Prologue
“Everything is different;
But nothing’s changed.
Now we’re going in circles—
It’s Christmas again.”
— Hanson
Charleston was lonely come mid-December.
The busy tourism season had died down just before Halloween, leaving our streets—and businesses—just a little less crowded. Adding to the desolate feel of a usually-busy metropolis was Winter Break, a time where all college students either returned home for the holidays or attempted to cram an entire semester’s worth of knowledge in a three-week “Slam Course”. Whether physically removed from the city or locked away in a classroom for the better part of daylight hours, both rendered 90% of my classmates inaccessible until the week Spring semester began.
Though I hadn’t needed the extra credit hours, with nothing else to occupy my time over break except to obsess over the mistakes of the past year and a half, I decided to throw myself into a Slam Course. Three weeks of “A History of Film Photography” sounded just dense enough to block all recognition of a world beyond George Eastman, and so I signed up with firm resolve.
Winter hadn’t been particularly kind to Charleston this year, and venturing out to pick up the books designated for class seemed a perilous endeavor across frozen bridges and amongst drivers unprepared for the surprise of black ice. With no more time to procrastinate, I finally made way to the campus bookstore the day before Christmas Eve, spending more time than necessary meandering the warm aisles of school spirit and memorabilia before making my purchases.
I wandered my way to the registers, my eyes still slowly scanning over the line of “impulse buys” along the way—pens, pencils, snacks and candy, and small trinkets to make the semester easier to navigate. Adjacent to the designated checkout line was a small display of holiday music, a sign above proudly claiming “Staff Holiday Picks”. Three shelves of CDs displayed classics from Bing Crosby to more modern discs by today’s Disney stars.
In the middle sat an album that would only have stood out if you were paying attention. Against a dark blue background, its unassuming cover proudly displayed a picture of three much-younger Hanson brothers wrapped in Christmas lights. Despite at least 18 years being displaced, the look on Zac’s prepubescent face was all too familiar. I lifted the album from the display, flipping it over and reading the track list on the back as I made my way to the clerk.
She eyed me with a small smirk as she rang up my books, pausing before offering my total. “It’s a good Christmas album,” she offered. “Can I ring it up for you?”
I felt fire rush to my face as I handed it over. “Sure,” I turned my lips into a forced smile as she added the additional $11.99 to my order and gave me my total–a hundred and fifty dollars more than I anticipated spending on a three-week course. Five minutes and three bags later, I wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck and made my way to the car, navigating my drive home through an uncharacteristic snow flurry.
Shivering against the bite of cold air, I pushed open my door and stepped out of the car once parked in front of my house. Wanting nothing more than a hot cup of cocoa and the warmth of the fire, I busied myself gathering my purchases from the back seat. I didn’t see the car that pulled in behind me; I didn’t even hear its engine, or the door that undoubtedly opened and then closed out of my view.
But I heard his voice call my name.
My entire body froze in place, one of my legs sticking straight out behind me as I leaned into the backseat. I counted slowly to five before I cautiously pulled myself out of the car; as my brain began to process what my eyes were seeing, I could feel each one of my veins tighten, and above the sound of rushing blood, I could hear my heart beat, tap dancing an erratic rhythm in my chest.
His body had become more muscular and toned, and though I appreciated the way his impossibly skinny jeans left little to the imagination, I couldn’t stop looking at his face—his lips curved into a genuine and easy smile, and his eyes looked peaceful and bright; I had never seen such a light within him. I hoped the forced smile on my face hid the fact that I suddenly felt like I might vomit.
“Hey,” he laughed softly, taking a few steps toward me; he stopped just out of reach, his hands stuffed into the pockets of the black leather jacket he wore.
Swallowing against a lump, I concentrated on acting as calm as he was. “Hey,” I managed to return. The laugh that followed was painful to my ears.
“Sorry to just show up unannounced,” when he spoke more than one word, his voice sounded as shaky as my entire body felt. “Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?”
The smile that reached my lips was sincere that time, my laugh more natural. “Depends,” I shrugged. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
Zac looked at the ground for a few moments, seeming to take his time to contemplate his next words. When he returned his gaze to mine, the smile was gone from his face, but his eyes still looked soft and at ease. “I needed to see you,” he whispered, taking a single, cautious, step closer. “I had a hole in my life and when I stopped to look around, you were the only thing missing.”