New Beginnings

You tied up your boots, zipped up your jacket, and kissed your mother goodbye. You ran to the car, the rain pouring over the hood. You opened the back door first, and gingerly placed the bag on the seat next to the umbrella. You clicked in the seatbelt, making sure that this package was secure. You closed the door, and pulled yourself into the drivers side. You turned on your wipers and looked over at your watch. 11:30, you’d have to rush. You looked back at the bag, and pulled out of the driveway. From the porch, your mother waved goodbye, she yawned, she never made it to midnight anyways. 

As you drove by, blurred lights illuminate windows of smiling families eagerly counting the minutes until the new year. You remembered two years ago when you yourself were with your family on this very day. 

Your mother had been playing with Samuel in the backyard for hours, at nine or so, she had stumbled back into the house, bending down to hold his little hand. He was covered in dirt, a big smile on his face. 

She took him for a bath, leaving you alone with Celia again. You had decided that this was the last holiday you’d spend together, and you’d leave in separate cars in the morning. From there on, Samuel would stay with you every other week. He was three so he didn’t have any complaints.

The houses were prepared, the papers were signed, the rings were sold. There were no hurt feelings, no childish drama, just a mutual understanding that this wasn’t going to work out. You were still allowed to be sad about it. 

You kissed Samuel goodnight, it was quiet. You were thankful to have a wine glass in your hand. Celia looked at you for the first time that night. She yawned, and checked her watch. 

“Oh, well. Goodnight.” She said to you. You nodded, and gave her a stiff hug. Your mother soon retired to bed after. The house was dark, with only the living room lamp on. For some reason, you still felt the need to make it to midnight, almost as if you could prove that you could do it. 

As you sat there and finished your wine, a creeping nausea waved over you. You struggled for air, you spit into a napkin, it was 11:15. You could leave now, you’d say you had work early in the morning.

You went to the fridge and took the bag of leftovers your mother had prepared. You drove into the night with the windows wide open. You turned the corner, 11:45. Your house was close, and you drove past it. You parked three streets down, you’d walk from here. You didn’t want to be inside when the clock hit twelve. 

You passed a bench when a weak voice croaked, “Excuse me?”

You turned around. An older man in a big black coat sat there, he looked up at you. 

“Do you have any food or money?” He asked, holding out a hand. Normally, you’d go home, or hand him a roll and be on your way, but it was almost a new year. There was no one waiting for you.

You sat down and placed the bag between you. 

“Help yourself.” You said, untying the knot. He smiled at you, and looked inside, he pulled out a roll and smiled. You looked in and pulled one out as well. 

As you took your first bite, the clock hit 12:00. People all around you let out a big “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

You looked over to the man and extended your arm, you toasted.

“To new beginnings.” 

He chuckled between bites of bread. You finished your roll and pulled out a box of green beans. As you both ate, the man told you about his favorite new year's treat from long ago.

“My mom had made apple pie, and as she was serving it up, she got a phone call. So I got to take another slice. I didn’t think about where I was going to sleep, or that another year had passed, only that I was glad I was getting another piece of pie.”

“I like that.” You said.

"Well she's gone now." He said.

"Oh, I'm sorry." You said.

"It's all right." He said, "She's been gone for a while now."

"My mother made this." You said, trying to help.

"Well, you're a lucky man." He chuckled.

"Yeah, I really am." You said.

At 12:30 or so, you got up and pushed the rest of the bag towards him. 

“Next year?” He asked.

“You bet.” You said.

It’d been two years since then, and you were still as excited as ever to see Rich. Samuel had just celebrated his fifth birthday at Celia’s and was coming to celebrate it with you on Monday.

As you pulled up to the bench, Rich, now in a brown coat smiled as you came out of the car. You pulled the bag out, holding the bottom, worried it might spill. The rain has lightened up a little, but you still brought your umbrella with you.

“I got her to make apple pie this year!” You say gleefully.

“Well we’ll have to see how it measures up.” He says. You cut him a slice and hand him a paper plate and a fork.

He takes a bite, chews for a little bit, making up his critique. 

“The crust could be flakier.” He says.

“Next year I guess.” You say.

“Yes, next year.” He says, and smiles. 

The clock strikes 12:00 and you both throw your heads back and scream at the top of your lungs. 

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

People change, marriages don't work out, kids get older. Sometimes there is no good or bad, there just is. The people in your life will always matter to you, whether you see them every day, or just once a year, sometimes something as little as a piece of pie or a wine glass can make a memory that you will take with you into every new year.