Mistletoe & Kisses

by Anthology

I sit up and cross my arms across my chest insolently. “It fucking died.”

  “And you haven’t gotten a pet?” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. She looks down to write something down again. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “I don’t need to kill a goldfish or have some dog shitting on my floors. I’m barely ever home anyway.”

  “You need to connect with someone. Something. You have isolated yourself to the point of losing commonsense, Sadie.” At my scowl, she sighs and holds up a hand. “Popper. Sorry.”

  “I’m not getting a dog just to put it in a cage at some kennel for most of its life.”

  “Can I suggest something else then? Something that requires little investment from you?”

  “Please. Why didn’t you start with that from the beginning?”

  Instead of smirking like I thought she would, she looks nervous. I study this new tell and how I got it from her, but I don’t know exactly what brought it on, so I wait her out.

  “There are . . . people less fortunate than you. There are children who have it worse than you did. Maybe if you see that life is finite, you might try to improve your way of living.”

  “I have a eight million dollar house on the beach. Doctor,” I point out shortly.

  She leans forward and stares at me hard as she makes her point, using her pen to puncture the air. “You have a cave, where you go to bury yourself every chance you get. You’re a loner who wears a decorative shell like a hermit crab in a pet store wearing a football helmet. This life is not everlasting, Sadie. Most people that survive an overdose come out of it knowing that fact. But you somehow think that you’re invincible now.” She swallows and stands up, straightening her blazer before walking around her feminine desk and grabbing a card. She studies me like she doesn’t know if she wants to give it over. Finally her hand comes out quickly to offer it to me.

  “Go to this address. Talk to this woman. Open your eyes.”

  I take it from her warily. It says Los Angeles County Hospital on the top. My eyes shoot back to hers.

  “You may want to lose Popper and bring back Sadie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because despite how much you think of yourself, they may not let you in the door.”

  SATURDAY

  That night I’m staring at my closet trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to wear. A freaking candy striper outfit? Dr. Pentir’s words are still echoing around in my head, ruining my silence. She’s been my therapist since I got out of rehab. Just one more thing that goes into the image. Drug addict, check. Rehab, check. Therapy for years, check.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter, jerking the hanger on the bar to clang with the rest. I have nothing that doesn’t have holes in it. If I buy a shirt, and it doesn’t already have holes, it’s quickly remedied. My ass is not about to walk into a Niemen’s, and I have no friends to call. “Fuck it.”

  I clatter down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and snatch my keys from the kitchen. In the car I let the windows down and wind my ass-length hair in a long braid over my shoulder. With a beanie over that and aviator sunglasses covering my eyes, I blast Nine Inch Nails so loud my heart vibrates with the beat. Then I go somewhere I’ve never been in my whole life. The mall.

  Studying the massive building an hour later, I walk back and forth a few times before getting the balls to walk toward it. I make the long trek, not about to park anywhere near the front. I know this is the place that teenagers are most likely to be, and while they may be my target demographic for my music, they can’t drive for shit.

  I enter through the food court and my mind gets blown in two seconds. It’s the mecca of fattening food. I officially love the mall. I grab a salted pretzel, a gooey cookie, and a milkshake then make my way slowly through the place. I don’t know when most malls close, but this is L.A. Nothing closes until midnight, at least.

  Even though Halloween was just last week, it looks like Christmas got drunk and puked everywhere. There are department stores, preppy stores that make me itch just looking at them, and a fucking Moorehead costume shop. Then I see it. “Jackpot,” I mutter, dropping my wrappers into a trashcan without slowing down.

  Not being used to such low prices, I wind up going a little nuts. Sixty dollars for a pair of jeans? Insane. It doesn’t take long for an associate to notice me.

  “You want to try this stuff on? Or I can put it behind the counter for you?” she asks. I look her up and down, digging her style, and thrust my haul at her.

  “Put that behind the counter. I want to look at these shoes.”

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them.”

  Does a body need twenty different colors of Chuck Taylors? No idea, but I do. I end up shutting down the store and have to have two of the workers help me out to the car. “Thanks a lot guys,” I say as we stuff my trunk. The dude who helped out Laurel, my trendy employee of the month, isn’t much help. He just fondles my car with his eyes and hands over the bags.

  As soon as her hands are empty Laurel starts heading back toward the mall with a little wave. I turn to the guy, but he looks like he’s about to come on my Mercedes. “Hey, dude. Are you going to walk with her? It’s fuckin’ L.A.” All I get is a blank look and slow blink. I knew it. No sooner do I say it when I hear the snickers and chuckles in the distance. I grab something from my trunk, before slamming it hard, making the guy flinch.

  He watches me walk toward him with wide eyes. Finally, someone’s home in there. I don’t detour. I shoulder check him as hard as I can, making him stagger to the side slightly. Not nearly as hard as I wish. I’m a fucking skinny bitch. “Douchebag.”

  “What did I do?” he asks incredulously. I extend my arm to point out the three guys heading straight for little Laurel. She’s got her hands in her hoodie, head down, walking as fast as she can. Not fast enough. I’m about twenty feet away when they circle her, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

  They don’t get a word out before I’m screeching across the distance, “Hey!” Of course they leave her for me. I’m showing a lot more skin. I look like a drug addict. And they can’t see in the dark that I have a black aluminum bat behind my long legs.

  Chapter Three

  SUNDAY

  No. I didn’t kill them. I didn’t even leave all of them unconscious. Just tapped those boys enough times for the douche to take Laurel back inside and sprint to my car. Sucks it’s so rare, but now I have to worry about thugs and things like retaliation.

  It’s Sunday. That seems like a good day to go to the hospital right? I have no fucking clue. I tug the oversized button-down shirt that’s covering more skin than I’ve ever worn—unless it was lace or a cat suit. In the elevator, I feel like I can’t breathe, and tug at my collar again as the doors finally open.

  I turn and follow the signs that say Oncology to a set of doors and a receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I was told to talk to Alyse. Is she around?”

  The woman looks me up and down, and I realize her nametag says Alyse. She still hasn’t said anything.

  “I got your name from Dr. Pentir. If this is a bad time . . .” I trail off awkwardly.

  “No. Are you here to volunteer?”

  I nod my head before my brain catches up. Volunteer? To what?

  “Well, I’ll tell you Sunday is his day. If you want to go in there and get anyone to talk to you, I would suggest you change, or come back a different day,” she says in warning.

  “Why?” I ask bluntly.

  She gets up, her baby blue scrubs and little stethoscope proclaiming her a nurse of some kind. I follow her over to the doors that don’t open unless you push the big red button on the wall and we stand close to the tiny elongated windows. She nods her head a little bit. “That’s why.”

  I look in the small slice of room afforded by the vertical window and my world narrows onto that slit. I feel a single minded attention that I haven’t ever felt outside of singing. There are children everywhere. All wearing tiny hospital gowns. Some bald,
a lot of them attached to IV poles, but their undivided attention is on one thing. Him. I don’t know what he looks like beyond the most perfect teeth I’ve ever seen. Even from across the room I can see that he’s got a million dollar smile.

  His talking is animated, like he’s telling a story. He gestures wide with his arms, and I feel my stomach melt. He’s even got a cape. I train my eyes on those grey ones I can see through his mask. He looks up in that second, his face stripping entirely of emotion until he looks chiseled in stone.

  My screwed-up head immediately goes to another bat-like creature. The one with his wires crossed. The one that was unpredictable.

  “Hello, Batty,” I whisper, fogging the glass and breaking my focus. I turn to pace and almost run into Alyse. “So the kids won’t accept me because he’s Batman, right?”

  “Exactly.” She nods as she crosses her arms. I bite my cheek as I pace, looking at my feet every few steps. I’m used to making noise when I walk. With these flat shoes I’m silent. I stop walking. Almost . . . stealthy.

  I spin to the elevators down the hall, knowing what I have to do.

  “Hey! If you come back you need to bring some ID,” Alyse yells after me. I flick my hands, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I’m going to Moorehead.

  * * *

  As soon as I walk in I feel suffocated. The racks are bursting. I step over a costume that couldn’t be contained any longer and make my way toward the checkout counter. When I see who is on the other side I almost recoil, but I stifle it right before he sees me.

  “Vhat can I help you viff?” he asks behind his stupidly fake fangs.

  “I need a Robin costume,” I tell him.

  “Robin Hood? But you are a vooman,” he says like I didn’t know that shit. I just cock my head to the side and wait until his brain cells make the slow journey to connecting the dots that I said what I meant.

  “Vright this vay.” He takes me into the maze and I’m more than half afraid I won’t find my way out again. When I’m thoroughly lost in the labyrinth, he waves a vague hand. My eyes travel over the hangers before I walk off, not seeing the color scheme for what I need. I probably look like I’m on speed or something, but who knows how long he’ll be there? I whip through on silent feet, dodging kids and harried parents chasing after them, cursing the sale that’s brought them out in droves, until I see what I’m looking for. Red, green, and yellow. Bingo.

  I slap it down on the counter.

  “Ah! You meant the Batman kind of Robin. Exssselent.” He smiles and nods.

  “Indeed,” I grind out through clenched teeth. I point to the case. “Give me that, too.”

  The stupid fake blood is flaking off of his chin. I’m not patient on a good day, and this is an emergency.

  After a transaction that feels longer than a bikini wax, I’m finally out of there. I opt to change outside of my car; the inside isn’t big enough for all that. I don’t count on the lunch crowd to be flooding the mall after church though. It’s just a shirt, but the poor guy in the mini van got punched in the shoulder pretty hard when he almost ran into the car backing out in front of him. Looks like the wife didn’t appreciate the show as much as he did.

  * * *

  By the time I’m back at the hospital and make my way to the cancer ward, I’m out of breath and panting. I skid to a stop next to Alyse and slap my ID down.

  “What do I do?”

  “Do?” she asks curiously.

  I nod to the doors. “To get in there. Do I sign something or how does this work?”

  She scans my new shirt and smirks. “Good choice. The other girls that come in here because of him aren’t as smart. Just don’t ignore the kids.” She takes my ID and runs it through a copy machine before handing me a binder with Volunteer List on the top of the pages. Who knew it took so long to write out your name? When was the last time I gave more than an autograph? It feels weird.

  “Go through the doors and start talking to kids. Ask them how they’re doing. Most just want someone to look at them normally,” Alyse explains to me. I must look worried because she rolls her eyes. “Just listen to them. Tell a story if they ask. They either want to vent or escape.”

  As I back up from the desk and watch the doors slide open, I feel something weird. Like anticipation mixed with dread. It’s almost the same as stepping on stage. I know what the people want and I’m prepared to give it to them.

  Chapter Four

  SUNDAY

  “What’s your name?”

  I find myself in this hard backed chair, in this sterile room, after being hustled by a nurse on her way to see someone about something. All she said was “Volunteer? In there.”

  So here I am, looking at this kid who’s sitting all by herself in a bed that makes her look like a doll. Well if the doll had a bald head. But her eyes swallow the rest of her face and make me uncomfortable.

  “Robin,” I tell her before swallowing thickly. What did I sign myself up for? Where did Batty go? He wasn’t in the common room when I got there and the crowd had disappeared from earlier. Did I miss him?

  “Are you Batman’s sidekick?” the little girls asks.

  “Yeah,” I look around and lick my lips. “Where are your parents?”

  Her eyes flick to the doors before swallowing me whole. “Sunday is church day. They’re gone all day to pray for me.”

  “Do you think they could pray for me too?” I ask with a smile, but the girl takes me seriously.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. Blunt little thing.

  “What’s not?” I ask rhetorically.

  “Are you dying too?”

  My breathing stops with shock. I feel my face wipe free of its joking expression. WTF? Shit, when was the last time I talked to a kid? Probably when I was a kid. Maybe I didn’t think this through. Shit, I know I didn’t.

  “Everybody’s dying.”

  She nods and my eyes travel to her blanket, where her fingers are moving over the blanket, pleating it over and over.

  “That’s what my parents say.”

  “They must be pretty smart,” I say, then take a deep breath and look to the door. How long was it polite to stay before I could leave this room?

  “I like your nails.” It’s her tone of voice that brings me back around to her. It’s smaller than before. Vulnerable, I guess is the word. I look down at my hands. To keep from biting my nails to the quick I have to keep them painted. My eyes go to the purse I never carry. Where I swiped everything off of the counter this morning and into it because I didn’t know what exactly was supposed to go in there. What in the world could you possibly need besides a credit card and a driver’s license?

  I dig around, and admit while doing it that I probably look like any other girl with the action. Devoid of my familiar black eye shadow and exposed skin I look like anyone else. I finally find the white nail polish and hold it up tentatively.

  “Do you want to try it?” I hold it out to her, but she pulls her hands back.

  “I don’t know how to do it?”

  My eyes move from her face to my hand holding the bottle. “Do you want me to do it then?”

  Her small nod feels like some kind of victory. I smile and the muscles feel weak in my face, like they don’t know what I’m asking them to do. When was the last time I smiled?

  I shake the bottle and take her little hand in mine. She doesn’t have an IV or anything in her chest, but I can see the small bruise peeking out of her gown, where it used to be. I ignore it. I go slowly. I make sure the strokes are perfect and even. When I finish the first hand I blow on them before moving to the other one. Her little nails are almost impossible to keep clean of smudges, but I do my best.

  When I’m done, I sit back with a sigh and watch her inspect her nails. I half think she’s going to tell me I screwed up. But then it happens. She smiles—first with her eyes and then with her mouth. She’s missing a tooth on the side that I hadn’t noticed when she talked. That’s when I know. I did win.
>
  “You’re so pretty.” It slips out. A thought that didn’t go through my almost nonexistent filter. Instantly her smile drops, and I feel bad for paying her a compliment.

  “No I’m not,” she protests as her hands fall to the blanket again. The protest is so strong I can’t keep it in.

  “Yes you are,” I say with conviction.

  “I’m bald like an old man. I don’t look like the kids on the TV. I’m sick.”

  I roll my lips in and bite them, sitting back and crossing my arms. I shrug. “Some people are sick up here,” I point to my head, “like crazy, but look like everyone else and you don’t know until it’s too late. They think bad things and then do them. Some people are sick, like you. But they’re good in their hearts and you can see that more than hair or skin. That makes them more pretty than anybody you see on TV. That’s why I said you’re beautiful.”

  She blinks rapidly, and I hold my breath. Did I say the wrong thing?

  “You’re beautiful too.”

  My gasp is unexpected, at least to me. I don’t react outwardly, as a rule. I feel equally honored and deceptive. I remind myself I’m playing a role, at the same time hoping that this little bit lying in her big bed may see more than I know exists.

  I panic and stand, heading to the door, before remembering my purse and having to backtrack for it. “I should go . . . see some more kids.”

  “Okay,” she says simply, accepting that I’m running from her with ease. It makes me stop and turn back.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Rachel.”

  Rachel.

  * * *

  I exit the room like it’s on fire and not left quiet and morose in my wake. I pace, because that’s what I do as I rant in my head about what a fucking screwed-up idea this was, and cursing my doctor for this stupid form of therapy.

  “Nice mask.”

  I almost trip on my flats, I spin so fast. My hair catches on my mouth and nose, catching in my eyelashes. Oh my God. It’s Batty. He’s leaning against the wall next to the room after Rachel’s. I refrain from making a raspberry sound to get the hair out of my face, but just barely.