Dear Dad

December 25th

December 25th,

            This was going to be my first Christmas without my dad.  It wasn’t going to be the same but mom promised that it would be just as good.  As always, we planned to stay up until midnight on Christmas Eve.  It was about eleven fifty when mom’s pager went off.  So close, but yet so far.  She had to rush out the door and told me she would be back later.  When I woke up around nine the place was deserted.  Mom called around ten after I ate breakfast.  Half cooked eggs and burnt toast; I’m such a bad cook.  She said that she was going to have to stay at the hospital for a while due to a group of patients who had been in a tree related fire.  It’s always a fire!

            I sat by the tree for a while, just staring at it.  I refused to open my presents without mom.  I got bored very fast, so I texted Anabella to wish her a Merry Christmas.  She replied, “You too! How’s your Christmas going?”  My fingers rapidly typed back, “Pretty boring.  My mom was called in so it’s just me and the couch.” She didn’t respond for a few minutes, but eventually she said, “So you’re alone?  That’s not right come over right now!” 

            Anabella and I made the realization a couple of weeks ago that we only lived about two minutes away from each other, a short enough distance that I could walk there within a few minutes.  The only problem today was that it was snowing.  Not hard, but it was still cold.  I walked though.  I would walk across the country if it meant seeing Anabella.

            I walked up to her door, a frozen icicle of a teenage boy.  I delicately pressed the silver button next to the door with my cold finger.  The doorbell played a few measures of the music from the ballet Don Quixote…don’t ask how I know that.  Within seconds Anabella opened the door.  She was dressed in a little red dress with black stockings.  She wore little black heels that made her grow about an inch.  She was still shorter than me.  She welcomed me inside with her beautiful smile and rosy pink cheeks.

            Anabella’s house was like a mansion.  You entered into a parlor that had one staircase on each side of the room that met in the middle.  They were made of solid oak and had a very dark finishing which made them look almost black.  To the right of the parlor was a ginormous gourmet kitchen with duel ovens and more counter space than anyone could ever need.  Past the kitchen was an opulent dining room.  There was a long wood table with four embroidered chairs on each side and one at each end.  There was a marble fireplace with a paining above it that stretched almost the length of the entire wall.  To the left of the parlor was a living room with a TV that could be a movie theater screen.  It also had real leather couches and a coffee table that had once been Anabella’s grandmother’s.  Beyond that was a study complete with wall to wall bookshelves filled to the top with books.  Upstairs on the left was Anabella’s parent’s bedroom.  All I knew about it was that it was red.  On the right was Anabella’s room.  I knew nothing about it seeing that I was not allowed up there with Anabella.  There were two bathrooms separating the bedrooms.  On the third floor there was a “game room” (Anabella’s dad’s man cave) and another study.  This study also had a surplus of books along with more computers than there were people in the house.  Above that was an attic.  Anabella told me that even she had never been up there.  The basement of her house was a gym on one side and a spa on the other.  On the right was a multitude of workout machines including two treadmills and several different style ellipticals.  On the left were a message chair, a hot tub, and even a home sauna.

            When Anabella was finished giving me a tour around the house she brought me into the living room.  Her mother was the first to enter after we sat down.  She had a fake smile stretched across her face.  She was a short woman, just like Anabella.  She had bleached blonde poker straight hair.  She looked as if her tan was spray on and had had Botox more than once.  She looked like a middle aged Barbie.  She sat down, fixed her posture, crossed her legs, and spread her navy blue dress across the couch.  The way she was sitting made her look as if she was posing for a magazine cover.  “So you’re Rhyder, I’m Anabella’s mom, but please call me Josie.”  Her voice was high pitched with somewhat of a faint country accent.  “Hi Josie, thank you so much for letting me come over.  You have such a lovely home.”  I said back nervously.  She smiled even bigger.  “Thank you.  Anabella’s father should be in soon, he’s just making a business call.”  I nodded once.  Anabella signed to me ‘dad’s a CEO of his own company.  They own the factories that other companies use to make clothing.  Mom’s an ex-model for one of the companies.’