Page 79 of Christmas Trees & Weak Knees

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I reach into my front pocket and pull out the key for the Hideaway. The wooden key chain is smooth and warm. There’s a reverberating clink of metal hitting metal when I drop it in the box. A small, poorly wrapped package crinkles as I tug it from my inside jacket pocket. I didn’t have any wrapping paper handy, so I used a sheet of blank guitar tabs from the studio and then tied the thin, square package up with an old electric guitar string that was lying around. For the tag, I used a piece of cardboard cut from the lid of a cereal box. On it is written, in my messy penmanship, For Paisley.

It’s ugly as homemade sin, but it’s the best I could do. It’s not fancy, but it’s from the heart, so I hope that counts for something. I pull open the flap and slide the gift into the drop box. It lands with a soft thunk.

I turn and jog down the stairs to the waiting car. Granddad hits the gas as soon as I hop in, and then we’re bumping along the unpaved road, getting farther and farther away from Paisley and the mess I’m leaving behind.

Track 27

Cold Hard Kash

Paisley

December 23

My eyes are puffy and red from another long night of crying, and there’s a hollow ache inside me that no amount of comfort food can fill.

I somehow managed to survive today, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other while I chomped on candy canes like they were about to expire. My teeth ache from the sugar, but it’s nothing compared to the constant dull pain in my chest. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next few days being friendly and jolly with all our last-minute shoppers when I feel about as festive as a fart.

The Grinch?

Ebenezer Scrooge?

They’ve got nothing on me. I am a living, breathing pendulum of anger and anguish.

I tug open a packet of gold under-eye patches and press the cool gel pads onto my skin. They promise seemingly impossible things like removes puffiness and eliminates dark circles, which I definitely need so I don’t look like a ghoul. I’m pretty sure I gave one little kid nightmares last night, based on the teary-eyed, fearful look they gave me at the Photos with the Reindeer station in the courtyard. I wish these eye patches could also tackle impossible tasks like “mends broken hearts” and “turns back time.”

Out my bedroom window, I watch a steady stream of red taillights disappear down the road, and then the white Christmas lights turn off for the night. If only it was as easy to flip a switch and turn off the thoughts in my head.

I yank my lyric notebook from its spot on the bookshelf and pull it open. My hand shakes as I lift the blue pen and try to channel everything I feel in this moment onto the blank page. These crushing feelings weigh heavily on me—the heartbreak, the disappointment, the loss of so many hopes and dreams I had—and if I don’t spill them out, I might implode.

Weather: Icy and Bitter