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December was never kind to him. The streets were filled with slush and frigid water that dripped and froze once it hit the ground. The wind ripped through his clothes with an angry bite, and no amount of layers could keep it out. Every year December always chilled him right to the core.
It probably didn’t help that his clothes were sub-par to begin with. His jacket was a size too small, his hat a size too big, and Silver could see his fingers turning blue through the holes in his gloves. Out of all the days of the year Blue had to pick December to send a message. He gripped the letter in his pocket and jammed the speaker against his ear as the static cleared from 98.7 Jam.
He’d gotten the letter only a month after they had split up, dropped in his hand by a frazzled-looking pidgey. It was obviously from a young trainer, too attached to reject orders but too weak to evolve, probably trained by some bright-eyed boy who had never flirted with a girl before. He knew it was from Blue before he started reading. She instructed Silver to tune into their old radio station on December 20th, at exactly 7:00 pm.
Which is why, against his better judgment, Silver found himself outside a gas station in the middle of winter with a transistor radio pressed against his ear.
At exactly 7:01 Sal’s smooth voice flowed onto the airwaves. “Well hey there listeners. Sal here to cure your case of holiday blues. Shoppin’ and bustlin’ can wear down the soul, and we got the classic tunes to remind you what the holidays are all about.” Silver rolled his eyes at the contrite drabbles but kept on listening.
“Holidays are meant for relaxing—that’s why we get those big paid vacation’s am I right? Family’s what you gotta worry about. Family grows up to fast and kids slip through your hands before you can blink. Better to spend the holidays with them now before they’re old and far away.” Or they were young and missing.
Were his Christmases filled with family once? Would he fall asleep by the tree at night, or would he get up early and insist on opening the first present? Such thoughts would worm their way into his mind this time of year, but he’d push them down into the very back of his head. No use mulling over the sentimental.
“--and speaking of family, I got a special story for you tonight folks. Remember six months ago? Back when it was warm and sunny? Yeah I know you do. Right around then I met this sweet little thing named Blue, and she said she was a fan of my show.” The plastic radio creaked under Silver’s grip as he cranked up the volume.
“She was the sweetest thing folks. Long brown hair and blue eyes that could make angels sing.” Whatever- get to the point, “Anyways Blue gave me a letter to read to her brother, since she knew they wouldn’t be together tonight. I kept this letter on my desk for six long months so Silver, I hope you’re listening.”
“Silver,
I bet you’ve grown up a bunch since I last saw you. If you’re taller than me next time I see you I’m gonna be mad! I know we can’t be together this Christmas, but I just want you to know that I’m thinking of you, and I got you new gloves! Or, I will get you new gloves, it’s not Christmas time right now. Anyways, wherever you are I hope you’re well-fed and happy. All I can say is Merry Christmas little brother, I love you.
-Blue
P.S. Hey Sal, could you play ‘I’ll be home for Christmas?”
Sal’s chuckle brought Silver back to reality. The boy pulled the radio away from his face, his ear red and warm, while Sal just kept on talking, “Well who can deny a request like that! Merry Christmas Blue, and baby brother Silver, this one’s for you.”
Frank Sinatra’s tenor poured out of the speakers, slowing down the bustling streets to the beat of jazz. This was a plan six months in the making. Six months to play a single song and a minute of talk on the radio, most of which was taken up by Sal blathering. It was inefficient. It was absurd. Yet, sitting in front of an empty gas station in the middle of winter, Silver never felt warmer.