'Twas not the season to be jolly. Nor the time to spread joy or cheer. I always knew things would go awfully. Especially now that I was stuck here. 

In the United fucking States.

Long story short, Santa—or Father Christmas, if you will—decided I was forever going to be on the naughty list, rendering me to horrible Christmases since age 11, circa 2012. This year, however, was seemingly the worst one—courtesy of old Nick. Or the system. Whatever.

It had been only four days ago, when I received a phone call from Ghana telling me I shouldn’t bother going to the airport, because I had no business there this break. All I had to do was to sit tight and wait till my entire freshman year in college was over—because there was no money to buy me a ticket home. Yes, I had always known money was a bit of an issue in my family. Yes, I had to be considerate because my parents were doing their best. But it didn’t make the feelings of betrayal and abandonment any less painful.

I know I should have tried to be positive about things, but the semester ended a week ago, and I was still cooped up in my dreary dorm room. All the friends I made had left to spend Christmas break wherever. The handful of students who remained were seniors, who preferred seeing the school walls to the faces of their family in the mornings, or extremely peculiar people. Like the girl parading on the lawns.

I had seen her do that for a couple of days now. She’d either walk around in some ridiculously chunky black books, staring at God knows what. Or she’d sit herself on the grass with a notepad in hand. On none of those occasions did she have a coat on. Not even a jacket or a sweater, either.

She was down there today, too. Her long, blonde hair whipped in the wind every time she twirled, and I kept wondering how she wasn’t cold. I was always cold. Maybe it was because my skin was dark brown, and my body let go of heat as easily as it absorbed it. Maybe it was because this was my first winter. Or maybe it was simply because it was winter.

The wireless headphones I bought at a Black Friday sale were on my head. For a while, I tuned out the howling wind and fleeting thoughts and just let myself melt into the music that played. I didn’t recognize the song, but I bopper my head to the beat. It flowed in calming tunes, complimenting the singer’s low bass and the guitar in the background. I didn’t like the banging, however. It was discordant and out of tune.

Every few seconds, it would come. I initially thought it was from the song, but the windows were rattling.

I slid the headphones down to my neck and looked out the window again. There wasn’t a thing in sight that could have caused the sound I heard—or thought I heard. Chunky wasn’t down there now. I must have imagined the banging.

I sighed, picking at the small balls of lint on my sweater. I was about to slip the headphones back on when my door got kicked down. This was no joke—though I wish it was.

As soon as the door fell open, hitting the wall and swinging back and forth, I saw a freaking human leg floating in the doorway. The disembodied leg which had flashed in front of my eyes for that split second took me off guard. So much that I fell off the window ledge and hit the floor hard. I screamed. The leg also screamed. Then doubled, both appearing at the spot where I lay. They were attached to a body. Chunky’s. The giant black platforms, planted inches away from my face, gave her away.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she repeated the words like some mantra, her small voice wavering more and more after each syllable of ‘oh’ and ‘my’ and ‘God.’ She sounded like she was going to pass out any second with how her voice continually thinned. “I’m so sorry I scared you.”

“No shit,” I mumbled. I started to lift myself off the floor, only to have an excruciating pain climb up my left wrist. I bit down on my lip and sucked it up, managing to push myself a suitable distance up before I felt her hands go under my armpits and help me up.

“Again, I’m sorry for scaring you. I had no idea there was anyone in the dorms, and it startled me when I heard you scream. It freaked me out because I didn’t think your door would fall open in the first place.”

“Fall open? That door was firmly shut. Not locked, but shut. You kicked it down.” I picked up my headphones, which had cluttered to the floor when I fell. There was a crack on one of the foldable hinges, making it swing loose like a broken limb. Crap.

The holidays were cursed, don’t try to change my mind.

I tossed the device onto my bed, plopping down onto the ledge again and running my hand through my hair. Feeling the short coils barely brush my fingertips reminded me that my hair was no longer long, straight strands. I got a haircut a while ago, but I was still not used to it.

“I—I’m sorry, okay. My dad asked me to check if all of them were locked and I--“

“And you thought the best way of doing that was kicking them, huh?” I interrupted. “Genius.”

For the first time, I looked up at Chunky, intending to intimidate her with the scowl I was bearing. My expression changed when I realized who she was.

Eleanor Davis.

I should have recognized her from when I first saw her form prancing around the compound, but alas, my eyesight was not what it used to be. Even so, I could make out her button nose, bow-shaped lips, and big, wide eyes. I had seen her on campus a lot of times, particularly because her dad was one of my lecturers. I also had her in my Business Finance class, though we had never spoken.

“It’s not one of my best moments,” she admitted, tugging at her fingers. “But I’m sorry, I mean it.”

I rolled my eyes and let my head rest against the windowpane. Eleanor stood there awkwardly, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t make out.

Her lips parted and closed twice, as if she was unsure of whether whatever she had in mind was okay to say. It was almost always like that anytime I spoke to someone new. It was the “Why do you talk like that?” question or the “You sound weird” statement that followed. 

Eleanor surprised me. “You hurt your hand.”

I told her, “It’s fine,” still sure that she had the question in the back of her mind somewhere.

“No, it’s not. It looks swollen. Come, I’ll help you.” She waved her hands in a beckoning motion.

“You’ve helped me enough. I mean, it’s your fault I sprained my wrist after all.” I didn’t mean to guilt her, but it was the truth.

She winced, sucking in a breath through her teeth. Eleanor had a slight overbite. It was noticeable when she smiled, like she was doing now. Why was she smiling?

“I’ll keep you company if you let me help,” she says.

“Who says I want company?”

She shook her head; the smile climbing further up her face, reaching her twinkly eyes. “Just come along.”

I shrugged in defeat. It wasn’t because I wanted Eleanor Davis to keep me company. I only agreed to go with her because my hand pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own.

I stood, getting a coat from my closet and putting it on—halfway. It was quite the struggle to fit my left hand into the sleeve because the thing hurt even when a breeze passed; I swear. 

Eleanor took steps towards me, but I stopped her before she could actually try to touch my hand. I told her I could do it myself. I did it myself, swallowing the pain and letting it sit heavy in my stomach like the cold oatmeal I had for breakfast.

We were out in the hall a moment later, heading for the flight of stairs that would lead us from the fourth floor to the ground. 

My good hand was tucked in the front pocket of my coat while the other hung awkwardly at my side. I caught Eleanor stealing glances at my hand, and eventually, at me.

“Don’t stare, it’s rude.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You say sorry too much, you know? ‘Okay’ would have been fine.”

“Okay.” She smiled; it was ‘okay.’

We trod on in silence after descending, heading for the bungalow Eleanor lived in with her family.

Family. There was that word again. That word which my obsession with Lilo and Stitch had taught me to recognize as Ohana—where no one is left behind or forgotten. I may not have been forgotten, but I was left behind.

My ohana, my abusua, my family, were probably preparing to make their expected fufu and chicken soup—if they weren’t already eating it—it was tradition. For the 12 days leading up to Christmas, we only had local meals until the last day, when it was junk food galore.

I didn’t want to think about it now; it was only going to make me feel worse. I shut my eyes and breathed out, opening them to see a puff of air cloud in front of my face. I breathed harder, watching my breath swirl and mix with the cold air. Because I lived in the tropics, nothing like this ever happened. It was just rain or sun, maybe fog. Nothing else.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked, as I looked over at Eleanor. Even with my sweater and another layer of clothing on, I could feel the cold pricking at my skin underneath. 

“Not really.”

“It’s freezing,” I deadpanned, stopping in my tracks to figure out how this girl, with her pale skin exposed where the arms of her t-shirt ended, could disagree. The only clothing she had on, which was winter-ready, was her knit hat. And maybe her jeans.

“No, it’s not. There’s not even any snow yet,” she said with a laugh which faded when she added, “It’s late this year.”

“Global warming... maybe.”

She nodded in agreement.

We got to her house a short while later and I took off my coat, standing at the doorway, waiting for her to do whatever she wanted to do so I could leave.

Eleanor motioned me to follow her into the living room and told me to take a seat. The place was warm and cozy, nothing like my dorm room. Decorations were all around, ribbons and wreaths and even a tree. A small fireplace kept a cat which lay stretched on a rug company.

I didn’t see Eleanor leave, but I noticed when she walked in from another room with a first aid kit and an ice pack. She worked easily and quickly with deft, dainty fingers and soon enough, my wrist was wrapped up in an elastic bandage and immobilized with a splint.

From the way I stared, she knew what question was on my mind and answered it even before I asked. “I took a training course last year. I was originally supposed to offer nursing, but--“

“You didn’t.”

She shook her head, strands of her hair framing her face. Brushing them back, she gazed up at me. “I diverted to Banking and Finance, you’ve probably seen me in class before.” Eleanor’s smile reached her eyes now. “I’m Eleanor.”

“I know.”

“How?” she asked, as if it’s not really obvious.

“That stocking gave you out.” I nodded in the fireplace's direction and it had her laughing out loud. It was a pleasant sound.

“What’s your name?”

“Alicia,” I told her. “Not what you expected, right?” I eventually added when she remained quiet for far too long. “Sorry, I don’t have an exotic name. I have a weird middle name though.” My face scrunched up at the thought of having a name that people in my country—where it originated from—had no clue it even existed. Thanks to my parents for that hitch.

A lot of time passed before she answered, and there had never been a reply so perfect since the beginning of time."Expected things are boring."

~~

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