Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  “W-W-W-a-a-a-tching T-T-T-V.”

  “You’ve had too much screen time already, young man.”

  “T-h-h-h-a-a-a-t’s n-n-n-o-o-o-t t-t-t-rue! I-I-I’ve b-b-b-a-a-a-rely w-w-w-a-a-a-tched a-a-a-n-n-n-ything s-s-s-i-i-i-nce I-I-I’ve b-b-b-e-e-e-e-n h-h-h-o-o-o-me!”

  It was true. Since they’d scheduled so many jobs for me this year, I’d barely been home to relax, let alone watch too much television. Plus, I had to attempt most of my college class on the road using the on-line version, with very little personal instruction. Since I read so slowly, and wrote even slower, the class took up most of my downtime at the hotels, leaving only small spurts of time to communicate with my lovely Poppy, which saddened me terribly.

  Even when I was at home, I was expected to help around the house, and care for Dancer. My parents booked local modeling gigs too, not allowing me the chance to see Poppy, except if she tagged along in the very background. How was I supposed to date her while I worked? On top of school, the modeling appearances, my other job at the gym (which as an adult I considered my ‘real’ job), and the sparse time I could spend with my girlfriend, I‘d had no downtime for myself, and my other hobbies. I deserved a peaceful moment in front of the screen to watch Batman!

  “Well, then, please consider your guests. I made this Christmas party for you. You should honor your guests by spending time with them,” she pressured me with guilt.

  I didn’t want to argue, but Mama and Dada made this party for themselves. Besides, I was clearly spending time with my little cousin, Peter. He certainly seemed to enjoy my company. He cozied his little feet up on my lap as he rested on a pillow in the middle of the couch.

  “O-O-O-k-k-k-a-a-a-y. I-I-I w-w-w-i-i-i-ll i-i-i-n a-a-a m-m-m-o-o-o-ment,” I assured her.

  “No, young man, you will turn off the television this instant, and come outside with us,” she corrected me with a hurtful snap.

  “Ya-ya-ou k-n-n-n-o-o-o-w I-I-I’m n-n-n-o-o-o-t a-a-a c-h-h-h-i-i-i-ld a-a-a-n-n-nymore. I-I-I’m n-n-n-o-o-o-t a-a-a- young m-m-m-a-a-a-n. I-I-I’m j-j-j-u-u-u-st a-a-a m-m-m-a-a-a-n, a-a-a m-m-m-a-a-a-n w-h-h-h-o-o-o c-c-c-a-a-a-n t-t-t-a-a-a-ke c-c-c-a-a-a-re o-o-o-f h-i-i-i-m-s-s-s-elf.” I stayed put on the couch, in full-on rebellion.

  She underestimated me. Sure, I made mistakes, but I wasn’t a little boy. Peter was. I wasn’t Peter. I was a man. A grown man.

  “Honestly, Declan, I’m a bit disturbed by what I heard from Gran tonight. I heard you admitted to her that you were failing your class, again. Again! For the third time, Declan, the same class.”

  “W-h-h-h-y a-a-a-re ya-ya-ou b-b-b-r-r-r-i-i-i-nging th-i-i-i-s u-u-u-p r-r-r-i-i-i-ght n-n-n-o-o-o-w?” I stopped gazing at the set to confront her.

  “Because, the university provides assistance to students who need a little extra help completing their courses. They also offer a special program that matches students with an aide to assist in transcribing notes and . . .”

  “I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t w-w-w-a-a-a-nt h-h-h-e-e-e-lp! N-o-o-o-t th-a-a-at k-k-k-i-i-i-nd!”

  “You don’t want help, Declan? You don’t want help?” She repeated herself, as if her ears didn’t believe me the first time.

  “I-I-I r-r-r-e-e-e-f-f-f-u-u-u-s-s-s-e!”

  “You refuse? You refuse? Declan, don’t be ridiculous. This program helps students with special needs succeed at the college level. Why on earth would you refuse? Why would you reject services to get you through?”

  “W-W-W-hy? W-W-W-hy? B-B-B-e-e-e-cause th-e-e-e w-w-w-o-o-o-rk w-w-w-orld d-d-d-o-o-o-esn’t o-o-o-ffer sp-e-e-e-cail p-p-p-rograms! M-M-M-y b-b-b-o-o-o-ss d-d-d-o-o-o-esn’t f-f-f-o-o-o-llow b-b-b-e-hind a-a-a-nd m-m-m-a-a-a-ke s-s-s-ure I-I-I d-d-d-o m-m-m-y w-w-w-ork! I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o a-a-a-c-c-c-omplish t-h-i-i-i-s-s-s c-c-c-class on m-m-m-y own, n-n-n-o-o-o m-m-m-a-a-a-tter h-h-h-o-o-o-w l-l-l-o-o-o-ng i-i-i-t t-t-t-a-a-a-kes! B-B-B-e-e-e-s-s-s-ides, P-o-o-o-ppy c-c-c-a-a-a-n h-h-h-e-e-e-lp”

  That did it. That pushed Mama over the edge. The mention of Poppy flying to my side to come rescue me, to save me, that pushed Mama’s buttons. But, that’s not what I meant. I intended on taking care of Poppy, not vice versa. That was the reason why I refused to give up on this class. I needed to succeed. I needed to succeed for her. For us. I planned on finding a solid job to support us, and to take care of her.

  “Honestly, Declan, I find relying on a sixteen-year-old girl for help in a college level course grossly inappropriate. You should not use Poppy as a crutch. She’s working through learning the material at her own level. She has her own classes she needs to worry about. She shouldn’t take on the added burden of helping you out with your course work.”

  “S-S-S-o-o-o n-n-n-o-o-o-w I-I-I’m a-a-a b-b-b-u-u-u-rden? Y-e-e-e-ah, r-r-r-i-i-i-ght!”

  “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It came out wrong.”

  “S-S-S-u-u-u-re i-i-i-t d-d-d-i-i-i-d! Ya-ya-ou k-n-n-n-o-o-o-w, a-a-a-l-l-l t-h-e-e-e o-o-o-the-e-e-r c-c-c-o-o-o-llege g-g-g-u-u-u-ys h-h-h-a-a-a-ve th-e-e-e-ir g-g-g-i-i-i-rl-f-f-f-r-r-r-i-i-i-ends h-h-h-e-e-e-lp th-e-e-e-m, a-a-a-nd d-d-d-o th-e-e-e-y r-r-r-e-e-e-ceive f-f-f-l-l-l-a-a-a-ck? N-N-N-o-o-o!”

  “Declan, I’m sorry that you feel that . . . .”

  “A-A-A-nd t-h-e-e-e-e-y a-a-a-re n-n-n-o-o-o-t a-a-a-s s-s-s-erious a-a-a-s m-m-m-e-e-e! Th-e-e-e-y f-f-f-o-o-o-l a-a-a-round, t-t-t-a-a-a-ke t-h-i-i-i-ngs f-f-f-or granted! I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt a-a-a d-d-d-e-e-e-g-r-r-r-e-e-e! I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt a-a-a real j-j-j-o-o-o-b!”

  “Declan, you already have a real job! A very good one, if fact.”

  I couldn’t disagree more. What was the shelf life of a modeling career? Did it offer secure longevity? Since when did a cutthroat career that worshipped newer, younger, hotter talent guarantee a steady paycheck, and a solid retirement package? Sure, the phone still rang, buzzed, chirped, and sang for me at all hours of the day, but how long would that last? I needed a degree in order to get a job that could support a family. That’s why I also took a part-time job as a custodian at the gym. I wasn’t going to live on the runway, in the spotlight, in front of the camera forever. I needed to be practical.

  “N-N-N-o-o-o! Th-e-e-e m-m-m-o-o-o-deling i-i-i-sn’t g-g-g-o-o-o-ing t-t-t-o l-l-l-a-a-a-st! H-H-H-o-o-o-w m-m-m-a-a-a-ny o-o-o-lder m-m-m-o-o-o-dels d-d-d-o ya-ya-ou s-s-s-e-e i-i-i-n a-a-a m-m-m-agazine? Th-a-a-a-t’s w-w-w-h-y-y-y I-I-I w-w-w-ork a-a-a-t th-e-e-e gym!”

  “That’s why you work at the gym? Don’t be ridiculous! You clean toilets, Declan!”

  “Ya-ya-ou th-h-h-i-i-i-nk I-I-I’m t-t-t-o-o-o g-g-g-o-o-o-d t-t-t-o c-c-c-lean t-t-t-t-oilets?”

  “Yes, in fact, I do.”

  “W-W-W-e-e-e-ll, I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t. B-B-B-e-e-e-sides, w-w-w-h-h-h-o-o-o e-e-e-lse i-i-i-s g-g-g-o-o-o-ing t-t-t-o h-h-h-i-i-i-re m-m-m-e-e-e? I-I-I’m a-a-a tough s-s-s-e-e-e-ll. I-I-I-t’s f-f-f-l-l-l-e-e-e-xible, and, and, and, p-p-p-lus, I-I-I g-g-g-o-o-o-t t-h-i-i-i-s j-j-j-o-o-o-b o-o-o-n m-m-m-y own! And, and, and, and t-h-e-e-e-re i-i-i-s r-r-r-o-o-o-m t-t-t-o g-g-g-r-r-r-o-o-o-w!”

  “That’s completely false, and you know it. You are the opposite of a hard sell. We can barely dam up the offers that continue to pour in for you. Talk about longevity. A man like you could have a very long, very enriching career, well into your middle age years, or possibly older. I’ve seen plenty of ads featuring more distinguished, older looking gentlemen, which I’m positive you will eventually develop into. You couldn’t possibly want to give up all of your wonderful opportunities for dirty toilets, sweaty towels, and soiled gym mats.”

  “I-I-I l-l-l-i-i-i-ke i-i-i-t t-h-e-e-e-re. W-h-a-a-a-t I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t l-l-l-i-i-i-ke i-i-i-s s-s-s-o-o-o m-m-m-a-a-any p-p-p-eople! H-H-H-a-a-a-ndlers! A-A-A-gents! P-P-P-R! T-o-o-o m-m-m-a-a-a-ny p-p-p-e-e-e-ople! M-M-M-a-a-a-king d-d-d-e-e-e-cisions f-f-f-o-o-o-r m-m-m-e-e-e. D-D-D-o-o-o-ing t-h-i-i-i-ngs f-f-f-o-o-o-r m-m-m-e-e-e. I-I-I’m n-n-n-o-o-o-t a-a-a b-b-b-a-a-a-by! I-
I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o d-d-d-o-o-o t-h-i-i-i-ngs f-f-f-o-o-o-r m-m-m-yself!”

  “This career is a gift. A gift. What you have, Declan, is a gift, that has transformed you into a beautiful icon. Don’t waste it. Don’t squander it. If you do, you might live to regret it one day. It has opened up so many doors for you, given you a world of opportunities. Opportunities which most people would only dream of having. Opportunities which might help you, and even might help Poppy. And . . . and, you have done all of this, on your own, Declan. Everyone in the industry has handlers, agents, PR. But you have accomplished so much, handled yourself with maturity, professionalism, and grace, without extra assistance, without shying away from a personal challenge, without using any disabilities you might have as a crutch or an excuse. You should be proud of yourself. I am proud of you. Now, why on earth would you throw that all away? All of your accomplishments? All of your jumped hurdles?”

  Her words crashed over me like a giant wave in a harsh squall. Rocks and boulders down a mountain in a shaking avalanche. Was she right? I looked down at my feet. She was probably right.

  “S-S-S-o-o-o-ry,” was all I could muster.

  “You don’t have to be sorry, Declan. You just need to understand what you would be giving up.”

  “I-I-I’m n-n-n-o-o-o-t g-g-g-i-i-i-ving u-u-u-p. B-B-B-u-u-u-t.” I paused because what I had to say next would surely sting, and upset my mama, “I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o s-s-s-l-l-l-o-o-o-w d-d-d-own a-a-a b-b-b-it s-s-s-o-o-o I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-a-n r-e-e-e-t-t-t-a-a-a-ke t-h-a-a-a-t c-c-c-l-l-l-a-a-a-ss, a-a-a-nd s-s-s-p-p-p-e-e-e-nd s-s-s-o-o-o-me m-m-m-o-o-o-re t-t-t-i-i-i-me w-i-i-i-th P-o-o-o-ppy . . . s-s-s-t-t-t-a-a-a-rting t-h-i-i-i-s N-N-N-e-e-e-w Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-ar’s. I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o c-c-c-a-a-a-ncel m-m-m-y-y-y N-N-N-e-e-w Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-ar’s a-a-a-appearance.”

  I hopped off the couch. I lifted up on my toes, and wiggled my fingers, anxious to hear mama’s reaction.

  I waited.

  Her face twisted into a sour grimace. She looked forward to my New Year’s countdown appearance on national television, but I couldn’t do it. I simply couldn’t. I didn’t feel comfortable with the live televised format, where someone might ask me a question. But, more important, rather more tragic, since Poppy and I finally got together, after a decade of waiting for her, for it to be appropriate to date her, for us to have an actual relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, I’d spent less time with her than ever.

  I wanted our first New Year’s as a couple to be special. I wanted a girlfriend to kiss at the stroke of midnight under a glowing disco ball to Auld Lang Syne. I wanted to hold her hand during the countdown. I wanted it to rain confetti down on our heads. I wanted to hug the girl I’d loved almost my entire life. I wanted to be present during these important events. I didn’t want to miss her from afar as she celebrated with her girlfriends, or worse, another boy. I didn’t want to cry in front of the whole entire country, on national TV, as I stood in a booth, smiling a fake smile next to my handler. There would always be another gig, but there wouldn’t be another first New Year’s ever, ever again!

  Mama sniffed, shocked, and hurt. Her eyes glazed.

  “I think now is not the best time to discuss your schedule.”

  “B-B-B-u-u-u-t . . .” I had more to say, and, well, another bombshell to drop.

  “I must attend to the guests, which is what you should do as well. I love you.”

  She tossed her tense words as me, pelted me with harsh staccato stones. Mama lifted herself high enough on her toes to peck me on the cheek. She walked away, her body clenched, very rigid, the way she got when she was nervous, and couldn’t control the situation.

  There I stood, a lost boy, a lost man, a lost man-boy, or whatever was in between, drowning in a pool of guilt. I wanted to stay. I wanted to go. I wanted to grow up, live as an independent adult. I wanted to regress, and hide behind Mama and Dada. I wanted to stay close to Poppy, and twirl around in the fantasy world we created together. But, instead, I stood, frozen, unable to move, unable to make a decision, unable to breathe. I sunk faster and faster, under the water of indecision.

  “Declan, dear.”

  A voice pulled me back to the surface. I jumped, startled. I turned quickly to face my grandmamma. She stood behind me. She flashed me a heart-melting smile. Grayish blonde coils tumbled down her rosy cheeks. She smelled like warm cocoa on a cold winter day, and unconditional love.

  “G-G-G-r-r-r-a-a-a-n, ya-ya-ou s-s-s-tartled m-m-m-e-e-e.”

  I kissed her cheek, and bowed like I did when I had no words, but still cared to be polite, chivalrous, and strong, like Bruce Wayne or Batman.

  Gran caressed my cheek. She dragged her fragile fingers through my hair, then grabbed the scruff of my neck, and gave it a hearty shake. I beamed. I looked down at her tiny, fragile body with adoration. I forgave her loyalty to Mama.

  “Ya-ya-ou t-t-t-o-o-o-ld M-m-m-a-a-a-m-m-m-a-a-a a-a-a-b-b-b-out t-h-e-e-e c-c-c-class, d-d-d-i-i-i-dn’t ya-ya-ou?”

  “Yes, my dear, I felt I had to.”

  “I-I-I u-u-u-nderstand.”

  “But, Declan, that doesn’t at all, under any circumstances, make me any less proud of you! In fact, I’m even prouder. You are a resilient boy. You hold on to your dreams, you don’t give up, just like your mama, just like me. I guess it runs in the family,” Gran chuckled.

  “I-I-I g-g-g-uess,” I imitated her, chuckling back.

  “You hang in there, and don’t give up. I know you’ll get it, you always do, when you are ready. If you want to find a true hero, Declan, look in the mirror. You’ll see one.”

  “I-I-I t-t-t-r-r-r-y, b-b-b-u-u-u-t, I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-an’t. I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-a-n’t s-s-s-e-e-e a-a-a h-h-h-e-e-e-ro!”

  I flapped about, frustrated.

  “Keep looking. You will see him, someday.”

  She kissed me on the cheek, and retreated outside with the rest of the family.

  Two much swirled in my brain. Too much weighed on my mind. My jaw clenched, opened, closed, opened, and closed. Information overload began to melt away my Christmas spirit. My first instinct told me to flee to my room, or back to the television to find Batman. But, I stopped myself. I forced myself to rethink what I wanted. It was too hard. I didn’t know what I wanted. I needed help.

  “Declan? Declan?”

  Suddenly, my angel called out my name from the heavens.

  “Declan? Declan? Where are you?”

  Poppy searched for me. She went from room to room, and called my name.

  No, this was not what I wanted, to hide away, like a lost child. I wanted to grow up, be the adult. I should rescue her instead of her rescuing me. Be her hero during a time of need. I had so much to discuss, so much to ask, to propose . . .

  “Declan! There you are, silly boy! I’ve been calling and calling.” She laughed, and ran into my arms. “Come outside, and dance with me.”

  Poppy pulled on my arm. I towered over her. I outweighed her. So she couldn’t budge my taller, heavier stature.

  “S-S-S-t-t-t-o-o-o-p, P-o-o-o-ppy! I-I-I h-h-h-a-a-ave t-t-t-o t-t-t-e-e-e-ll ya-ya-ou s-s-s-omething.”

  “Okay.”

  She stopped, and dropped her arms.

  “I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o d-d-d-o m-m-m-y N-e-e-e-w Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-ar’s g-g-g-i-i-i-g. I-I-I d-d-d-e-e-e-cided t-t-t-o c-c-c-a-a-a-ncel a-a-a-nd s-t-a-a-a-y h-h-h-o-o-o-me w-i-i-i-th ya-ya-ou.”

  I smiled, and lifted on my tippy toes. My hands fanned her with excitement over my announcement.

  Poppy’s face turned white. Her eyes bugged out with fright. Her lips curled down, and quivered as if she were about to cry.

  “A-Are you sure about that? I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” her voice shook, apprehensively.

  “B-B-B-u-u-u-t P-o-o-o-ppy, I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nted t-t-t-o s-s-s-p-p-p-e-e
-e-nd N-N-N-e-e-e-w Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-ar’s w-w-w-i-i-i-th ya-ya-ou! I-i-i-t’s our f-f-f-i-i-i-rst N-N-N-e-e-e-w Y-Y-Y-e-e-e-ar’s t-t-t-o-o-o-gether a-s-s-s a c-c-c-couple. I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-nted i-i-i-t t-t-t-o b-b-b-e-e-e special,” I pleaded, and grabbed her hands, placing them safe, back between mine.

  “Yes, I understand, but what about your mom . . . um . . . your parents? Won’t they be mad? What about your career? You already promised you would make an appearance. We can always spend the next New Year’s together. Go be your usual charming self,” Poppy whispered softly.

  “I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-a-n’t, and, and, and, and I-I-I d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t w-w-w-a-a-a-nt t-t-t-o. Ya-ya-ou s-s-s-e-e-e, I-I-I’m an, an, an a-d-d-d-ult. I-I-I c-c-c-a-a-a-n m-m-m-a-a-ake m-m-m-y own d-d-d-e-c-i-i-i-sions.”

  “I get that, Declan.” She squeezed my hands.

  “And, and, and I-I-I ch-o-o-o-o-se ya-ya-ou.”

  “I choose you too, but I’d rather you not get into trouble by canceling a work engagement to stay home with me. You’ll be great. You’re always great on camera. People love you.”

  “B-B-B-u-u-u-t I-I-I l-l-l-o-o-o-ve ya-ya-ou!”

  “I love you too. But, please, think about what you are saying. Think about your decision.”

  I have thought about my decision. I thought about it a lot. I tossed it, and turned it around in my mind in that trepid sea between sun and storm, day and night. So, now, at the darkest hour, so close to making my final decision, I saw a lighthouse in the fog, my lighthouse, my Poppy. She was right. There would always be a next New Year’s, but she was also wrong. There would never again be a first New Year’s as a couple. I had to weigh what was more important to me, work or love. And, I had to choose love. There would be another job, but not another first with my beloved Poppy.

  “D-D-D-o-o-o-n’t b-b-b-e-e-e scared, P-o-o-o-ppy.”

  She worked a weak smile back on her lips.