Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  I dropped the book and hugged Kit hard as I wept. In the back of my mind I planned on using the first page to draw Kitrina, my soft-spoken guardian angel, who watched over me as I chronicled a new chapter in my life.

  Chapter 9

  Dexx

  A sleek, black Lexus erratically plowed down my street. It drove in the opposite lane, going the wrong direction as the rest of the traffic, apparently being driven by a lost English-woman. The car slowed to avoid small clumps of snow.

  The vehicle screeched to a halt in front of my driveway. The driver hurled forward before the safety belt snapped her back into place.

  In lieu of a bewildered Brit, Denver emerged from the Lexus complete with rosy cheeks and a glossy smile. Her golden hair blew around her alabaster face, an advertisement for thick, lush locks to the world of messy bed-heads. She dragged out an enormous purse with a logo so elegant I refused to try to pronounce the name. She skipped over to my front door, swimming in her black, furry boots. Before her hand reached the bell, I opened the door.

  “Hi,” she squealed.

  Clouds of wintery smoke puffed from her pouty lips. A fresh, floral scent from her swinging tendrils wafted past my nose. I grabbed her sleeve, and hurried her through the entryway. I paused, momentarily, to inhale her girly perfume. A gutsy embarrassing move, but seriously worth it. Denver was unapologetically delicious.

  “Denver, you should probably be more careful when you drive. You were totally going the wrong way.”

  I loathed the sound of my voice, some concerned, old fuddy-duddy type. Too much like my moody, helicopter mom, or my overworked dad. Not my typical lax, chill persona who didn’t give a flip. Was I growing too attached too soon?

  “Oh, that.” Denver waved her hand like it was no big deal. “You know, sometimes in life you need to go in the wrong direction to get what you want.” She winked and squeezed my wrist with her icy hands. Her cold touch had a welcoming warmth. Its soothing effect prickled my skin.

  “Let’s go to my room.” I dragged her by the arm and ran upstairs. I pushed her into my room and slammed the door.

  “Your mom lets you keep the bedroom door closed when you have visitors?” Denver’s eyes widened with awe.

  “Yeah!”

  “Cool!”

  “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  She shook her hair nonchalantly and grinned. Denver flung her oversized bag on my bed. She inspected the tchotchkes on my dresser. She picked up an old rusted metal robot and turned it about in her palm.

  “I’m so happy you called me, Dexx. I didn’t think a guy like you would be into a girl like me. But, I’m glad, I mean, thanks.”

  “A guy like what?”

  “Oh, you know,” Denver answered, evasively. She turned and smiled as if I understood what she meant.

  Gently placing the toy back, Denver swung her hands out and announced, “Well, Mr. DJ, here I am, ready for the grand tour. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got going on?”

  I blushed. I scanned my meager belongings. My technology suddenly paled in comparison to what she was probably used to in the scope of international travel. Like underground clubbing, high fashion shows, and movie premieres. Apprehensive to show her my latest Petal Remix, I started small. I escorted her to a chair in front of my computer, and powered it up.

  “Okay, here is the software I use, um, when I mix and produce. My turntables and my drum kit are both digital, as well as separate pieces of equipment, depending on how I, uh, choose to showcase myself, um, with live performances, or with my blog postings. Uh, sometimes I mash up tracks together, and sometimes I create and master my own material.”

  My voice shook as I stumbled through my mediocre, unrehearsed explanation. I had an audience for the first time in my sanctuary, and I wasn’t sure how to handle myself.

  “Wow! This is amazing,” gushed Denver. “Like, the inner workings of an artist. Ab fascinating.”

  She twisted the ring on her finger as she watched me. Soon after, she slipped her slim hand on my shoulder. My body shivered. My head tingled, and felt instantly energized by her sudden interest in my work. A rush of power zapped my brain, like an intense buzz from an energy drink.

  “I am so blessed, you know, to be living in the center of it all,” I jabbered, excited that my work interested Denver. “Detroit techno grandfathered the whole entire movement, right here, where we live! All of the greats started here. And, not just the techno-scene, Motown, Blues, Rock, Pop, Hip Hop. You name it, we reign when it comes to music, talent, creativity, and . . .”

  “Dexx, you are so inspiring!”

  “Ha, ha. Not really. I’m sure you’re used to the European dance scene, and all of that.” I halted, too humbled and intimidated to go on.

  “No. Not really.”

  “Oh?” I was surprised. I assumed she busted it up like Poppy on the dance floors of London and Paris. “I thought you traveled a lot.”

  “No. Not me. My brother, yes, but I don’t get to tag along. My parents feel it’s important that I stay in ‘school,’” she used her fingers as air quotes. “My parent occasionally travel with Declan, but they often use handlers to escort him out of state, or overseas. So, when we take those ‘family’ vacations, which we seldom do since my parents work so much, it’s to your typical touristy beach or amusement park. I do not get to traipse around Europe. Believe me, I’m not that lucky.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I’m used to it. Anyway,” she paused, sighing as she looked around my room, and fiddled with her ring again, “why don’t you play me some of your music?”

  “Gee, let’s see, what to play, what to play. Hmmm, music,” I clicked my tongue, “I’m considering expanding my podcast, so I can play some of that stuff for you, ‘cause all of the great DJs have one, uh, a podcast, but . . . I don’t have quite as many fans as say . . . your brother just yet, so I’m not sure where to begin,” I explained, embarrassed and a bit intimidated.

  “Don’t compare yourself to my brother. You are not at all like him. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to be. Just play me something you really love. Your favorite music.”

  Easy for her to say. Part of me wanted to be exactly like him. The part of me that dreamed of achieving great success and stardom.

  “Well . . . I do have this mix I’m currently working on. I dubbed it Petal Remix. I took some traditional pop and overlaid elements of jazz, dub step, and classical music to my own beats. I added some wobbles, to give it a real aesthetic element. I wanted to create ambience and emotion with a catchy tune, something people could both dance to, and listen to at the same time. I hope music enthusiasts will appreciate my efforts.”

  My hands shook as I turned on my creation. Denver, being the first person to hear my stuffed, served as the test case.

  “Dexx! Awesomeness! Simply amazingness. Splendidful. I love it!”

  “Really?” Denver’s fervor kept me trapped in ‘the moment.’ My chest beat with an intense pitter-patter.

  “Yes. You are soooo super talented, I mean. Listen, I have the craziest idea ever! And, I don’t know if you’ll ever go for it.”

  “What?” My insides shook with anticipation.

  “How would you like to be . . . ,” she paused dramatically, “ . . . my guest, and . . . come to stay at my house for a few days for Christmas?” she rapidly fired her words with intense enthusiasm.

  “Huh?”

  Caught off guard, I was not sure what I was thinking she would propose, but this was not what I had expected her to say.

  “Okay. I know it sounds crazy-insane, but just listen. Every year, my family throws this crazy-big party. All of our relatives come and stay with us. We have ice skating, bonfires, buffet meals. The works! You
would have your own bedroom, and everything. So, don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to bunk with my brother, and share a bed, or anything like that. You’d even get your own bathroom. We have tons of room. Our house is . . . kinda big. Besides, Declan always gets his way. He always has his own guest every year. But, I only think it’s fair that I get to invite someone too. So, I want it to be you. It will be so super-fun, and so super-awesome! So, what do you think? Do you wanna come?”

  “Who is Declan’s guest going to be?” Knowing what she might say, I stifled my smile.

  “Poppy,” Denver paused. “I know, right? And I get it. Poopy Pants Poppy. Why would you want to hang out with her? But, she’s been coming to our house for Christmas since, like forever, like since kindergarten. She practically has her own room. Blah! You’ll see. But, it’s kind of a tradition for her to come. She celebrates Chanukah, so it’s no big deal for her to leave her family for a few days. And . . . I know you’ll miss your own family, and I know it’s probably a big deal for you to leave them, but, please, consider it. Please! Please! Please come to my house for Christmas! You will not regret it! It will be the chance of a lifetime, for both of us!”

  The chance of a lifetime! My mind swirled wildly with ideas. Oh, the possibilities! Stuck in a home for a few days with Poppy? How could I say no? How could I not accept this incredible offer? Chance of a lifetime indeed!

  “Sure,” I said, acting all casual.

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Denver bobbed up and down, hugging me. “Yay!” she screamed, and giggled like I’d never seen before.

  At school she put up such a stuffy, evasive ‘I don’t care’ attitude that set her apart, and scared away most of her classmates. But the Denver hopping up and down in my room reminded me of a dancing Poppy, unguarded, and liberated behind closed doors, free to reveal her true self.

  She hugged me hard. My body stiffened. Caught off guard, I didn’t expect the sudden affection. Her soft hair tickled my nose. I patted her on the back, awkwardly, then stepped away.

  “Cool! My mom will call yours with all the deets!” she sang.

  Denver turned and opened the door. She blew me a soft air kiss. She ran down my steps in her clunky boots, feet thudding underneath her like timpani drums.

  Lightheaded, my knees buckled. Honeysuckle lingered in the air, a sticky sweet ray of summer, a gift of sunshine on a dreary December day, a reminder that I actually had a female visit my room. I lied earlier to Denver, about having a girl in my room. My mother would have been furious, and my father would have lectured me. But who cares! They were never around enough to notice anyway.

  My heart beat, adding to the wild cacophony of her feet. It created a harmonious tune between the two of us. Shock-waves of insane ideas for some new music flooded my brain. Perhaps a Colorado Christmas mix was in the works.

  My toes prickled with excitement. I wasn’t sure if it was from sitting too long in the same position in my previous class, or from the excitement that buzzed around like an annoying bee in the back of my brain. I couldn’t tell the difference. Caffeinated shots of euphoria slushed around my stomach. I slurped my energy drink. I floated around the busy halls in a comfortable daze.

  In their gaudy Christmas sweaters, students around me exchanged bright colored boxes. They anticipated the final bell ringing and releasing us for our well-deserved Winter Break.

  I floated past kids gnawing on crunchy candy canes. My headphones erased their noise. I stepped to the beat of electro-house holiday tunes, and trap music to complete the mood. Bobbing my head up and down to my sick sounds, I high-fived a few of my bros, and nodded at a couple of the girly fans. I sent a few winks their way until I spotted her from behind.

  Chills ran icicle cold up and down my spine. I halted my merry steps to a dead stop. The final bell sounded loudly with an agitated volume. The obnoxious ring pierced my eardrums through the headphones.

  With sparkly silver tights, and a snug, purple knit dress, I instantly recognized Poppy’s unique style, and hourglass figure. As she turned, matching silver and purple-flecked gloss glistened on her lips. She swiveled as she walked. Her thick ponytail swung back and forth, a hypnotic pendulum which beckoned me. It enticed me to follow her lead. It told me to speak to her.

  She paused to scratch her shoulder. A diamond and sapphire gemstone Star of David pendant hung around her long, thin neck. She picked something up from the ground, and started to walk again. In her hand she clutched a brand new shopping bag from the mall. It was decorated with sepia lifeguards. A messy, red message covered the bag in scribbled handwriting. In her other hand, Poppy carried a phone encased in purple and white crystals, matching her gloss perfectly.

  I went to shout something down the hall, but the words dried up in my throat. I choked. I ripped the headphones off my ears, and turned down the volume. Swigging from my can, I wetted my mouth. I coughed to clear my passage. Poppy swiftly swayed past me. She danced a bit as she walked. She looked off into space with a pleasant smile plastered on her shiny lips. I willed my lazy legs to move, and chase her down.

  “Hey, Poppy, um, wait up!” I called. My throat barked like a pathetic, sick puppy.

  Poppy stopped in the center of the hall. She looked pleasantly amused. Students rushed around us, a mad mob scene of teens anxious to leave the building. A few bumped into my sides, sending small aching shock waves up my body.

  “Hi,” I mumbled.

  “Hi?”

  “Well, I, I . . .” I looked her up and down gathering my most clever thoughts. My eyes shot to her necklace.

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to wish you a Happy Chanukah, Poppy!”

  “Why thank you, Dexx. Thank you so much. You have to be the first person to say that to me at school. Most people don’t notice me, let alone take the time to wish me well. I really appreciate it. I really do! Well, sir, you have a Merry Christmas!”

  “Oh, I will, Poppy. I will! Thanks!”

  “Okay, then, cheerio!” she trilled gleefully. She whipped around her ponytail, and bounced away.

  “Bye!” I waved.

  I rubbed my hands together in utter excitement. A holiday being stuck in a house with Poppy for several days, I could hardly wait.

  I watched, frozen, as she left the building. A plethora of possibilities played out in my mind. Oh Poppy, my precious petal. Oh Poppy!

  Sifting with Care

  Skipping any essential steps in order to short-cut baking a cake might lead to disastrous consequences. Sifting all of the dry ingredients together adds air. Air to breath, oxygen, provides life to any relationship. In this case, the relationship between the soft flour and the grainy sugar. Sifting ensures that the ingredients unite together, combining into one powerful foundation. Without a solid foundation, the cake may sink, crack, or crumble apart, turn to mush, or fizzle to dust.

  So I refuse to skimp on the steps it takes to create life to the ingredients. I combine, cream, beat, provide pockets of fresh air. I draw my fingers through the powdery sand, feel the consistency of the soft grains. I run the mixture through a wire mesh strainer one more time.

  A girl like this appreciates careful attention to fine detail. I long to show my love how much I adore her, for she too is comprised of fine ingredients. A bit of sweet and a bit of spice, all sifted together with care, in utter perfection.

  Chapter 10

  December 23rd

  Denver

  Hints of fresh pine and warm sugary cookies filled the room with their inviting perfumes, welcoming in the holiday with delicious anticipation. This is my year, I thought as I pranced around the house quite dreamful.

  “If you like underdog stories,” I told my fluffy Golden Retriever puppy, Dancer, “well you’re in luck, cause, I’m your underdog story. And this upcoming year, I’m going to turn it around . . . for the better!”


  I patted his head. Dancer panted, furiously wagging his soft, beige tail into the branches of the Christmas tree, which showered the floor with fine, green needles. Then, he lazily sauntered to his sunny spot by the corner of the tree near the window. His wet nose rumbled, like a revved up motorcycle, with every snore. He was a mere four months old, and slept curled up like a sweet baby.

  I didn’t want to be dreamless and rejected. I wanted to be dreamful, full of adventure and wonder. I had plans to create a movie-esque life worthy of an audience. I craved awe. I was worthy of fan fiction. My name was meant to be lit up in the stars, or carried across the sky, on a banner, propelled by an airplane, spray-painted with my likeness. I deserved an ice cream named after me, vanilla. Darling Denver powdered snow vanilla bean. Daring Denver dangerous slope vanilla. It was my year! This was my time. This was my turn. This was my Christmas to remember! After sixteen long years, I finally had a guest, a boy, coming specifically to spend time with me!

  Fragrant sprigs of mistletoe strategically hung over mantels, and doorways. I eyed the angles, inspected the needle placement, hoping to optimize maximum romantical opportunities. I draped my arms across the fireplace, and tilted my head back slightly, to make sure the berries fell over my face. I waved my hand, fanning myself. I was an old timey movie star waiting for her close-up!

  “Oh dear,” I practiced my swoon. “It’s getting a bit warm in here. Come closer. Am I looking flushed?”

  I smacked my lips together as if I fell into a kiss.

  “Why, I didn’t realize you felt this way about me,” I announced to the empty room. “Perhaps we should go for a moonlit walk together, and cool off under the stars.” I made fish lips at my invisible partner before grabbing the hand of my invisible man.

  We whooshed around the room, twirling and dancing to the holiday tunes in my head. Then, I swung myself on top of the brown leather couch, and collapsed in a dreamful heap. Dancer stirred. He opened one eye, yipped, and fell back asleep.