Pretend I’m above it all. Perhaps, the truth is, I’m not that nice of a person.”

  “Don’t say that. I think you’re a fabulous person.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks,” she added weakly.

  Smoke from the grill encased us in meat-scented fog. We nibbled our meals in silence.

  “He stole her from me. Did you know that?” Denver reignited our conversation.

  “Who did?” I asked confused.

  “Declan. He stole Poppy from me. We were best friends, Poppy and I, in elementary school. Before the whole Poopy Pants Poppy thing. Forget it. I don’t want to get into it now.”

  “Okay.”r />
  “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me anyway, us not being friends anymore. She’s just as big of a dork as he is, and I don’t want to be seen with either of those two nerds. Like I said, it’s too embarrassing. You understand.”

  Actually, I didn’t.

  Denver looked up at me. She waited for a response. I seriously had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to let on about being this clueless. I wouldn’t want to discourage Denver from confiding in me. I wanted to hear all about Poppy. So, instead, I nodded and smiled, shoving a heap of food in my mouth so I didn’t have to answer.

  “Thanks so much, Dexx, for being such a good listener. I’m quite surprised, but I’m having the best time.”

  Flashing her dad’s credit card, Denver treated me to yet another restaurant. I protested, but she insisted.

  “Don’t bother. He doesn’t even care.” Denver nonchalantly waved her hand in my face, dismissing the notion.

  I dropped her off in front of the mall entrance, near the department store with the busted Declan.

  As Denver got out of the car, she poked her head back in the open door. “Thanks again, Dexx. You’re the best. You can call me sometime, you know, if you like.”

  Denver slammed the door. It squeaked. Something inside the panel rattled. Embers of rust rained down on the passenger seat. Denver disappeared into the mouth of the steel and glass structure, swallowed whole by the retail giant.

  I sat for a moment. My car idled and groaned. “I’m in!”

  Chapter 8

  Lenn

  “So,” Poppy chirped over the phone, ever bubbly, “how did Oceane’s party go last night?”

  “Awful! Absolutely awful! It was an immense dud and a half! Nobody showed up, and I mean nobody!” Using my sharp nails, I ripped off tiny pieces of paper from my latest sketch. I scattered them around my floor, disgusted with him, disgusted with myself.

  “What about Dexx? Was he there?”

  “No! He, like, flaked out and didn’t even bother to call, or text her. It was just Oceane, me, Kit, and a couple other girls. Plus, her parents stayed. They put us in the basement, and ordered a couple pizzas. And, get this, they put a PG movie on the VCR. The VCR! What is this, like 1985?”

  I balled up Dexx’s eyes and rolled the paper in my fingers. I blew the paper off my hand like ashes from a smote fire.

  “So, what wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with that? I missed another opportunity to hook up with Dexx. Instead, I was stuck at a babyish party with a bunch of girls.”

  Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I shredded his glossy dark hair that flopped over his face. I sent thin sheets of white and grey into the air to blow around in the wind of my breath.

  “Sounds fun to me,” Poppy said. But truthfully, eating a bowl of cereal and watching a bunch of cartoons sounded fun to her.

  “Anyway, Poppy, what did you do? Where did you end up going?” I asked, craving a distraction from my own dull reality.

  “Oh,” Poppy squealed, “we went to such a wonderful place. It had organic, gluten-free, dairy-free dishes. Then . . . we went out for vegan ice cream!”

  “Sounds delightful.” I stuck out my tongue at the thought of her gross meal. Afterwards, I regretted asking. She had a boyfriend, and well, I had dust, scraps of torn paper littering my floor, a balled-up, eggshell garbage heap, and a mountain of failure.

  “Oh indeed, it was so very delightful.” Poppy smacked her lips at the other end of the receiver.

  “What are you doing now?” I mumbled blandly.

  “Working on my senior project. Do you want to join me?” Her voice percolated, the ever warm and bubbly, caffeinated machine of non-stop energy.

  “Maybe later.” I gritted my teeth, irritated over the entire Dexx debacle.

  I hung up on my peppy friend. It was no use. My anxiety built an invisible tower on top of my ripped up sketches. Poppy couldn’t possibly take my mind off my mire. I couldn’t bear sitting next to her, stuck in a rut, while she merrily glittered poster-boards and sang about love, or flashed photos from her phone of her flawless beau, and their taste-free, cardboard dinner.

  I rolled off my bed. I shook my collar. Hundreds of flecks of paper dropped from my shirt. They floated around me like snow captured in a glass globe. Bits of gray soot rained down on my head, my shredded remains of Dexx. With one swift move I swept my memories of him into a nearby garbage basket.

  My feet fumbled as I got off the bed. Tripping on the black and gray blanket that grimly laid over my faded carpeting, I plopped onto my floor. I lifted myself back up and kicked through a pile of clothing. I made my way to my jumbled closet. I pulled out a thick sweater, and stuffed my messy bed-head through the hole. Stumbling down the rickety, wooden steps, I escaped my gloom, and headed over to Kit’s house.

  Tears welled in my eyes, making it hard to walk. The crisp air chilled my arms through the warm wool that encased my trembling body. The fierce arctic wind dried the tiny droplets that crawled their way down my chapped cheeks.

  As winter approached, I realized my fate was sealed. Sixteen years old, I was bound to spend another Christmas boyfriend-less, depressed, and alone in my room fantasizing about some clueless crush as I navigated through fan pages and blog bites.

  The crispy frosted grass crunched under my feet. I trudged up Kit’s lawn, and banged the iron knocker forcefully against the door. She answered, makeup free, looking natural and beautiful. Not the kind of beauty found in a glossy magazine, the kind from within, the majestic soul of a true friend. Kit attired herself in furry pink pajama pants with a popcorn and movie reel print, and a worn-out, faded, white T-shirt. Her plain style suited her well. It worked for her. I envied her simplicity like I envied Poppy’s over-the-top eccentricities.

  “Come in, gorgeous,” she greeted me.

  Kit’s parents were hunkered down on the divan in front of the TV. It buzzed with some useless reality show. They buried their faces in the newspaper. Kit stuck out her tongue. We avoided them, which was fine. I was in no mood for pleasantries, and I didn’t want to feign happiness with cordial greetings.

  We marched upstairs to her room. Her furry pink gorilla feet slippers led the way. No longer able to hold in my emotions, the dam in my heart burst wide open. An ocean of tears poured out of my eyes. My chest shook hard. My nose ran wild. Kit handed me a tissue. I blew hard, emitting a long, loud foghorn warning all love-boats to stay away from this emotional shipwreck.

  “Kit, Kit, I’m a mess, a dreadful mess. Why is Poppy’s life always so perfectly positive while mine remains perfectly pointless?”

  I dropped my head into my arms and cried harder. Kit rubbed my back. She patted it in between her shushes.

  “Poor Lenn. Do you really envy Poppy’s life? I wouldn’t be jealous if I were you. Her optimism protects her from, well, from all the jerks in her life that mock her. The ones that make fun of her, make her life miserable with that Poopy Pants Poppy thing. Would you want to deal with that reputation?”

  “No, not really. But sometimes people call me names too.”

  “Very few of us escape cruelty, but Poppy, let’s just say I don’t envy her load. We weren’t there when it all started. We only got to know her more recently, at high school.”

  “I get it, Kit. I don’t envy her ‘load.’ But I . . . I . . . Dexx . . .”

  Kit smiled sympathetically. She stroked my head. I sighed, allowing a light sprinkle of tears to rain down my face.

  “Why does Dexx feel comfortable talking to Poppy even though you told him she has a boyfriend? Why is he constantly hanging around the other girls at our school? Including you, Kit! I’ve seen you two pal around at lunch. You eat together. I don’t get it. He and I have so much in common. I was his biggest supporter. His most dedicated fan. Why doesn
’t he feel comfortable enough to even exchange two words with me? Not even a ‘hello’ or a head nod, or any kind of acknowledgment what so ever? Does he think I’m ‘lame’? Why does he think I’m lame? We were perfect together, on paper. At least, we were until this morning when I destroyed my entire journal!” I spat, crying.

  “Relationships are complex creatures,” Kit spoke delicately. “They are not flat. They are not one-dimensional cartoons, or sketches. They involve living, breathing human beings who can think for themselves. They don’t work off predetermined thought bubbles, memes, or cute little captions. But, that shouldn’t discourage you from trying to have a real relationship, or force you to give up hope in creating one. Draw a new episode, come up with a new story line. Follow your heart to a new chapter in your sketchbook. Maybe this one still stars Dexx, or maybe it doesn’t. That’s the beauty of an empty page. You never know what story will be told until you create it.”

  “I can’t, Kit,” I wept. “I destroyed my book, in a dumb rage over last night’s disappointment.”

  I shook my head, mad at myself for allowing one moment, one frustrating incident, to ruin months’ worth of artwork. And now, it was gone, all of my precious sketches, ripped up into millions of pieces, never to be patched back together. It was as if I had deleted the most beloved photo album of my life from my phone in an instant.

  Kit leapt off the bed, and took a black spiral book off her shelf. She handed it to me, and pressed the pad into my hand. “Here, have mine. I was saving this one for a special occasion, and I think this day marks a special occasion.”

  I flipped through the empty sketchbook with my fingers. I looked up at Kit’s face and stared into her warm, crinkly eyes. “I can’t, Kit. I can’t take your book.”

  “Consider it an early Christmas present from me.”

  I hugged the book close to my heart, and cried. Tears poured in a heavy stream down my face. “Thank you so much! I’m lucky to have a special friend like you in my life.”