As he had gotten older, he often visited the shop when he was homesick. We hadn’t stayed long at his parents’; Devon having spent the last few Christmases with friends and therefore having an excuse to leave before Devon’s mum started berating me about my desire to fill the brains of both children and adults alike with mutants, time travel and bizarre creatures from fake planets. Devon had told his friends that for Christmas this year he would be spending the day at home and had arranged to meet up a few days later. So, the two of us had spent the evening video-chatting with my family and exchanging gifts. Devon surprised me with a new pencil case and a set of beautiful, sharp, crisp pencils, an awesome beanie and a jumper all emblazoned with his superhero logo and or face on them. I had laughed so hard I had cried but they have to be my most favourite gifts I have ever received.
In turn I had surprised Devon with a framed sketch I had done of him suited and booted in his spandex but instead of the original backdrop of his movie poster, I had replaced it with Springhollow and a shadow of him as a kid. He had also cried. Christmas Day had been truly magical.
Boxing Day followed with ice-skating in Central Park, a visit to Devon’s favourite skatepark and Christmas cupcakes for dinner. I stayed in New York a total of eight days and, though I loved exploring the city and going on a tour of Devon’s old school, theatre club and where he had his first audition, my favourite place had to be his small apartment in Brooklyn. Dotted around the walls were comic book posters that he had had framed and, to my surprise, upon initially stepping foot inside his place, drawings I had done as a child were hung up next to the greats. It made me feel like I could be someone and had taken my breath away that Devon had taken such care with them.
Whereas I had shoved all my childhood memorabilia in boxes, Devon’s action figures took pride of place on a few sparse shelves in the living room and his comics littered the coffee table next to scripts that he was looking at. The apartment was colourful if not a little cold. There was a small fibre optic tree in the corner, but it was missing something; I just couldn’t put my finger on it yet. We met up with a few of his close friends for dinner one evening, which was lovely. It sure was a whole lot easier not hiding who I was, especially when Devon’s friends were that of the nerdy kind too.
The night flew by as I joined in with movie trivia and games, grateful for Hope and Jess and their conversations over the years, and mine and Devon’s movie marathon, getting me through the tougher pop culture quizzes of today. The whole trip had been wonderful and inspiring and made my decision about attending the art school in the New Year that much clearer.
I’m now sat at our corner table in the village pub, Devon by my side and Mum, Dad, Hope and Jess also snuggled into the booth. Not to forget little Orion curled up at Hope’s feet. The gorgeous baby St Bernard took a liking to Hope from the get-go and she’s totally smitten. The look on Jess’s face on Christmas Day had been priceless and I think he’s now more in love with Hope than he was before, if that’s even possible. I’m wearing my high-waisted denim flares with a festive Thor jumper, which my mum has only looked at disapprovingly twice tonight, but baby steps; I know change takes time.
As the clock ticks down to midnight and I glance over at Devon, the kid inside me is bursting with excitement and joy for the year ahead. I don’t wish to silence her anymore or make her feel silly about where her passions lie. She knew from an early age what she wanted to do, who she wanted to be; I just needed to trust her and listen to her. I like thinking like Scarlett.
I’ve written down a list of agencies and publishing houses and tomorrow will be taking my first giant leap in submitting my ideas and drawings to them. Suddenly my skillset and dreams don’t feel so inadequate when I stop comparing myself to others or letting the world dictate what a twenty-six-year-old woman should look like. I can’t wait to spread magic and encourage the imaginations of all who pick up my stories and to share a piece of myself with those who pick up The Village Gazette. Yes, Hope got the go-ahead on Christmas Eve and I can now honestly say I love my job. I hope my drawings and everyone’s brilliant passions and ideas will be enough to make the January issue truly special so we can keep our magazine running because I am actually looking forward to going back to work on January 3rd.
The countdown gets more raucous. Glasses are raised into the air, champagne sloshing around and tipping over the edges, as we all stand to greet the New Year. As soon as the clock strikes twelve Devon’s lips are on mine and I can hear the hollers and cheers in the background as I sink into his kiss. When he moves away, only but an inch, his eyes still trained on mine with that disarming smile on his ridiculously handsome, grown-up face, an actual giggle escapes my lips.
‘You know I think this New Year might just beat that New Year we snuck out of bed while your parents were busy hosting that party and we watched the fireworks from our “treehouse” in the park.’ Devon uses air quotes when he says “treehouse” for it wasn’t a treehouse like you might picture it, meaning there was no actual structure nor house but merely a flat surface area where a few branches connected that were big enough for the two of us to fit in when we were ten.
‘Hmm, how so? If I remember correctly those fireworks were pretty spectacular,’ I reply, staring straight into his eyes, which shine brighter than any firework display and which grow more spectacular when Devon wrinkles his nose and his grin grows wider making them sparkle and beam with mischief.
‘Well, back then I didn’t get to do this.’ And he kisses me again with his hand on my waist, pulling me close, closing the distance between us for the last ten years and cementing the bond that had never truly gone away.
Not long after the New Year chimes, Devon and I say our goodbyes to everyone at the pub and race each other across the square. It’s safe to say I’ve not felt this free and happy in my hometown in ten years. My Thor jumper is keeping the frosty nip at bay as is the merry amount of gin I have consumed, not too much, but enough so I’m not concerned with the childlike glee etched on my face or how our childhood games might look to other people. I have my arms out at my sides like Falcon about to soar into the grey night sky and Devon with his long legs is leaping ahead singing Christmas songs.
I jangle about with my keys when we reach my step as we are both panting and inhaling the crispy air. I make a mental note that milk is the superior drink for superheroes and not alcohol as a stitch creeps into my side. Once through the door we shed our scarves, jackets and beanies and make a beeline for the couch. I had left the tree lights on, so the room is under a soft Christmassy glow before I add to it the low light of my lamp. We’re both about to sit down when I notice something under the tree. Devon stops beside me, seemingly noticing it too. That’s when I register a card on the coffee table that wasn’t there before. I pick it up as Devon stares at the tree.
I thought I’d hold on to this. I had a feeling one day you might need it again.
Love you always,
Dad xx
As I get to the end of the note Devon lets out a squeal and dives on to his/my Spider-Man bean bag, while I try not to choke up over my dad’s words and his thoughtfulness after all these years. I can’t believe he had kept it. I had given him a key to my house while I was away to look after Ed and he most definitely scored points for using it well. He must have snuck in on his way to the pub; we had gotten there before them.