New Traditions

Home.

It had been a long while. Two years, give or take. Long enough for the hedges to grow wild again. Long enough that even the simplest matters of neglect could be felt in the gut like a punch. A tangle of bird nest amid the gutters was a staunch reminder of Dads absence.

Apparently, two years was long enough for some people to move on. Recovery from loss was bound to be messy for anyone, even more so for someone as sensitive as Mother. She was regularly seeking solace within her support groups after the incident. That was understandable enough.

You could call her the clingily type, but in a loving way. Desperate to give love as much as receive it, if not more. This trait of hers always seemed to attract the most eccentric of friends. You just got used to the people she brought home.

What was hard to believe was that she'd remarry so soon! Ambushing her only son with the news just before boarding the plane, making for a nauseating flight.

Glaring at the husk of my childhood home chilled me with the thought of family dinner with complete strangers. Learning that this mystery Step-father had been scrounged up from one of moms 'spiritual' support groups, made the coming prospect even more irksome.

Thankfully, in preparation for the Holiday, I was just thankful to have splurged on the extra good stuff to fill my pocket flask. Beyond that, I'd just be thankful to get through the Holidays in one piece.

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The hide-a-key had been neglected yet again, the porch key rusting from exposure. Home security was always Dad's realm. Still, this lack of awareness was becoming a worrisome thread.

Reaching for the front door handle, it swung with barely a touch. Fumbling the step, I bobbled through the entryway and tumbled into the person inside.

A surprised yip of a young voice, a purple bob of hair careening into my nose, the smell of dark cherry and clove. A face as red my own.

"Oh gosh! Sorry! So sorry!"

"Is alright-" I muttered, pinching my nostrils. I hadn't anticipated meeting another face so soon, or suddenly.

"I really am sorry though! I mean, I know first impressions are rough, but that one was a bruiser!"

The moment of panicked humor passed as we introduced ourselves as 'Robert' and 'Sasha'. She was apparently my new step-sister. Step-sister being a civilized term for 'stranger in my house.' But she was easier on the eyes than she was on my nose, so I had no reason to complain.

Through a quick tour of portraits along the walls, we jointly navigated the maze of personal histories that had convened us into sharing family Holidays together.

"It must have been a neat place to grow up! Its just been Daddy and me for a while now, and we moved around a lot."

"Because of work?"

"Something like that. It was never really that bad, but if I could, I'd kill for your home."

"Uhh... thanks?" Sasha made for interesting company and kindly laughed at my jokes, but whether I could even call this place 'my home' anymore was up for debate.

It was in the kitchen that we found her. White linen dress, autumn knit shawl, twirling over dishes in preparation. Her smile gleamed amid the increasingly gaunt face of too many 'healthy diet' crazes.

Still, the hugs were nice.

"Ohhhh Robbie! My baby boy is home! You look so thin, have you been eating alright? I'm going to make sure you eat so well you can't even roll out of your seat! You just have to try this collard greens recipe I found- here! No don't be fussy just try it you'll like it. Not bad right? A little bit more turmeric? I don't want it to overshadow the turkey though. Go ahead and help your father get settled and we'll be eating in an hour. I see you met Sasha, sweetest thing in the world isn't she? Sasha honey, how about you help me stir this up? Thank you yes, just like that and next I'll put this one in the oven. Oh don't you love the holidays? How fun!"

Same old whirlwind.

Accepting that I was little Robbie again, if just for an evening, I tossed my bag into a corner and stomped my way to the dining room. A practiced routine since I was thirteen.

My attention was drawn to the corners of the hall, which desperately needed dusting. Potting soil had somehow found its way into the carpet and it smelled like the the vent filters were in need of a cleaning. Seems it would be a busy weekend after all.

Stepping through to the dining room landing, the floorboard creaked with a startling violence. The noise had somehow gotten worse over the years. Bouncing in place I stared at my feet to gauge the wear.

I felt a pair of eyes.

My head snapped up. Spine erect.

The weight of a cyclopean stare, filling the room.

Unblinking craters of cold ocean, pulling me into churn.

Feeling impact in my bones, like a droplet on sharp stone.

Whiplash like I had never felt before.

I had forgotten who I was.

The voice was soothing calm, like distant thunder.

"You are Robert."

"I am Robert"

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too"

"Why don't we have a seat and chat before dinner?"

"Sure"

"I hear you are an Anthropology student."

"Yes - Senior year"

"That must be a tough field to find work in."

"It depends"

"I have a few friends in the field. Maybe I could introduce you?"

"Maybe"

"Well I think its just about time to set the table."

"Ya, let me help"

"That's much appreciated. It's really is nice being back for the Holidays."

"Yes its nice"

"Tell me, have you ever-"

A jolt of lightning shot up my spine - the fading screech of a floorboard ringing in my ear.

There was Mom, carrying the first wave of side dishes, fussing over the noisy step. She set down the casserole dish, her smile like a head beam.

"Robbie, honey? Your pits are drenched. How about changing into something nice for dinner real quick? I cleaned up your old room. And be sure to wash your face. When even was the last time you cut your hair?"

The floorboard creaked again - this time Sasha with the salad. She smiled like a viper.

It seemed an hour had gone by in seconds, and my whole body was as stiff as an old board. My legs wobbled with the struggle of standing, masking my fatigue with a cough. I didn't know why I was so avid to leave the room, and no matter what, don't look back.

I made it to the entryway and felt the wood sag. The grainy groan conjuring images of an aged schooner sailing against a storm.

"Robert."

The voice shook inside of me. I was pinned to the floor by my name.

I lacked the muscle to turn, or blink, or run.

"I know you are not religious, but I would like it if you prayed before we eat. Don't take too long."

The numbing eyes commanded my every move.

"I won't take long" I mumbled with effort.

Legs of oak carried me to the bathroom. I changed my shirt, I combed my hair, I splashed cold water on my face, and collapsed into a gasping fit.

Fumbling with the latch of the pocket flask, I gulped as if it were a life-saving elixir, even more thankful to have splurged for the good stuff.

Something wasn't right. Was the whisky clouding my head? What was that voice? When I tried to recall a face, a feature, anything, all I could remember was the rigid response of fear.

A knock came at the door and I felt myself rise to my feet like a puppet on a string.

I had hoped to make it through the holidays in one piece, now I'd just be thankful to get out alive.