Who Am I?

Damon and Shamrock have a deep relationship with each other, but he’s had to realize that bitterness had consequences. He needed to let go of the past. He needed to find himself. Spiritually.

You see, he wanted to avenge Matt for his betrayal. But does Damon learn that the vengeance tactic that is the Hershey Chocolate wrapper wrapped around laxatives with which to embarrass Matt—since he’s so gullible—didn’t satiate such an appetite?

Also, Shamrock was treated poorly because Damon was too selfish to fix the problem himself. But Shamrock didn’t need to be hurt, either. But does he thank Matt for forgiving him?

Let’s find out…

Hello everyone.       

My name is Gingerbread Man—at least on Facebook. In real life, I’m Damon. I’m writing on a Hershey chocolate bar wrapper, with a sharpened peppermint stick carved to write words legibly. For example, everything I wrote was in red and white striped ink. This pen is used to write my short stories. I'm a writer. I know, it's a sticky situation sometimes. Yet, my hands never get sticky from the candy. Wierd.

And I am writing to Matt because he just doesn’t get it. Every Christmas party, I struggle to find the best dessert recipe. I mean, what’s so hard about some frosting?             

But my friends all laugh at me. I mean, I’m good! I have good ideas—I just… *sigh* I guess, not the best. You see, I’m socially awkward. I’m the type who just doesn’t understand instructions the way others do—like last year’s Christmas party. It was Hide-and-Go-Seek at the mall. I just didn’t feel it was appropriate. Weird. Awkward. Embarrassing. Yeah, that’s it! Embarrassing. I mean, we were all adults running around trying to find each other’s Christmas gifts after hiding them. What are we, five?  

An ugly sweater contest, or cookie-making contest or something a little more mature would make my Christmas. Something that would prove us, well, adults—

I know, I know. I’m writing this message on a candy wrapper. But my brother planned it. He was all, ‘Let’s do something new this year.’ And everyone went, ‘Yeah! Let’s go to the mall.’ I just stared at him in disbelief.

You see, Matt, my older brother, betrayed me. Our parents had abandoned us. Matt and I—we always pulled pranks on each other, especially as kids. He would always pay for our ice cream, toys and candy. He was like Dad and older brother at the same time. We were best friends. I looked up to him. I guess, as we grew up, he got tired of being my brother. He got tired of raising Damon. He got tired of babysitting me. He got tired of being our parents.

Before I knew it, he was always wearing shiny, sparkly clothes and bringing friends home and hosting fancy parties at our house. I didn’t care—they involved Champagne and wine—but when I needed him the most, he ditched me for the party life. He started ignoring me like I didn’t even exist. I mean, I’m a quiet writer, but that’s who I am. I realized later on that he wanted to just hang out with friends instead of read my creatively imaginative stories written with my carved peppermint stick that was my pencil. I always questioned my worthiness as a sibling. I bought Shamrock mainly just to keep myself busy, but I realized that I don’t want to be my brother. I don’t want to use others. But he was my best friend. He was all I had—

My Border Terrier barked, and I was distracted. He was looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. He whined and wagged his tail softly, panting. He looked away and down at what I got up and saw was his food dish. Then he barked, startling me.

I sighed impatiently. “All right, buddy. Here I come.”

Shamrock’s dark eyes sparkled, and he panted happily, making his mouth look like a smile.

“Is that it, buddy? You’re hungry—thirsty? What?”

I sighed and took some dog food from the fridge and poured it into his bowl. Shamrock whined and then barked, and I told him to have some patience. He panted, but worry shone through those beautiful eyes. Then I snapped my fingers and told him to chow down—               

The food was literally a mountain. I flipped the thing over. Dog Food—a lot more than you expect out of this small thing! Clutching the bag, I chucked it in the refrigerator after yanking the door open and then closed it. Weird.

I returned to my candy bar wrapper of a letter and continued writing, ignoring Shamrock. I ordered him to be quiet. But seconds later, I threw the pen down and, with balled fists, bent down and told him to just eat the stupid stuff. He looked up at me and panted, that sparkle no longer there. I snapped my fingers and jerked my pointer finger at him. He just stared down at it, his tail slowly lowering.          

I marched over to my writing and continued. But I couldn’t help looking up time and time again at Shamrock. He was always panting, his eyes shone with a bright cheeriness and his bark was high-pitched, like an exclamation at the end of a sentence. However, studying him, I couldn’t help but let my shoulder sag. I blinked. How have I let my new best friend down?

Visions of Shamrock being rushed to the animal hospital due to eating an overload of so-called dog food exploded like fireworks in my mind. I leapt up and walked over. The water bowl was dry as a bone. After filling it, I put it down carefully, and Shamrock dunked half his muzzle in it, the water lowering rapidly.      

Very soon, Shamrock picked his head up, whimpered and stepped back, turning around and trotting away, ignoring the drips of water landing on the log cabin’s hardwood floor. I closed my eyes and sucked in my lips. Man, was I glad about being alone, because wouldn’t Matt have something to talk about during this year’s Christmas party! A guy who couldn’t even handle his own pet. What a loser.   

About that Christmas party. It was tonight. Two hours away. I needed to make something. You know what? Maybe I’ll just call it quits with this group. Maybe I’ll join another one. 

I got up from the floor, told Shamrock to come and get leashed while I went to the closet to get my coat. Grabbing my keys, I pocketed my wallet and then saw Shamrock on his shamrock-printed dog bed over in front of the fireplace. His eyes sparkled again, like he was thanking me for giving him water. But I snapped my fingers and then jerked my pointer finger at the floor. “Come here.”     

Shamrock didn’t move. He stopped panting. I rolled my eyes.

“Get over here, Sham.”

His head went down on his paws.

“Shamrock,” I barked, “get over here now!”

Shamrock refused. I marched up to him and grabbed him roughly. “We’re going outside, man. Why’s that so difficult? Sham—Shamrock. W-what’s going on?”

He was squirming out of my arms! I comforted him, but he wouldn’t have it. He finally growled, and I just dropped him. He landed on all fours, and then scampered over to the bed. Circling around, he finally plopped down, looking up at me after laying his head on his paws.

I stood there, stunned and then wondered. First, he doesn’t listen. Then he struggles to get down from my grasp. It wasn’t like I was hurting him. He trusts me, right? I looked over at the mountain of dog food still sitting there, getting soggier as the—I looked outside—night wore on.

I checked over Shamrock after walking over. Soon, Matt texted me.

Hey—you up for the party? Remember, it’s tonight at 7pm. At my house. Don’t be late!

I got up from petting Shamrock and then forced myself to go the store without him. He just lay there, sighed and then whined.

“Shamrock, you’re the one who doesn’t want to come!” I exited the house and started the car, after which I got ready to drive away. Looking at the passenger seat, I didn’t understand Shamrock’s sudden refusal. He needed to come with me—he could walk around, impressing the kids as I walked him around the little tree islands in front of the store. Besides, who doesn’t love Border Terriers?

I returned inside, walked up to him, my arms outstretched to grab him. He instantly bared his teeth at me, his eyes dark sockets of anger. I stormed away, opening my truck, hopping right inside and starting it. My teeth chattered, so I went back inside to get some gloves. As I did so, I heard barking. Shamrock had escaped his bed and was running up to me! He wanted to go!

I jumped out of the car with a half-grin on and snatched up my dog. But as my hands went for his armpits, he backed away, his tail between his legs. He was acting so weird! He ran back to the front door and barked. I didn’t understand. “Huh? I’m just getting gloves.” I kicked the door open (as it was open a crack) and fetched my gloves from the closet’s glove box. I told Shamrock it was getting late, and I had a party tonight. So I shoved my gloves on, escaped out the door and hurried to the store. Picking up some small packages of cookies and an apple pie, I paid for the food and then headed home. It was fifteen minutes until I had to leave for the party. 

I grabbed my Hershey’s chocolate bar wrapper and stuffed it in my pocket after writing the rest of the letter. When it was time to leave, I put all the goodies in a brown paper bag and headed outside again, telling Shamrock he’d have to stay here. He walked away, tail between his legs again, towards his bed, lay down, and sighed, his eyes two big shiny sockets of hope. I shook my head. “Whatever you say.”

When I parked in front of Matt’s house in front of a ditch along with several other cars lined parallel to his house, my iPhone lit up with a message. I blinked from the brightness and then turned on one of the ceiling’s lights.

Hey, I need you to make something for tonight. We’ll all making homemade stuff. So I just would like you to, you know, make something special. Christmas cookies would be great! Thanks. You can also make the frosting.

I fell back against my seat, my head banging against the headrest. Taking a huge inward sigh only to let it out slowly, I closed my eyes, wishing this nightmare would end. I would wake up, go downstairs and make those coveted cookies. But, no, it was real life. I looked over at my dashboard. 6:34 pm. I didn’t have time. I’d just have to give the stuff to Matt. You know what? Maybe I will. He never cared. So why should I? 

I killed the engine, got out and pocketed my keys. Yanking the door immediately behind the driver’s seat open, I took the bag in my hand and shut it, walking away from the car and then up towards the asphalt driveway, turning to go onto the stone sidewalk and then hiked up two steps to knock on the front door. Heaving a sigh, I thought, Yeah, I’m getting fired from this group. For real.

After the door opened, Matt—a big but cheery grin on his face that only made my stomach churn—welcomed me inside. My legs like jelly, I struggled to pull myself together as I dragged my feet around, just handing the bag to him. Everyone dug into the cookies, but when I took a plate of blackberry pie from someone, my tongue felt like lead. The sticky sweetness of the dessert stuck in my mouth. I wanted to just let it glue my mouth shut. Everyone became like those blurry characters in a movie when the camera focuses on the main character. I didn’t see or hear Matt. I only pursed my lips, slowly sliding my hand into my pocket. I went over to my brother, leaned close to his ear and told him I had a surprise as I put the Hershey wrapper bar into his hand.

“Hey, everyone!” He rose a glass of scarlet-red cranberry juice in the air with his other, and everyone looked over. “I think Damon’s got an idea for Game Night tonight! You all know we try to think of a fun game.” He looked over at me, flicking his eyebrows up and down and nudging me in the ribs with an ugly sweater-clad elbow. “But we can’t do Charades. Angel already thought of that one.”

Angel, I saw before I heaved a breath of stuffy air, threw up a hand in agreement, and some people took their seats, grinning at her and reminded her of how entertaining the game was. I told Matt to unwrap the chocolate bar, as it had amazing chocolate all wrapped inside it. Matt ignored me again, drinking his glass of champagne. I struggled not to shove the bar in his mouth. Finally, when he rambled about last year’s Christmas party, I had had it.

“Matt—you know what?” I grabbed the chocolate bar and shoved it in his mouth. The party stopped. “Eat it—because that’s the only present you’ll receive from me.” I walked out, Matt, chewing, frowned at me and then coughed really hard. I turned around, reveling in my victorious plan. Then he barked,

“No, man. I’m not going to spend the night in the bathroom!” He studied the food and then trashed it. “It was one bar. I know the difference, because I’m a taste tester. I’m smart!” His anger actually startled me. But I retaliated, jerking a finger at him.

“Come on, Matt. You and I both know you traded me for parties. Now you know how it feels to be replaced. Maybe if you hadn’t done as our parents had done—abandoned me—I wouldn’t have replaced your Christmas gift with Laxatives.” I flicked my eyebrows up and down. “Serves you right.”

“Let’s go! We’re eating up time. It’s Damon’s turn to pick the game. He needs to be out here.” Someone interrupted, but I ignored others’ agreements.

Glaring at Matt, I snickered. “You could’ve said no to being a host just like you stopped yourself from eating the rest of that candy bar.” I waited for him to realize. For him to apologize. For him to come back to being my brother again, and reject the stupid party life.

“So sorry. I must go. Talk to you later.” He turned towards Roger, and then I heard laughter from him having announced a weird game. As Matt started explaining the rules for the fifth time in a row, Roger told him he already knew how to play, but he continued, telling them to listen.

I just wanted to melt through the floor, reform in my own house and watch a good Christmas movie with Shamrock curled up next to me. No—make those Christmas cookies and then have the little party! I smiled. I told Matt I had to go, and then took off, everyone wondering what was wrong.

When I pulled up into my driveway, I shut the engine off and then fell back against the seat. No remorse over my anger with Matt. No guilt stabbed at my inner core. I just got out of the car, jogging inside as the first snowflakes began to fall down onto my boring concrete driveway. I entered my house, locked the door and began making those Christmas cookies.

After the last batch had been frosted and put on plates, I looked over at Shamrock. He still hadn’t touched that pile. I went over to him. His eyes were closed, snores emitting from him.

As I enjoyed one messily decorated Christmas tree cookie after another, I relaxed against my depleted brown leather couch. Then, I started gasping, clutching my throat. Panicking, I whacked the wall beside me with my feet, unable to pick myself up. Then something hurtled onto me. It kept pummeling me with its body until I upchucked the piece. Sucking in a huge breath of air, I looked right over at my dog. Shamrock stood there wagging his tail a little bit. He whined and reached over to lick my face.

“Sham…Shamrock. You saved me!” I grabbed him into a huge hug. But he squirmed out of my arms and raced over to his bed. I pursed my lips and thought. 

If I can’t even attend a party, then how can I ever hope to gain my own dog’s affection for me?

I looked over at Shamrock, and curled up, too. I don’t have anyone anymore. I guess…

I studied Shamrock. He was so comfortable, and I lay here, shivering, as if I were outside. But I was colder than if I were out in the snow. He saved me. He saved his owner. Tears came to my eyes. I picked myself up, and walked over to the dog and crouched down, petting him.

“Sorry, buddy. I guess..." I shook my head. “Vengeance won’t revive our bond.”

I sat down, scratching his ears. He pulled away. I called Matt, expecting an apology from him. Two hours later, I hung up, looking over at Shamrock. He looked up at me, and puppy-dog eyes with their famous sparkle twinkled back at me.

I returned to the couch, getting into it. I put my hands behind my head. I thought about his forgiveness. I thought about the candy bar. I thought about the neglect to bring something homemade. Then, I fell asleep.

Could I forgive him, too? I thought the next morning. I pondered, and then told Matt on the phone that I had thought about his merciful treatment towards my spitefulness.

After a while, I hung up and went back to writing with my peppermint stick, this time just putting down words. A year later, Matt and I were walking through the freshly fallen snow. I stopped him, and told him that I just didn't know whether I could forgive someone who had betrayed me. His own brother for some fun.

"You don't even deserve to be forgiven. You were bitter." Matt looked hard at me. "You have a fault of your own."

"What if--"

"Stop trying to come up with things to justify your anger. I can think of a million reasons why I abandoned you to entertain others. But it won't matter. You need to put your creativity to good use!"

I studied his clothing. No bling, no sparklies and no surprises. Just a casual sweater with a pair of ugly gloves. Nothing outlandish. But he didn't surprise me. He was authentic. I also heard a tinge of sadness in his voice, like he just wanted me to be myself and quit worrying about what had been. If I admitted it, I too would say yes. Sometimes, I would take a break from the mental stress of trying to change the past.

That night, I went over to Shamrock, petting him. He was my only friend. I needed some people in my life. People who'd accept me for who I was. I was tired of just being there and doing that. I was too lonely.

The following weekend, I went to Matt's house with homemade Christmas cookies.

When I went, I found myself forgetting the past and enjoying the present.

The present of reconciliation with my brother.