Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

Denver promptly jumped on a tube, and pushed herself down the hill.

  “You cheater! You’re gonna get it times a zillion.”

  I launched myself after her, cracking up, having yet another best time in my life.

  Lost in a blur of family and friends, Denver introduced me to all of her family’s guests. The frenzy of handshakes, hugs, and air kisses caught me off guard.

  The large room filled to capacity with happy people. Squeals of excitement exploded like unexpected firecrackers. People who hadn’t seen each other in a long year clamored together lost in tearful reunions. They conversed while gripping each other joyously, afraid to let go of their beloved friends and relatives. The merriment was contagiously intoxicating. My head spun with too many names, faces, and information. I absorbed nothing but the giddy Yuletide sentiment of family.

  Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, longtime friends, they all flashed before my eyes. Debbie and Dereck circled the room with silver platters filled with hors d’oeurves. They conscientiously made time for each new guest that entered their domicile.

  I grabbed a couple sausages, and stuffed them in my mouth to lessen the stress of talking to too many new people. Spinning music didn’t involve face-to-face contact. I wasn’t used to being so ‘on.’

  Denver rushed around dragging me behind her to ensure we chat with every new face, which was about the most tiring ten minutes of my life.

  I broke away from the hullabaloo. I wedged myself between two tables in the corner of the room. One had adult libations, the other had an assortment of interesting bottles, bowls, and carafes. Bottles of milk, and flat and sparkling water lined the table next to bottles of flavored syrups, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream.

  “French and Italian soda.” Poppy said, startling me.

  Not expecting her, I jumped. “What?”

  “French and Italian soda. That’s what this table is for. Are you interested? Would you like some?” She licked her plump lips.

  “Uh . . . what are you having?” I nervously chewed my lip.

  “Let me see.” Poppy scratched her head. Her pony wiggled.

  Tonight, she wore a mint green dress trimmed with a light pink ribbon that looped around her waist and tied in the back. She resembled a present ready to be opened, or a tree waiting for the ornaments. Her light pink lips matched the ribbon perfectly.

  “How about a New York egg cream?” She smacked her shiny lips together.

  “Egg? Cream?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” she laughed. My heart raced in her presence. “It’s not how it sounds. There aren’t any eggs in it. Do not panic. Let me show you.”

  She took a glass. Poppy mixed sparkling water with milk. She poured in some chocolate syrup, and topped it with whipped cream, and a cherry.

  “Yum!” She passed the glass under my nose. “Here. You can have mine.”

  I accepted it, and took a sip of her beverage. It tasted oddly delicious.

  “A person could easily get lost in a crowd like this,” Poppy uttered as she mixed herself another drink.

  “I thought you knew these people.”

  “Not all. The Davies have a big family, and a large circle of friends, acquaintances, and business contacts. I’m so bad with names and faces.”

  Me too, I thought.

  “It’s very intimidating, at least for me.”

  I felt the same way.

  “I am not a crowd person. But you are probably used to it, crowds, being a DJ and all.”

  “I suppose.”

  In reality, when I spun music, I isolated myself from the mob. I stood apart from the crowd. I plugged my ears with my headphones. I separated myself from the noise of chatter. I lost myself in the music, alone in a room filled with listeners. I was in control, in the zone, in a trance with the beat. It wasn’t a form of socializing, it was a form of art.

  “I’m more for intimate settings,” she said.

  “Nonsense, Poppy!” I blurted out, and play-punched her.

  Poppy’s eyes narrowed at the audacity of my interjection.

  “I mean, at the club, dancing. You seemed so comfortable, like it was natural for you to hang, totally chill, on the dance floor.”

  “Well, I do love dancing, but still. I’m more comfortable at the edge, on the fringe, away from the crowd, alone, off to the side, kind of, if at all possible, lost in the musical zone, moving to the beat. I definitely do not want to be in the center of things. I do not like being noticed. I do not like it when people point at me. And, I do not like the attention.”

  How could you not notice her? When Poppy danced, she drew a cloud of attention from admirers of all sorts. She mesmerized on the dance floor. That’s what drew me in to her, the enigmatic way she moved. She still drew me in with her odd mystery and quirky conversations. Her words mirrored my thoughts exactly. The beat, the music, the maze of being lost alone. We were so meant to be. This confirmed it.

  “Maybe that’s why Declan and I click. We complement each other. He thrives on being the center of attention. He’s made a career out of it.”

  The mention of Declan slapped me awake. It dragged my mind away from the images of Poppy dancing alone, wiggling her fingers to summon me while I spun with the world revolving around the two of us. My inner mirror shattered. Of course Declan did well in crowds. Persistence.

  He stood in the middle of the room listening to friends and family while Poppy and I hid in the corner. Maybe Poppy and I were more alike than she realized. Bonus points for me. Mirror partially repaired.

  Poppy slurped her drink, and nervously swung around her hips. Or maybe it was not nerves, maybe she moved to the music in her head. She was hard to read. I racked my brain searching for more conversation.

  Declan spotted her from the middle of the room. He waved. He excused himself from his guest. His arms flapped as he stuttered an apology. His fingers wiggled as he touched his guest’s collarbone, then he strutted his way over to our corner big runway style. “D-D-D-o-o-o-esn’t P-o-o-o-ppy l-l-l-o-o-o-k a-a-a-a-bsolutely g-g-g-o-o-o-rgeous?”

  Poppy giggled. Declan grabbed her by the waist. He picked her up and swung her around in a circle. Her skirt twirled, poofing out as full as an open umbrella.

  “Yes, she does, she really does,” I agreed.

  Declan put her down and grabbed her hands. He clasped them between his. Poppy’s hands looked like they belonged to a doll compared to his. “P-o-o-o-ppy, I-I-I l-l-l-o-o-o . . .”

  “Excuse me, everybody,” Dereck interrupted the crowd.

  He clinked his wine glass with a silver spoon. The cacophony died down as people turned to listen. Declan stopped mid-word. He stood up tall and attentive as his dad moved to the front of the room. Dereck walked over to the mantle near the fireplace. The fire below him flickered around logs that were artfully placed. The hot flames licked the wood.

  “I would like to call up my dear wife, Debbie, my darling daughter, Denver, my doting son, Declan, and his peppy pal, Poppy.”

  The four of them wove between the crowd of family and friends, in order to make their way to the center of the mantle.

  “First off, Debbie and I would like to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for coming here to our home to celebrate this very important, and meaningful holiday with us. For the Davies, Christmas is more than simply decorating a tree or baking cookies. It is a time for deep reflection, and appreciation. It is a time for prayer. It is a season for giving to others in need, whether it be time, food, money, possessions, or a listening ear. And most importantly, it is an occasion for friends and family to spend some good, old-fashioned time together, because that is more valuable than any materialistic possession in the world. Time is something we never have enough of, and togetherness is worth more than gold. And you, you are our friends, you are our family. We
want you to know how much you mean to us. You are what is truly important. We love you guys, we truly do.”

  The crowd ‘awed’ uniformly. They broke out in sentimental applause. Debbie and Dereck pecked each other on the lips.

  “Next, I would like to give our Poppy the opportunity to light the candles on the menorah. Chanukah and Christmas both hold powerful messages for the season, Christmas being the holy birth, and Chanukah being the preservation, and strength of a people. Both combined creates a beautiful miracle that we stand here to witness, and celebrate.”

  Poppy carefully took the menorah down off the mantel. She lit the candles, and recited a prayer in Hebrew.

  “Now, if we can all join hands with one another, I would like to take this moment for some silent prayer while I read some Christmas blessings to you out loud.”

  Dereck read from a tattered, old book. We bowed our heads. I closed my eyes and drifted. I said my own prayers in my mind. Dereck finished his blessings. The crowd recited an Amen, and took a few moments for quiet reflection.

  “Finally, I understand the excitement of ripping into beautifully wrapped presents, but Christmas means giving to others before receiving. While I have not totally eliminated the spirit of opening boxes, my family and I have decided to forgo expensive gifts for more humble sentiments. Instead, we have donated our time, and resources to several local charities. Thank you. Many of you have also generously donated to your favorite causes. We will also be taking up a collection of toys for children in the community. But, as we know, not all of us are able to give time or money equally, which leads me to my next option. I would like to hand the floor over to our little Poppy here. She is starting an initiative on something we can all give, no matter what our circumstance. Acceptance. Love. Well, you’ll see.”

  Poppy stepped forward. Her hands shook as she unrolled a poster board covered in glitter. A sudden flash, a spark hidden deep in my memories, ran through my mind. Friends. Running. Glitter. A loner. A girl. A long hallway. An accident. Unapologetic pride. Tears. Laughter. Abandonment. I shivered. My stomach gurgled, queasy.

  “T-Thank y-you. Um, hi. While I’m still only in my junior year of high school, f-for m-my senior project . . .” Poppy’s voice quivered. She spoke so quietly in front of the crowd it was hard to hear what she was saying. “I, um, decided to come up with a way to look past our differences, and enjoy each other for who we are on the inside. It’s true, I sometimes get caught up on how we see each other. I’m human. I’m not perfect. And . . . we do not all have to agree with each other. Where am I going with this?”

  Poppy paused. Her curvy body trembled. She scratched her head, and took a deep breath.

  “This is so hard to explain,” she mumbled. “We . . . we all have unique perspectives on life. But, we should stop to appreciate each other’s differences, and embrace them, with open arms, and without hate. We should not poke fun of each other, or mock what scares us. We should not be mean to people we do not understand. Instead, we should celebrate each other. So, I decided to create a celebration of my own. I call it Love Without Labels. That’s what I decided to call my project too, uh, Love Without Labels,” Poppy chuckled to herself.

  “Now, for my goal. I aim to spread the word around my school that despite our differences, we can still find it in our hearts to support one another. We should not label each other, or call each other names. No, we should get to know one another. We could stop bullying in a single day, if we would just agree to stop judging one another. So, I am ready, here and now, to stand up before you, and to take a pledge, tonight, to be brave and love without labels. I-I a-a-m ready, t-to bravely stand by your side, n-n-o m-matter what! S-So I challenge you all to love, label free. Thank you for listening,” Poppy ended her speech.

  The large group, family mixed with friends, applauded Poppy. Tears wet the corners of my eyes. Poppy’s speech overwhelmed me, confusing me even more. Her words, Dereck’s words, moved me. My heart ached with a mixture of love, grief, guilt, angst, and exhilaration wrapped up in a bow of confusion. It left me wanting more, all the while afraid of hearing more.

  “That was quite inspirational, Poppy. Thank you,” Dereck said as he took over. “Yep, I’m longwinded,” he chuckled to himself. “In closing, yes, no matter what, each and every one of us can afford to give love during this special Christmas season. And what a blessing it would be if we could continue to give our love throughout the year. Please, dearest family and friends, enjoy yourselves. Live. Laugh. Love, and be merry on this fine Christmas Eve. God bless. Amen.” Dereck bowed his head. His friends and family clapped. They offered the Davies family their gratitude, prayers, and blessings.

  The Davies clan and Poppy hugged each other. The guests dispersed and returned to their ambient chatter. They ate, drank, with continuous merriment. I lost sight of Poppy as Declan dragged her off through the sea of bodies.

  I drummed my fingers on a coffee table. I plotted my next move. I smiled politely at passer byers. Uncomfortable, I scanned the room for a friendly face so I didn’t have to hang alone.

  I wondered where Denver had gone. For a moment, I considered running up to my guest room to hide, and text my friends, but Poppy and Declan came back, giggling. They joined me.

  “H-H-H-e-e-e-y, D-D-D-e-e-e-xx, d-d-d-i-i-i-d ya-ya-ou k-n-n-n-o-o-o-w th-a-a-a-t P-o-o-o-ppy w-w-w-a-a-a-s w-w-w-o-o-o-rking o-o-o-n h-h-h-e-e-e-r p-p-p-roject a-a-a-l-l-l-ready, a-a-a year e-e-e-arly?” Declan wiggled his fingers proudly.

  “No, um, I didn’t know.” I looked up at the ceiling, guiltily avoiding their faces.

  “I-I-I’m s-s-s-o-o-o p-p-p-roud o-o-o-f h-h-h-e-e-e-r. S-S-S-h-h-h-e-e-e w-w-w-o-o-o-rks s-s-s-o-o-o h-h-h-a-a-ard.”

  Declan stood up on his toes. His arms flapped about.

  “Not as hard as you work,” Poppy added. She turned to Declan, and wrapped her arms around his bicep. “You go-go-go and never stop, with all of your jobs, school, and all of your accomplishments.” She raised one arm. She brushed her hand delicately across his cheek with a soft caress, and stared admiringly into his dark eyes.

  “B-B-B-elieve m-m-m-e-e-e, i-i-i-t’s n-n-n-o-o-o-thing w-w-w-i-i-i-thout ya-ya-ou!”

  As I stood about, listening to their exchange, a couple, around Declan’s parents’ age, approached us. Declan turned. He bowed politely.

  “D-D-D-e-e-e-xx, th-e-e-e-se a-a-a-re m-m-my c-c-c-ousins . . .”

  “Larry and Terry,” a gentleman, with the stale smell of old cigar, and the most obvious comb-over ever, and a tall, svelte glamourous brunette with high cheekbones and a stern expression, briskly cut Declan off from his introduction. “I’m Dereck’s first cousin, and this is my wife.”

  The man spoke too loud, too slow, enunciating every word, in a condescending manner, as if we were too simple to understand him. The woman turned a stiff nose down at us.

  “Pleased to meet you.” I shook their hands.

  “Yep. And my four kids over there, Craig, Amber, Scott, and Meg.” Larry pointed toward the crowd, but I couldn’t tell where he meant for me to look. Too many unrecognizable guests gathered in the room.

  “Anyway, great speech there, Poppy,” Larry said.

  “Thanks,” Poppy quietly answered.

  “I hear you two are a couple now. Congratulations! Declan sure knows how to pick them. Who was that other girl you were dating before? Wasn’t she also a model?”

  “Wha . . . wha . . . wha,” Declan stuttered. His face turned bright red.

  “Never mind. The Davies sure adore their Poppy. Boy, she’s been hanging around the family forever. They just love to butter her up, and feed her. I mean, just look at their children, the second helpings got to go somewhere. Am I right? Declan and Denver aren’t eating them. And well, with my kids, you couldn’t pinch an inch on them. They stick to eating clean. But, Poppy, she sure loves to pack it in, am I right or what?�
�� Larry cackled haughtily insinuating that Poppy ate enough for the entire family.

  Poppy’s face turned white. Her lower lip curled into a quivering frown. Her eyes glistened pinkish red, matching the ribbon around her waist perfectly. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” Poppy whispered. She rushed away.

  “Someone should say something about those buck teeth. Should I have Meg or Amber tell her about those new, clear braces?” Terry said in a hushed voice in Larry’s ear, loud enough for Poppy to hear as she sprinted away.

  “W-w-w-a-a-a . . . ..w-w-w-a-a-a . . . .P-o-o-o,” Declan cried, but Larry stuck out his hand. He placed it on Declan’s chest to keep him from fleeing.

  “Declan, my kids have it down when it comes to dating. They have their priorities straight. So, I ask you, your new girlfriend, I got it, you’ve been friends for a very long time, but, is she the ‘best’ one in the room or could you do better?” Larry inquired, frankly.

  “W-W-W-e-e-e-ll, s-h-h-h-e-e-e’s th-e-e-e only o-o-o-ne, a-a-a-n-n-n-d s-h-h-h-e-e-e’s n-n-n-o-o-o-t i-i-i-n th-e-e-e r-r-r-o-o-o-o-m anymore.” Declan looked around, confused by the question.

  “Well, honestly, son, I didn’t mean this room!” Larry spat, impatiently, and rudely to Declan.

  “I-I-I g-g-g-o-o-o-ta g-g-g-o-o-o,” Declan stammered in a panicked voice.

  His stressed jaw clenched and unclenched. His mouth opened and closed forming several incomplete yawns. He headed toward the stairs.

  Larry leaned in to his smug wife. “I keep on telling Dereck to take his kid to a neurologist. I don’t understand how that boy keeps it together on a runway. Just look at how he handles a conversation, flapping, shaking, and those tics. He can barely talk. I don’t know what the flip is wrong with that kid anyway. He is so severely disabled, should he even be allowed to have a girlfriend? What’s if they want to get married, or, for goodness sakes, have children? Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?”