Choosing Paths

***Choosing Paths*** is the second chapter of *Winter's Tales*.

## Synopsis

With multiple scenarios and pushes from entities good and bad, Winter discovers that some paths aren't chosen by her, but by others. What paths she willingly takes with the punches lead her into foundational aspects of her life that come to influence her for better or for worse.

## Warnings

### Content Warning

*This chapter contains heavy violence, gore, blood, and other mature scenes that could cause distress. Viewer discretion is advised.*

### Disclaimer

*This chapter has scenes which parallel real-life grooming of minors, and while not sexual in nature, is distressing and can be triggering. If you are unsettled by that type of content, please navigate away from the page immediately.*

## Transcript

*"And if you're honest with me; if you aren't a liar, then just give me what I need. Tell me, where am I home?"*

*A fleeting quote from a marvelous singer I'll be revealing to you in the next chapter. She may be vague, but here, I feel like she makes a point. Life can throw the most unexpected curveballs at your feet, and immediately, you're windswept into a different world.*

*Yet sometimes, these paths aren't picked by you; they're picked by fate, what seems to be fate, a fate that's always changing and growing and climbing its way up all over you, just as if it was an overeager dog.*

*Things in life are picked by hand, set down, and built to construct new paths. Young me would often wonder, what was in store for me?*

*Sometimes I wish I hadn't asked myself that after thinking about all I've been through.*

*In this time, life laid out more of its brickwork for me. There were new paths, new places, but some of these were not my choice.*

*And what happened when I traversed on these paths? Flowers bloomed. A patch burned, but it grew back and healed to let in more flowers.*

*I embraced my habit of discovery, and with it, my eyes turned to the sky and my roots, the part that, for years, helped to compose me.*

These memories I'm about to openly recall take place deep in the heart of Washington summer, where the sun beats down the hardest but is cooled by the winds traversing down the slopes of the Cascade Mountains and into our hometown, perfectly enabling us to not become scrambled eggs and bacon with the weather.

True to myself, I kept running around outside, from tree to tree and learning to climb up trees on my own (probably to Father's horror), laying on a branch on my back and gazing up into the leaves, imagining that I was high up into the sky, isolated, yet content on my branch, in the little bubble I had.

"Winterlyn! Get down from there; you know I don't like you climbing up that high!"

Goddamn it Father, why must you burst my bubble?

In the late summer days, I'd begin to hear my parents talking more privately about matters. I attempted to listen in, seeing this as a tap for fresh information, though each time, I was told to go play with my toys or not to interfere.

But why? I thought conversations were supposed to involve everyone in the family. Nonetheless, I obeyed - Father yelling at me all those times was something I didn't need to needlessly endure - and so I went to my room, cuddled up in my fuzzy blankets, and played with my toys.

"Oh, what am I to do?" I proclaimed loudly, putting one of my plushies, a cat, on my chest.

Most of those bedroom excursions, I just shut my eyes and slept, dreaming myself off to worlds unknown. My vision would be dotted with multicolored splatters and speckles, and when it vanished, it was like I was in a whole new place.

Dreams can be very, very unique, full of mystique that hypnotizes the mind even in a sleeping state. This is something I'll delve into later. Hone in on your patience, friends.

As the days progressed, the more my parents' secret conversations, whether behind closed doors or in plain sight, spoken in whispers that could leap-frog through the mist, became clear.

"We should start getting the supplies. She's beginning soon," I heard Mom whisper to Father.

"Very true. And some new books, perhaps? We know she likes reading," Father whispered back with a nod.

"Absolutely. She loves Barnes & Noble, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind spending a solid hour there again."

"Hey, if it comes to it, we could get her some Starbucks."

"Read my mind, Edwin!"

My parents didn't realize I was in earshot, and instantly, the feelings welling in my stomach knocked on my brain, telling me what I needed to know.

One: this talk was about *me*.

Two: What on *earth* were they wanting to get me supplies for? I wasn't an artist and I wasn't a *writer*. What was the point in getting me supplies for things I couldn't *achieve*?

Three: Ooh yay, Barnes & Noble! Don't understand why I'd need all these books, but I'll take it. The more books the better, the more the bookworm in me came out. What surrounded the bookstore didn't make sense to me yet.

As of the year of our lord 2012, I don't consider myself to be much of a bookworm anymore. I know someone who is, though.

I didn't know what my parents were getting me ready for. My birthday was still a couple months away, and so were the holidays in between. A dead zone for the McCormick familiy, that I knew of. There was one holiday, however. Heinikah? Ugh, child me couldn't pronounce jack for the *love* of me.

Then again, my parents *were* very busy in September and decorated the house for this event that I always forgot the name of...

While I was tempted, *really really* tempted, to ask Mom and Father what they were planning for me, I knew that path was beaten. They'd deflect my question and become immovable pieces of glass that my words would bounce off of, then hit me in the face and flatten it all cartoon-like.

Father, being Father, wouldn't let me have the answers until the answers found their way to me.

Education, I guess.

My parents continued their plans, engaging in more communes and bringing folders and writing things and getting on the office laptop and having longer and longer conversations. Confused and grasping at several thousand plastic straws, I took my leave to my room, spending my time in a gray mood where all I'd do was whisper at my plushies and pivot my eyes up to the white ceiling of my room and the wooden beams making it.

I wished I could have my own seminar...

*Wait,* five-year old me thought, *I could hold my own talk!*

That wasn't impossible. It was just as easy as reciting the first three letters of the alphabet!

All it took was the thought, and then I had gathered all of my plushies in a wonky circle on my bed, me in the middle.

"Okay, friends! Any ideas on what my parents are doing?" I asked. "I have no clue!"

"I have no clue either, Winterlyn!" the cat "mewed" in response to me.

"Not an idea!" squeaked a dog plushie.

"Nope!"

"Eh, no..."

"Your parents are doing something weird..."

The more the plushies "spread" their beliefs, I began to giggle until I was laughing my head off, flopping back onto several plushies and flattening them into my mattress (I should have brought some Icyhot, but oh well).

My laughter must have impacted somehwere, for just a minute later, Father came in. "What's so funny, my darling?" he questioned with am amused little grin.

"The plushies and I were talking!"

"Talking about what?"

"What you and mommy were talking about!" I exclaimed.

"How sweet of them," Father remarked, joining me on the bed. "Mind if I join?"

I giggled again. "Of course you can, daddy!"

If there was one thing I loved about Father, the glacier of ice in him aside, he could help any of my scenarios come to life. He had a charming voice that gave my plushies immense amounts of characters, and from the way he moved them, they almost seemed *animated*, seemed like they were just as human as *us*.

His fingers were infused with *magic*, and it made my eyes sparkle and my heart thump happily. We laughed and talked, and laughed and talked again, and again, and again.

So we continued to play the seminar game until three days later when Mom barged into the room, panting and coughing into the crook of her elbow a few times.

"Mommy?" I inquired, appalled.

"Edwin! We have a *letter*!"

"Let me guess, Lorelei. Puget Sound Energy is yelling at me to pay the electrical bill?"

"I mean, that should have come in the mail today, but... this one's specifically addressed to *us*."

"Mail can be sent to two people at once?" I asked curiously, and Mom nodded.

Father jumped off the bed, waving a signal at me to follow, and I trotted out into the living room. Mom opened the letter with deft fingers, pulling out a pink letter.

"Hi, Edwin, Lorelei, you are invited to a family reunion party at my place-"

My eyes widened. "A party??!"

I knew of a few parties... all of them were birthday parties, and they were celebrated with balloons, cake, singing that got annoying after two years, and plenty of fun with friends and family.

Who's birthday was it this time? Wait... retract, young me! It said family reunion!

Boo, no one's celebrating their birthday. They could have easily put in a bribe for cake.

"Wait a minute, a family *reunion*???" Father questioned in disbelief, rubbing the three creases on his forehead.

"Family reunion?" I echoed. What on earth was *that* thing?

"-my place tomorrow evening. Plenty of food and drinks for everyone-" Mom continued before she got interrupted again.

"How many relatives are showing up? *Who*, exactly?"

"*All* of them, Edwin! You know that if you're a McCormick, you don't miss a reunion for *anything*! Isn't that what you told me shortly before we married?"

"Oh good golly... family reunion, yay... I better get to ironing my suit again..." He left the room to set up the ironing board in the bedroom, and I blankly turned my eyes onto the hall, fixated on nothing.

Why was Father so downcast about his own *family*? This family reunion thing? Wasn't it supposed to be *good*?

Families loved each other. A family's bond couldn't be broken. Family bonds in the *McCormick* family were *never* broken. What was the deal here?

Arms crossed, I stared up at my mother and pointedly interrupted, having been left out of this conversation for long enough.

"Mommy, what's a family reunion?"

Just like that, Mom remembered I was there and immediately kneeled down next to me, her shock melting to motherly warmth. "A family reunion is when all of your family comes together to... hmm, hang out."

"So I'm seeing more family? How big is our family?" I began to get excited and tapped my toes on the carpet.

"Yes, clever girl, you'll be seeing more of your family members.... if you're allowed to. They haven't seen you since you were about as long as my arm!" Mom said, rubbing the back end of my hair and tucking a few loose strands behind my left ear. "Our family is pretty big, and I think your daddy's side is bigger."

"Eeeee!" I squealed, completely missing a key detail in Mom's sentence and jumping around the living room.

"Yay! Family reunion, family reunion! I'm gonna see more family!"

Early in my life, I *did* know of a few more family members beside my parents. I had aunts and uncles and I had cousins, though their names were foreign to me, coming out in a blur during the rare opportunities my parents would mention them.

And I also didn't know how many because numbers numb the brain and young me was still learning how to correctly count.

Father returned, an eyebrow furrowed, and he looked at me with his typical surprised-and-concerned neutral expression. I stopped jumping on the sofa, blushing out of slight embarrassment, and took my place at Mom's side.

"Uh... why is she pumped up, Lorelei?"

"She's getting to see her extended family! Isn't that splendid?"

Crickets proceeded to fill the living room. I blushed again, and Mom frowned, scratching the top of her shoulder. Father eyed her, then flicked a chestnut eye at me, and doubt rolled into my once filled-with-butterflies stomach.

"Edwin..." Lorelei stated abruptly. "Winterlyn's going to see her family, *right*?"

Silence.

*Awkward...* I thought inwardly, throwing my eyes down to my socks.

Mom rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, stating with an edge, "**Right**?"

The silence was promptly murdered.

"I *want* her to, but..." he responded.

"Then *why* are you looking at me like I just told her how to *commit a murder*?"

"Mommy!" I protested, the sharp pitch in her voice scaring me a teensy bit. I had no clue what a "murder" was, but the mixed signals in my brain told me that it was probably something a five-year old like me shouldn't be learning about.

Why was it all so *awkward*? What was the *issue* with me seeing *family*? Other McCormicks who had the same blood as us?

They weren't people who did very very bad things, right?

"Look, I don't mean to be a stick in mud, but... I just don't think Winterlyn's ready to go to something like a family reunion," he admitted, dragging his shoe on the carpet pointedly, his voice low.

When Father's voice was low, he was aiming to make something clear. It made me more indignant.

"Daddy! I'm not a baby anymore!" I snapped. I was *five years old*, not a baby! A child, but *not* a *baby*! "I *want* to see my family! Mom said I could!"

"No, you're still a *child* and *very young*. I still need to talk with your mother *myself*, also," Father corrected with just a *flake* of ice in his tone, and I instantly shut up. Though unlike the many times where I would have started to quiver, I stood strong.

"She has a point, honey. Winterlyn can do just fine at a party. Besides, she's not a troublesome child. She wouldn't get in trouble, I'm sure of it. That's what *other* family members are for. She'll be supervised and safe, and nothing will happen," Mom asserted, rubbing Father's cheek tenderly.

"Okay, but what about the drinks? The possibly of a family member possibly getting you-know-what? She's five, but don't forget that she's naturally curious. And also, what if she causes conflict with *my family*? You know they're no *nonsense* and might be a bad-"

"Daddy!" Jesus, Father wasn't holding back in front of me this time. Family issues? Curiosity? Bad thing that he didn't get to finish? Hello, I *can hear you*, you know!

"Daddy! I'm not *stupid*! I'm not going to do something *stupid*!" I spat, flustered at the fact that he was embarrassing me in front of Mom, and hot with brooding anger because he was babying me. I was *five*.

"*Winterlyn*!" Mom gasped incredulously.

Thinking back, Father did have merit in what he said. I was still young and needed adults to teach me how to take care of myself. I'll give credit appropriately where it's due.

Father stared at me in shock, having not expecting me to speak so *boldly*, but he was apologetic and bit his lip. One too many words had tumbled out of his mouth. He composed himself and dropped his shoulders, beginning to feel the embarrassment that I had in my blood.

All too easily I got flashbacks and the tales of how troublesome my curiosity used to be surged back into my head. Falling in the garage, nearly getting killed by our beloved *neighbor*. That one hit *hard*. I bit back the urge to cry, fighting the mix of alarm and trepidation constructing in me.

"Well... I won't say you don't make a fair point, Edwin... she isn't exactly the age where she can tell *right* from *wrong*," Mom concurred, reluctantly giving me a sympathetic glance, and my heart fell to the bottom of my chest.

I *wasn't* going to see my family.

I *wasn't* going to branch out again and expand the growing sapling inside of me.

My parents were going to go without me, and I'd likely be stuck with a babysitter who wouldn't give five damns about my whole existence. Being excluded from something huge as this was a shot to the gut, and I wanted to fall to the ground and hide my face in the scratchy fibers of the carpet.

"Oh..." I muttered sullenly, my face going red, though no tears fell. Mom tugged me into her shirt, her arms wrapped around my back, and I found myself situating in the relaxing hold she had on me. I didn't want her to let go. My head and heart hurt from the pain of not being able to see my other family members. And what if they *wanted* to see me? I just couldn't think about that... and I focused the thought off the comfort Mom had lended me.

"It's okay, Winterlyn. There'll be another day..." she soothed, placing her chin on my head, and finally, I met myself smile.

Another day was a possibility. I had to keep on hoping.

"...hey, I didn't finish reading that letter," Mom then realized without warning, and she stopped hugging me tentatively, much to my disappointment. I held my hands behind my back.

Father loosened up just a tad bit more, the stifness leaving his back, and he joined Mom's side as she read the rest of the letter.

"Plenty of food and drinks for everyone as well as sheer joy and McCormick pride. More importantly: your spectacular little daughter has been invited! All of us are beyond eager to meet Winterlyn and see how gifted of a child she is - and how much she's grown! Drop us a call once you're ready to get down to business. Signed Aunt D."

Hold up, rewind! Rewind the tape! Pause!

"Your spectacular little daughter has been invited."

I gasped, my eyes widening. That was me! There was no other daughter; that was *me*!

I thought it had faded, but the limelight was back on me, and my body internally breathed a sigh of relief.

"They want to see her, Edwin," Mom pointed out.

"Well, Lorelei... she... hmm..."

"Mommy! Daddy! Can I please go? Pleaseeeeeeeeee?" I begged, and in something seen as traditional in the world's children, I glanced up at them. My ice-blue eyes, stretched *unbelievably*, had a prayer set in them. A pleading, a *longing* so strong you could feel it rattle through your bones and through the ground.

I *wanted* to meet my kin, *hug* my kin, *talk* with my kin and learn what they were like. It's a great big gigantic chaotic world out there, and one of the first things you should do is learn your family in every shape, size, and form.

I couldn't be denied that privilege. I *couldn't*! Mom and Father *had* to reconsider after reading that letter.

Mom and Father turned to each other, engaging in another private conversation full of subtle whispers and hand gestures. The deliberation took five minutes of painful waiting, and I paced on the ground, kept on pacing, waiting for when the answer would come.

The verdict.

A pass to an ocean of faces, or a ticket to being stuck with a low-bend babysitter not paid enough for his or her or their job.

I know I'm treating this like an episode of *Law & Order*. It sure felt like one.

The whispers increased, and so did my impatience, but luckily, I didn't lose my cool.

My parents turned to me, each with the same, light, serious expression.

"Please?" I asked for a second time, nearly squeaking the word out.

Then my parents nodded, and with that, I had earned vindication and time well spent.

"Alright, honey, you can go," Father agreed, patting me on my head. His chestnut eyes were locked on me, though, and I froze.

Had I missed sommething?

*Am I in trouble?*

"But *don't* get yourself into trouble with your relatives. Don't do anything you *shouldn't* do. Behave for us, okay?"

Of *course* I would behave myself! I said I wouldn't do anything *stupid*. I had to show Father I was *capable* of keeping myself safe and sane!

"Okay! I promise!" I replied jovially, hugging him tightly. Father chuckled and reciprocated, saying, "That's my baby girl, Winterlyn," and Mom couldn't help but join in as well.

It was loving all around, and shockwave upon shockwave pulsed through my body. I was a party guest, I was seeing my family, and there was a *new path* to travel on.

Paths appear so randomly, but if there was a chance of finding a new one, I was willing to take it. This was a path I was willing to *choose*.

New faces and bonds, here I came! Nothing would slow me down.

The night of the party drew close fast, and *bam*, it was upon us. My parents were prepared as soon as the sun set, astounding me with their swiftness, and quickly, I changed into my attire for the night. If I remember correctly, my outfit was like this.

I wore a short-sleeve pink shirt with two butterflies interlocked on the front, outlined in black, purple, and blue, darker blue leggings with black striping at the bottom, and gray Skechers (not Twinkle Toes, please do not *ever* suggest I wore those or you'll give me back pain) with pink soles and shoelaces.

For a five-year old, I thought I looked like a fashion *queen*.

These days, when I look back on it, I looked just above passable and nothing like the definition of pure beauty (aka Rihanna).

Thinking alike to me, my parents wore casual attire, though Father wore a suit over his shirt while my mother went with without a suit, just wearing a shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. There were some rashes showing near her ankles and arms from her latest lupus flareup, but she had taken her medication and didn't mind the pink spots breaking up her skin, let alone being visible.

See, my mother didn't give a rat's *ass* about the rashes she developed. Her rashes were part of her sickness, and while they'd never completely go away, she didn't care what people thought of her displaying such traits.

"Beauty is subjective. Some judge because they want *perfection*... but deep down, any person should know that they should take pride in their appearance, blemishes or spotless," she'd say, showcasing her rashes and blisters from her autoimmune disease. She was a pure *warrior* and I would have stolen a purple heart just for her if I could.

That, my friends, is part of how you earned respect in the McCormick family.

*Ahem*. I'm getting off-topic, my apologies.

Once we had finished up the final preparations to our outfits and polishing up in the bathroom (no makeup for me), we popped in the car, and Father began to drive far out into the falling night.

Propping my face up against the car window, I watched as the last traces of the sunset faded away, those little strands that reached up into what was far out in space, clawing and desperate to remain only to get pushed down, giving way to the rise of the moon, crescent, luminous, and mysterious.

The stars would come out soon, and I hoped to get a moment where I could look outside and see them. With my family.

My *extended* family.

Did they love the stars the way Mom and Father did?

The sights of Pineshadow chugged us by, and the night descended fast, turning the landscape from vibrant reds and pinks to pitch black, unwelcoming and shadowy. There was no need to fear, for I was safe in the car.

I've always wondered what hid in the dark. Mom said the bad guys were the ones, but I thought it was more than just crooked crooks.

We whizzed out of Pineshadow land and into a new area I had not yet visited.

*Spokane*.

The city that birthed Father's Day. Home of Hoopfest, the largest basketball tournament. Named by the Spokane tribe. So much to do, so much to see... my heart burned with an *aching* to explore the whole city, even if it wasn't on our résumé that night. I didn't care whether magic was in the air or if it was just my intrigue, but I vowed to someday return to Spokane (it would never happen).

Woodlands flew by, houses blurred out, and finally, we parked in front of a two-story house with fine wood accents in the roofing and brown brick. I sprung out of the car like a jackrabbit flung from a slingshot and hopped across each step of the winding concrete slabs leading up to the door, laughing.

"Easy, Winterlyn!" Mom called after me. I gave her a cheeky thumbs-up.

I looked around. Damn, this house was neat! It had a garden on both sides and two trees covered in thick vines, encircled by pretty summery flowers, blues? Purples? Reds? The lighting threw me off and I stopped guessing after ten seconds.

Panting, I ran up to the door and rang the doorbell, joined by my parents a second later. The door opened, and a woman in her mid-forties or fifties with curly hair stepped out.

"Oh, you're here! You're here!" she greeted, her voice swirly and peppy, and she glanced down at me.

"Winterlyn! My, how you've grown since I've last seen you! When I saw you last, you hadn't even left the hospital!"

"Hi!" I responded and was immediately pulled into a hug by the woman who's name I did not yet know. I turned to my parents, quietly prompting them.

"Winterlyn, that's my sister Debbie, but you can call her Aunt Debbie," Mom clarified. "Hi, Debbie, good to see you."

"Lorelei!" Aunt Debbie approached Mom and squeezed her tightly, making her grunt, though she ignored it. "How have you been feeling lately? Is your lupus still a bother?"

"Debbie, things haven't changed in all the years I've had it. No, not really. Winterlyn's been growing and learning as any child should."

"And how is your lovely-dovely husband doing?" Aunt Debbie's eyes rested on Father, who flushed uncomfortably, his cheeks darkening with pink, and I cringed.

Yuck! Affection between adults could be so *weird* sometimes.

"Hi... Deb... I'm *fine*," Father puffed awkwardly, and Aunt Debbie swung her arms around him, squeezing him so tightly I thought his eyes would shoot out from his sockets, and I again cringed.

Love is *strange*... adults, why must you make it so *painful*?

"Come inside, darlings! Oh, Winterlyn, I have some snacks for you to eat if you're hungry. The rest of the fam should be arriving soon."

"Okay!" I exclaimed, eagerly trotting after my aunt. When I entered her house, I was greeted by a wide living room with a *huge* sofa stretching in a half-square across the floor. The coffee table was white with a glass front, and it appeared to have this metal doohickey that supported a second table. It was a bit odd-looking.

The kitchen was isolated by a step, and the whole house smelled of *food*. Beef I was fast to recognize, as well as some vegetable scents and *lots* of oil, and at the thought of oil, my palms felt greasy and slick. I brushed them off on my shirt preemptively.

"Want to try some beef buns, Winterlyn?" Aunt Debbie inquired, grabbing a small plate and placing two of the small, beige-wrapped slices onto a plate.

"Sure!" I mean, there wasn't any harm in trying. Unlike other children, I was actually open to the idea of eating healthy from a young age. Eat well, be strong, grow up to be like the Green Giant or whatever. Just eat healthy and don't indulge in sugar.

I gave them a quick sniff - savory beef and onion scent flooded toward me - and the overwhelming combo made the saliva in my mouth accumulate. It smelled *delicious*.

Approval was won. I took a bite. *Hell yeah*.

"This is amazing!" I hollered mid-chew, swallowing and then eating the other one in one bite. "You're a great chef, Aunt Debbie!"

"Aww, thanks Winterlyn," she thanked me, taking the plate and washing it in the sink. "Why don't you go sit down in the living room? I'm sure Lorelei would like a sip of her favorite wine."

"As a *matter of fact*, I am craving some Penfolds right about now," Mom quipped, resting her rashy elbow on the counter and smirking at her sister, who rolled her eyes, went into her wine cabinet (with oak wood paneling if I may add), and yanked out a bottle of Penfolds. It was a long, slender bottle with red trim near the top and a stained beige cork stuck in the middle of it. Someone had gotten through some of the bottle.

The liquid looked dark and sticky, like grape juice but less... *grapey*. Funny I assumed this when a lot of wine is *derived* from grapes.

It looked unappealing, and quietly, I raised an eyebrow at it. Father saw and gave a nod at my gesture, much to my surprise.

"You're not supposed to drink that until you're twenty-one," he whispered to me. "Well done sensing something amiss about it."

"Uh- okay?" I responded, and Father took his leave, heading to the wine cabinet to pull out a bottle of Sishaye (flavor unidentified), and so I sunk into the relaxing cushions of the sofa.

The TV was on ESPN, it seemed. A documentary was on. What are these called again? *30 for* something, eh... I'll have to ask one of my friends if she knows later. I'm not a sports person.

*Ding-dong*! The chime of the doorbell flooded both stories of the house, and I heard barking upstairs. Holy cow, my aunt had a *dog*??? Lucky. Remember what I said previously about Mom's illness prohibiting us from owning pets?

Debbie went to the door, opening it, and there were two middle-aged women, one wearing a dress and the other wearing a cardigan over a shirt that said *Not Now Sweetie, Mommy's Airing Out the Laundry*.

Yeah I'm... not going to even bother questioning her decisions.

"Bonnie! Jodie!" Debbie greeted, giving the two a quick hug. "Welcome in, welcome in! Beef buns before the snacks. I'm gonna start the dinner soon."

"I'm gonna check your fridge to see if anything's *expired*," Bonnie muttered, strutting ahead to the fridge.

"I... will help!" Jodie offered, following Bonnie.

"Hello!" I jumped up from the couch to greet them, but both turned to see me, and their eyes, Bonnie's blue and Jodie's hazel, rounded to face me.

"Winterlyn!" they both yelled at the same time, and I ran around to the opposite side the couch, flying into their arms.

"Wow, you've gotten so big!" Aunt Jodie commented, with Aunt Bonnie adding, "You've taken so many traits from your momma..."

"Where's the traits from my brother???" Aunt Jodie then remarked, scratching her forehead and then stretching my cheeks. "Winterlyn looks nothing like Edwin!"

"Yeah, she doesn't have the hair or his eyes..."

Oh dear *lord* someone chop my head off. Was *this* the reality of family reunions? Getting *smothered*? My face flushed *red*, and I shot my eyes around the whole span of Aunt Debbie's house, waiting for someone to toss me the Hail Mary that would get me outta here.

Father answered.

"Jodie! Jodie, relax!" he intervened, putting a gap between me and my aunt. "She just... took predominantly after Lorelei. It's not a big deal."

"But the difference!" Jodie protested, and Father sighed, facepalming.

"Jodie, she's my *daughter* and she's *beautiful* even if she inherited *nothing* from me. Don't be so dramatic."

Jodie looked down and saw me blushing, then righted herself and stepped away further. "Well, excuse me, then. But it's so... *wonderful* to see you again, Winterlyn."

"Mmmhmm," Aunt Bonnie agreed. "Now to the fridge. There's some things I got to verify in there..."

"Bonnie, if you even think about throwing the mayonaise out again, it's *not expired*! I got it from Safeway *three days ago*!" Aunt Debbie shouted.

So *this* was why Father wasn't too keen on family reunions. God, family members were so *smothering* and *corny* and had no sense of *dignity*. Surely this couldn't get worse.

Surely there were no other members of the family - Mom's side or Father's side - that were delusional or were about to explode from all the affection they wanted to give?

It didn't seem to be *that* bad on Mom's side. Her sisters were sweet and laid-back, not too pushy and overwhelming with the questions like Aunt Jodie.

Hmm, alright. I could handle this. *I could handle this*.

I heard the distant sounds of Aunt Bonnie rooting around in the fridge, and then she gasped. "Expired!" A jar of marmalade went flying into the trash can.

*Thud*.

Aunt Debbie sighed, and Aunt Jodie peered out at the TV, seeing what I had gone back to watching.

"What's this about?"

"Sports," I replied blankly to Aunt Jodie.

"Bo-ring! Sports contains no class and sweaty no-gooders. We ought to put it on TLC-"

"Winterlyn is *not* watching that channel," Father hissed, snatching the remote right out of her hand and wagging a finger at her nose.

Great, we went *straight back* to the clownshow. Peace was seemingly nonexistent here.

Father walked into the kitchen, still holding the remote, and he put another beef bun into my hand. "Here, have a third one. This'll help get you through the wait time for dinner."

"Thanks, daddy," I said, gulping it down effortlessly. Time well spent.

The doorbell rang again, *ding-dong*.

"More family! I shall get this," Jodie declared, now wielding a glass of sloshing olive-green wine, and she ran to the door. Some of the wine spilled right out of the glass, earning a frustrated groan from Father and a raised, furrowed brow from Mom.

She pulled open the door, and in dashed three people - one young, like me, one a few years older, and one a few years older than the older one.

Ah, yes, my *cousins*.

The youngest appeared to be my age, if not just a little older.

"Hi Cousin Winterlyn!" she squeaked, pulling me in for a hug.

"Hi!" I greeted back, embracing it. She was wearing a cute dress with flowers, very reminiscent of the sundresses I wore myself.

Mom giggled and approached. "Winterlyn, these are your paternal cousins. The youngest here is Fanny, she's six years old. The second oldest is Brody, he's eleven."

"Sup, Winterlyn." He put out a polite, light-skinned hand, and I shook it.

"Nice to meet ya, Brody."

"And the last one here is your eldest cousin, Steph. She's eighteen years old."

"Legal adult, old enough to drive."

"She's a *rad* driver!" Brody chipped in, and Steph whacked him on the back.

"Better than your mother ever was at driving. Sheesh, the amount of times she nearly killed us in Pullman is *crazy*," she murmured, smoothing down her leather jacket.

Steph is pure biker girl energy, let me tell you. I admired her for her sheer amount of *radness*.

"Of course your mom learned nothing from getting pulled over *four times*. Anyways, Steph, are you committed to WSU?"

"Cougs all the way," she proclaimed smugly.

"Go Cougs! Go Cougs!" Fanny and Brody chanted.

I laughed. "Great meeting the three of you."

"Have fun with them, Winterlyn. I'm gonna go back to the kitchen now," Mom told me, and she headed off.

"Any of you kiddos want to play something?" Steph asked, sitting down with us on the floor.

I thought about a game, thinking long and hard...

"Shadow animals?" Fanny suggested, making alligator shadow hand movements with her hands.

"I'm shabby at that," Brody complained.

"Hmm... maybe we can *guess* a type of animal using what we know?" I pitched in, and instantly, Brody and Fanny's expressions brightened.

"Yeah, I like the sound of that, Winterlyn!" Brody stated, excitement fizzling like firecracker sparks in his eyes.

"Hooray for Winterlyn!" Fanny added.

"I love the sound of that. Who wants to go first?" Steph inquired.

"Me! Memememememememememe *me*!" Fanny begged.

But before she could give the description of the first animal, you guessed it...

*Ding-dong*.

"Excuse me kiddos, I'll get it," Steph excused herself, running to the door and turning the knob. Pulling the door open, she was greeted by:

"Out of the way, sonny girl Stephanie! Grandma Anny is coming through!"

*Grandma Anny*. Father's face turned a slight shade of green, and recoiling, Steph backed up and back to us.

Grandma Anny had white-hair, faintly silver, and walked slowly. Her back was slightly hunched, and in her hand was a wooden cane that she waved around.

"Mom, take it easy with the cane, will you?" Father cautioned irritably.

"Respect your betters, Edwin McCormick!" she retorted, poking his chest with the cane, and I mentally felt a part of my brain die.

Grandma Anny turned her eyes on me.

The storm inside of her turned to a clear sky.

"Is that my sweet little granddaughter over there? Winterlyn! Winterlyn, come say hi to your grandma!" she called.

I walked up to her, and she swept me into a *bone-crushing hug*. My backbone felt squished, almost as if an anvil had suddenly fallen on it, and I could feel strain in my bones and my eyelids.

Dear god. If she squeezed me any further, I would explode into a pile of flesh, organs, bone, and blood, and I grunted.

"Uh... hi, grandma!" I uttered, my cheeks red.

"You've grown so much!"

"I know, everyone's been telling me that."

"As they should!" A bony hand *whacked* me on the back, and the air momentarily leaving my small body, I gasped for air.

Father, chewing on his lip and probably fed up with the obnoxious members of his family, pushed Grandma Anny away from me and steered her toward the sofa.

"Sit down and relax, Mom. No need to smother Winterlyn."

"I was not *smooothering* her, boy!"

"God-"

"And don't you even *think* about using the Lord's name in vain!"

"Drama!" Aunt Jodie purred, slinking out from the kitchen to watch, rubbing her hands together.

"By the end of it all, Edwin's gonna be pulling his hair out again and punching the wall. Can't wait to call the wall people..." I heard Mom say to Bonnie and Debbie; all three of them held half-drunk glasses of wine.

"Our grandma is soooo delusional," Brody huffed, low enough so only me and my cousins could hear.

"She's a headache and a stomachache all in one. You mention God or the Lord and you're a goner," Steph stated, fake-slitting her throat with her index finger to put extra seasoning on her emphasis.

"Grandpa Darrell wouldn't let her do that, right?" Fanny asked, and I tilted my head.

Until now, I hadn't noticed that my paternal grandfather hadn't arrived with Grandma Anny. Where was he?

"Where is my grandfather?" I questioned.

Steph looked down at her boots solemnly. "He... he died last year. Cancer."

My mouth gaped open in shock, my body temperature dropping with the revelation. I was aware of cancer when my parents sometimes discussed it. It's a violent disease, *far* more violent than lupus, and it destroys the body from the inside. So little can be done to treat it, but medical advances are made every year to stop it.

And thanks to the horrific, nightmarish disease, I now knew my grandfather wouldn't be able to meet me.

"I'm sorry," I apologized to my cousins. "I had no idea. Daddy didn't mention him to me."

"No need to apologize, Winterlyn," Steph assured, hugging me and resting her chin in the crook of my shoulder, "you were younger, and your parents probably didn't want to talk about it much as to not make you worry. Life sucks, and it's harsh, and it's very hard to move on from a loved one's death. But over time, we heal, and our hearts repair."

As I was still learning basic vocabulary, some of what my elder cousin had said ricocheted off my brain, but I figured that she meant well and was advising me.

"Yeah, fair enough." The rest of my cousins joined in on the hug.

"Aww, look at my grandchildren sharing the love!"

Said tender hug proceeded to be interrupted by my nosy religious grandmother.

"Hi, Grandma Anny," Brody greeted, waving.

"Why are you children sitting on the floor? The couch is much comfier-"

"We're playing an animal game!" Fanny interrupted.

"Don't you interrupt me, child! You speak when the Lord commands you to!"

"But the Lord isn't-" I cut in.

"Yes he is, silly goose child! Up all of you go, you're going onto the sofa and hearing a story from me and my connection to the Lord!" Grandma Anny poked us with her cane, pushing the end into each of our shoulders, and we scrambled onto the sofa and sat down.

Who knows what would have happened if we did not. I don't know what's worse: getting hit repeatedly by that end of the cane or being subjected to unhinged religious fanfare.

My stomach growled, the effect of the beef buns having worn all the way off. "God, I'm hungry," I stated.

*Jab*.

"Ow! What was that for???" I questioned in shock, reeling into Steph's shoulder, and Steph herself eyed my kooky grandma in surprise.

"Child, you act just like your father! No using the Lord's name in *vain*!"

"Grandma, she's just hungry. Let's... tone it down a little and not cause a scene, okay?" Steph pleaded gently, and Brody and Fanny nodded with approval at her words, also quietly begging Grandma Anny to knock it off with the scriptures for the time being.

"Hmmph! Someday you children will value God. Anyways, the story! It all began when I was a little girl, and I had climbed up the tree in my backyard..."

"Grandma, isn't that the story of that one girl who was sick and fell headfirst into the cavity of a tree?" Brody interrupted, his voice lapsing with frustration.

Yes, another issue with Grandma Anny besides her religious-sodes was the fact that she told stories she wasn't there to witness *herself* - or rather, just self-inserted herself into stories to seek attention.

Good. Grief.

"Was she always like this?" I whispered to Fanny. Fanny shrugged. "Beats me!"

"Will you children let me tell my stories, or do you want this cane slapping you on your lazy rears?" Grandma Anny yelled a *bit* too loudly, and Father, seeing that her behavior was borderline harassing us, sped up to her.

"Mom, **ENOUGH**!" he snapped. "This is a *family reunion*, not a *communion*, and I'm going to ask for you to save the religious stuff until I feel when **my daughter** is **comfortable** learning it."

"But-"

"No buts, mom! Would you like for me to *spit* my *clashing* virtues at you, in front of Lorelei's *family*? In front of **the kids**?"

"Hot *damn*," Brody whispered under his breath. No one reprimanded him for the cuss, and we all continued to watch the unfolding scene with wide, amazed eyes.

I had my qualms with Father. But he was a *badass* when he needed to be.

"Fine, fine, sonny boy," Grandma Anny whined, taking her leave and her frightening cane with her to the kitchen. "Where's the food? Is it nearly done?"

"We are cooking it!" Aunt Jodie shouted at her from within earshot.

Father sighed, hitting his face with the palm of his hand. "Sorry, children."

"Is this what family reunions are like?" I asked him dubiously.

"With my mother, *yes*. Otherwise, they are *normal*," he huffed before walking away.

*Ding-dong*. More guests had arrived! How much kin did I have?

"I have a feeling I know who this is," Mom announced. "My turn to get the door!"

Placing her wine glass down, she bolted to the door and pulled it open, and there were two elderly people, no cane this time, and they were only smiles.

"Hey mom, dad! Great to see you could drive up from Walla Walla to be here," she said fondly, warmth rubbing off onto her parents, and they shared a sweet, *sweet* hug.

"Lorelei! Delightful to keep in touch with you in-person again," her father stated, putting a hand on a rash on her elbow. "You're flaring up?"

"It happens every month, but I took my meds today. You know I wouldn't stray off it for one day if I had to."

"That's my girl," her mother told her. "Is dinner cooking?"

"Yep, dinner's cooking, and it'll probably be ready soon. But do you want to meet your granddaughter for the first time?"

I perked up, eyes alert, senses on standby. There were people who *actually* hadn't met me? Who didn't *know* me?

"Winterlyn's here?" her mother asked.

"Yes, I am!" I suddenly exclaimed, leaping off the sofa and bowing in front of them. "Hello!" Mom let loose a small chuckle.

"And there she is. Mom, dad, this is Winterlyn."

"Winterlyn! Hi!" her father greeted me, and he immediately swept me into his arms. "Wow, Lorelei, she looks so much like you."

"Yeah, she has your roots!"

"Her eyes are like yours, but lighter..."

"Why does *everyone* have to subtlety point out that my daughter inherited *zero* traits from me?" Father grumbled, joining his in-laws and Mom in the foyer. "Anyways, good evening, Krystine, Pierre."

"Your daughter is *beautiful*, Edwin. So proud of you and Lorelei. How have you been all these years?" Grandma Krystine queried.

"Fine, very well."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Winterlyn," Grandpa Pierre commented, ruffling my bangs and making them fall on the front of my eyes. I brushed them away, laughing.

"Hey Krystine! Pierre!" Steph called out to them.

"Stephhhhh! You've grown *exponentially*, my goodness," my grandpa remarked. "Are you about to start your senior year of high school?"

"You bet. WSU commit."

"Rock the house, Steph!" Grandma Krystine cheered, high-fiving her.

"Hi!" Fanny and Brody got hugs from my maternal grandparents. I smiled. With my paternal grandmother's short-sighted musings out of the way, tonight was shaping up to be a *really* good night.

"We oughta get some music up in here!" Aunt Jodie hollered, reaching for a speaker plugged into the wall.

"*No* club rave, Jodie," Aunt Bonnie ordered tersely.

"No no no, not club rave, just some instrumentals... aw crabs, the thing's broken."

Guess we didn't need the party music after all - as the last of the guests then arrived with a *ding-dong*.

The dog upstairs barked like mad, and I looked up, expecting a terrifying big dog with yellow teeth and drool to come charging down the stairs and into us.

Then I heard the metal bars of a cage slam.

The dog wasn't gonna get his bone today.

Father ran toward the door, yanking it aside, and in the doorway stood three men.

"Uncles are here!"

*My uncles*.

The first of the uncles was my Uncle Willie, Mom's brother who flew all the way out from *Texas* to be up here (yeehaw, I guess). He wore a cowboy hat and had loose brown hair sticking out from under the leather of his biker jacket. He'd definitely be best friends with Steph.

"Howdy. Where's Lorelei?"

"At your service, my dear brother," Mom said jokingly as she side-hugged him. "It's been *forever* since I've last seen you. How can you *survive* down in Texas? It's a *desert* down there and your power grid sucks."

"I'm tough as nails and I don't care about the politics. I care for my survival. So I roll with the punches." He noticed me and waved.

"That my niece?"

Lorelei nodded. "Winterlyn, come greet your uncle!"

"Hi Uncle Willie!" I jumped into his arms, and he gave me a good rub on the top of my head before hugging me. He smelled like gasoline and leather, but his aura was friendly and loving just like *most* of the rest of my family. Soft, but strengthened by Texas hardship.

I don't know why he wanted to go live there, but he's a *very* valiant soul.

"She's the perfect daughter, Lorelei. Congrats. Anywhooooo, I'm gonna go see what's cooking in the kitchen. Talk to ya soon."

Upon his departure, I got to see my other two uncles - on Father's side of the family. He approached them and shook their hands.

"Barry, Lewis, quite the lion's share of time has passed since our last encounter. All is well?"

"Been shedding a *boatload* of tears, Edwin," Barry quipped, forming crocodile tears and "wiping" them away. "My eldest daughter's gonna be off to college soon, my boy's a master at robotics, and my yougest daughter's grades are high... oh, so proud..."

"Dad, we *understand*. The sentiment is appreciated," Brody made clear, his cheeks red from embarrassment. He, Steph, and Fanny all banded together to hug him, and I joined in.

"Ah, so this is my niece? She looks-"

"Nothing like me. I get it, everyone's been giving me a hard time about it."

"Oh, Edwin, that wasn't what I was going to say. I was *going* to say she's *pretty*. She's five, correct?" Father lowered his brows, *relieved* that he wasn't going to picked on any longer.

"She turns six in December," he noted, standing behind me.

"Awww, she's growing fast. She'll be starting school in a few weeks!"

*School*.

A word very, *very* foreign to me.

What on earth was *school*? What *was* I starting?

Was that another path to-

"Lewis? You gonna say hi to your niece?" Uncle Barry prompted my last uncle, Uncle Lewis.

He stared at me through blank pale green eyes, which then grew brighter, and he shook my hand.

"Hey. Name's Lewis. Good to meet ya, Winterlyn."

"Good to meet you too, Uncle Lewis," I replied, beaming.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the *full* McCormick family. On the maternal side was the Falins - easy-going, generous, compassionate, and full of sunshine.

On the paternal side was the McCormicks, brash, bold, unafraid, and maybe a bit less balanced in the head, but still fair and pleasurable.

The party roster was here, and it was time for the *feast*... when it would be done, of course. I only grew hungrier.

I sat back down on the sofa with my cousins, and Uncle Willie proceeded to join us.

"Are we watching sports up in here?"

"It's been like that since we got here," Brody responded, laying his head back.

"I think we could use a change of scenery. Let's go to Starz and see if they have a movie on for you kiddos."

"Sweet, a movie!" Fanny proclaimed, sitting up, her feet tapping on the ground. I did the exact same thing.

Swiftly, Uncle Willie went to the Starz channels on the TV guide, and he laughed, encountering what was considered to be the *pinnacle* of movies released that year.

"Whatddya know? *Shrek 2* is on. Presume you kids have all seen the first *Shrek*?"

"Some*BODY* once told me-" Fanny started, but Steph shushed her, not wanting her voice-cracking singing to spark up fresh drama in the house (it was best if Aunt Jodie kept her mouth closed for the time being).

"We *all* have. Right, Winterlyn?" Steph questioned, and I nodded, putting on my best impression of Lord Farquaad and puffing out my chest, tilting my head dramatically.

"The *ogre* has fallen in love with the *princess*!"

"Farquaad has a lot of small d-"

"Brody! Shshshsh! No naughties!" Fanny silenced him, bonking him on the nose.

"Ow!"

Uncle Willie laughed at us. "Boy, you children are *funny*. You'll love *Shrek 2*, *everyone's* raving about it."

Good to know. If we just had the popcorn and a bit more movie ambience, this would have for sure been a movie night.

After ten minutes in, though, I got bored and began to look away from the TV, my nose picking up on the food coming from the kitchen. I heard beeping from the microwave and the stove being pulled open. Mmm-*mmm*! One small step closer to plowing through a plate of *goodness*.

I saw a flicker of movement outside, shadows faintly illuminated, and I recognized the silhouette of Father. I leapt off the sofa and entered the patio, finding him pulling around some chairs and a table aimed at a TV mounted on the roof.

"Daddy?" I asked, glancing around the backyard and observing that Uncle Barry and Uncle Lewis were also helping. "What are you doing?"

"*We* are setting up the patio so we can go outside and watch *sports*. Careful with that chair, Lewis, you're going to hit Winterlyn."

"I sure as *hell* won't," Lewis retorted quietly, and I backed away. Uh, what's *hell*? Should I ask?

I thought better of it and did not. I'd likely learn from my parents someday. A family reunion wasn't the time for personal questions or for getting on Father's already-frayed nerves from Grandma Anny's holy delusions.

"Winterlyn, would you mind grabbing that deck chair real quick?" Father asked, pointing me to the back chair on the patio. I trotted up to it, and grabbing it by the back, I dragged it over. Hmm, it was less heavy than it appeared.

"Awesome, thank you." Father positioned the chair in front of the table. "*Perfect*. Boys, we're done here."

"Dinner should be almost ready. Eager to see what the gals have cooked up." Uncle Barry rubbed his rounded belly in anticipation.

Uncle Lewis, however, was unresponsive and sat down on the table, his graying hair drooping down his sides like a wet leaf. He was holding a drink in his hands, and it was dark fluid, like the wine, except that chilly condensation was dripping off of the sides. Where had he gotten *that* from?

He leaned back and took a sip, and the sticky fluid trailed down his lips, traced his chin, and fell onto his jacket. His absent gaze lingered on the bottle, circular at the bottom but oval-shaped, having a thinner top. A spiky gray cap was off to the side.

"Uhhh..." I started, anxiously shuffling my feet. "Are you gonna come inside?"

"In a *moooment*, Winterlyn," Uncle Lewis sluggishly replied, slurring the *moment* and dragging it out.

He didn't appear to be sick or threatening me. *He's just playing with me, has to be. He's family after all*, I told myself, convinced that he was just messing around, and I went back inside.

In the final five minutes leading up to the dinner being finished, both sides of the family came to embrace the joys and fun of being reunited again. Some, like Mom, Aunt Bonnie, and Aunt Jodie, sipped a glass of wine while laughing and talking about their personal lives, in this case sewing lessons and walking the dog or just some stupid things that young me forgot about quicker than a snake shedding its skin.

Others had chosen to play games; my uncles had taken up cards and splayed out decks in their hands, having their drinks nearby, though all were concentrated on the game.

My cousins had taken to helping set up the final dinner preparations. Steph walked up to me, a glass of something *pink* in her hands.

"Wanna try pink lemonade, Winterlyn?"

"Sure!" I was familiar with lemonade, a lemon drink that tasted sour, but sweet at the same time. I let the pink liquid filter through my lips, and it hit the *spot*.

"Wow, this tastes sweet," I admitted, grinning. "Thanks, Steph!"

"Sure thing, sport." She winked and returned to the kitchen.

Someone's gaze raked across the flesh of my face, coming from the left, and I turned to find Uncle Lewis *staring* at me.

*Staring*. A single hand gripped his ice cold drink.

I waved at him politely, but nervously, forming a lumpy smile, dimissing the simmering feelings welling in me. No, Uncle Lewis wasn't *crazy*. He likely wanted to talk to me.

We were McCormicks. We loved each other. There was nothing wrong with Uncle Lewis.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

*Wrong*.

"Winterlyn! Come play guessing games with us!" Brody invited, holding up his hands and becoming a moving football goalpost.

"Alright!" Agreeing, I ran over to them with my glass of pink lemonade, continuing to down it as we guessed animals, plants, and fictional beings that Fanny invented with the help of Steph.

And immediately after I finished off the lemonade, there was a clattering of glasses, a ringing, a glass *choir*.

"Everyone! Dinner is served!" Aunt Debbie declared, and it was a siren song. *Everyone*, my hungry self included, charged to the kitchen, where there were helpings of strange concoctions and food items I didn't recognize.

I did recognize a Hawaiian roll, however, and put it on my plate.

My mom hustled through the crowds to my side. "What do you want to eat, dear?"

"What is there?" My stomach growled, knawing at the edges of my inner flesh, and I sighed. The feel when you're *extremely* hungry isn't just irritating, it can kinda make you feel sick.

"Debbie made mac n' cheese for the kiddos, though there's also seasoned chicken, veggie shish kababs, and cake for dessert. What do you want to eat?"

I was a *very* smart cookie and refused the cake instantly - cake was *dessert* food, not dinner food, and I wasn't going to stuff myself full of sweet stuff just yet. My stomach didn't need unhealthy sludge; it needed nutrients.

I glanced over at the mac n' cheese, and the *mountains* of gooey, orange cheese dripping all around made my stomach blench and flare in distress.

The answer was clear. The path was chosen.

I'd like the chicken and one shish kebab!"

Impressed with my choices, Mom nodded. "*Excellent*! I love that you're eating your veggies, darling. Some children your age put up a fuss for *years* on the healthy food. Here, let me cut you some and we can eat together."

"Okay!" Gosh, I *loved* when she acknowledged my critical thinking, the feeling of being *appreciated* and *eager* like I was since my *birth*.

She gave me my rations, then got hers, and we settled down on the couch together, eating away at our meal. The chicken was *delicious*, melting in my mouth, and the veggies were just as *fire*, being lightly seasoned and cooked on the grill. There was also some sauce on them - barbecue? Steak? Do you even *put* those on vegetables?

Oh, wait, I think it was teriyaki sauce. Teriyaki is the *bomb*.

Outside, raised voices cheered, and I knew that it was Father and my uncles watching the ESPN Classic on a 1980s Apple Cup, the famed football rivalry between Washington and Washington State.

Everyone was having a good time. Even Grandma Anny had turned docile, putting her cane aside and eating her veggie mac n' cheese offerings with help from Steph.

Once I finished, Mom took up my empty plate and threw them away in the trash can. "I'm gonna go check on your grandparents and help Debbie, Bonnie, and Jodie clear the kitchen."

I nodded, sinking back into the depths of the silky couch, and suddenly, I realized that I was *alone*. All of my family members were somewhere.

The cousins, my maternal grandparents, and Grandma Anny were at the dining table tucked in the corner of the house. Mom, Aunt Bonnie, Aunt Debbie, and Aunt Jodie were cleaning the kitchen, sipping the last of their wine glasses. Father and my uncles were outside watching the sports game.

It was just me, myself, and I with plenty of free time to myself. I sat back, watching the last of *Shrek 2* and Fairy Godmother's dazzling defeat, a single *pop* that spawned bubbles.

"What a loser," I whispered at the TV. Fairy Godmother got what she deserved, but I will admit, she has *always* been a thrilling antagonist.

When the credits began to roll, Father came back inside, my uncles following behind him. Uncle Lewis was still holding his drink bottle in his hand, his fingers slipping a little at the top, and I feared he was going to *drop* the drink onto the wooden floor.

Cleanup on Isle 3 would make Father go bananas - the paternal side of his family had proven to be uncivilized monkeys that hollered over drama.

Broken glass is a safety hazard, and I was quick to be taught that in case I ever dropped something like glass or porcelain. You do *not* want to be going to the hospital with a shard stuck in your foot!

"That was a *gripping* Apple Cup. Cougs showed the Huskies no *mercy*!" Uncle Barry exclaimed, keeping in stride with Father, and they stopped near the dining room.

"More like a blowout," Uncle Willie, being the straightforward one, corrected.

"Please! We beat the Cougs the *next year*. My Huskies are no cowards and always draw first blood," Father quipped, dragging his foot on the floor and stomping on it.

Sports *really* got my uncles riled up.

But then, I observed that Uncle Lewis wasn't with my uncles, and surprised, my eyes darted about Aunt Debbie's house, wondering where he could have gone.

"I don't get the damn sports nonsense they blabber about," a voice spoke *right* into the cavity of my ear, and spooked, I flinched, scrambling on the sofa.

Uncle Lewis then flopped back, his green eyes *very* glassy, almost as if a car windshield had been fastened to each of them. He was *still* clutching that damn dark sticky drink in his hand, and raising it up to his mouth, he took a long chug of the drink and swallowed.

"Ah. Baby never gets old."

*Baby?* I thought, *bewildered* as hell. What sane person calls a drink *baby*? Uncle Lewis stared at his drink and rubbed off more condensation on the bottle, which I thought *should* had evaporated by now.

My stomach flopped, and nervous butterflies rose from the bottom.

No, young Winterlyn, there was no denying it this time - something was *off* about my uncle.

"Uh... I'm gonna go get cake, Uncle Lewis," I excused myself, the heat of embarrassment singing my cheeks. I made a beeline toward the circular chocolate confection in the kitchen.

"Oh, Winterlyn, won't you stay for just a *hic*-minute?" Uncle Lewis called after me, hiccuping again.

"W-Why?" The tops of my shoulder blades began to itch. I didn't like where this was going.

"I'm a lonely soul, Winterlyn. Your uncle wants *cooompany*. Don't *leave* me!"

*Don't leave me!* I stopped dead in my *tracks* and faced him, a deer caught in several thousand headlights. His glassy eyes were pleading with me, wanting me to stay, but something else hid behind them, something *dark*.

I didn't *want* to stay by his side. I could run to Father right now and tell him about Uncle Lewis' shady behavior...

...but my uncle had only just *met* me. And I didn't want to be a *disloyal* niece...

I was torn between two worlds, but I chose what I *thought* was the better path and returned to his side, sitting down and crossing my hands over my stomach.

"*Thanks*, my love." I gritted my teeth together; the way he spoke *my love* made it sound like he was speaking to me as an *adult*, not a *child* or his *niece*.

His stare wasn't full of warmth, it was *empty*. Hollow. Nothing behind those green eyes. I felt deceived and wanted to leave.

But I just promised him that I'd stay, and how could I break that?

*Don't misbehave, just be nice.*

"Have you had lots of fun?" Uncle Lewis asked hazily, lifting his drink up onto his lap.

"Yeah," I confessed, nodding my head and acting normal, even though inside, I had traversed through a *parade* of red flags.

I was ignoring each and every one of them, still grasping the belief that I couldn't disappoint my uncle.

My uncle then looked at his lap and tugged his drink closer to him, resting it on his stomach, and he traced the top all the way to the cap. I watched his erratic movements, growing apprehensive, and my heart began to gallop into a steady kick.

Young me, *run*. Run like he's the Boogeyman about to chop your ass off!

But I refused to run.

Without warning, something warm touched my leg. I looked down to find Uncle Lewis' hand on it.

"Hey, Winterlyn," he said, his voice smooth, *too* smooth.

"Uhm, uh, hey? What is it?" I anxiously questioned, feeling the back of my neck grow sweaty. Oh *god* what was I doing?

My uncle moved his hand up to my shoulder, tugging me into the side of his body. A *pungent*, *foul* scent stung my nostrils, and I resisted the urge to gag. He smelled like a rotting orange, rotting *fruit*, and another foul stench I couldn't name.

Then, something *cold* grazed the palm of my hand.

Uncle Lewis' *drink*.

"Huh?" I questioned in a squeak only he could hear.

"Do you want to try it?"

That right there should have been my cue to shout for Mom, or Father, or for *anyone*. We had a code red, an emergency, and I should have made a run for the phone in the kitchen and called 9-1-1. As soon as that line tumbled out of his slurry mouth, there was no going back.

"T-Try it?" I echoed, betraying my building anxiety. I looked around at everyone, too busy playing, cleaning, or getting enveloped in chatter to notice what was going on. I was stuck in a trap initated by my uncle and the blurry machinations going on in his head.

Was I even *allowed* to drink this? I'd seen it around the house and in glasses, and it was something the adults drank.

No one said I *couldn't* drink it. But Father's words from earlier boomeranged back to me.

*You're not supposed to drink that until you're twenty-one.*

I was *five*, not twenty-one.

Father said that in regards to the wine. This drink didn't *look* like wine...

...though I was shaking, unknowing if this drink was dangerous or not.

"I... I'll pass. Daddy wouldn't want me drinking this-"

Uncle Lewis *snorted*, and before I could react or prepare myself, he pinned the bottle up to my chest forcibly.

"Oh, who gives a *damn* about what that *bastard* thinks? He's too protective of his *property*," he spat bitterly, shocking me, and I whimpered. I had barely even known my uncle for a few hours, and he was turning out to be someone I should *fear*.

He used the bad language Father and Mom strictly told me *not* to say in the household either. In their words, Uncle Lewis would be "out of form."

Why was he stoking flames of *hatred*? Why didn't he like Father as he initially appeared to like him? What was his deal with *me*?

*Why* was he wanting me to drink this weird liquid?

"You gotta live life while you're *young*, Winterlyn. Live a *little*. Take one sip of her, and she'll drown *all* of your sorrows away."

*Live* life? I was already *living*. I already had a great life, the best parents, a perfect *home*. What did he mean by *live*?

Why was he gendering a drink bottle?

Plus, how on *earth* would a liquid give me instant happiness?

Uncle Lewis' blank green eyes bore into my *soul*, compelling me to stay. I couldn't move, or leave, not without risking him pulling me right back into the trap he snared me in.

No one had noticed us. Not even Mom. Not even Father. And if I cried out for help, what would happen to me? I couldn't bear to think of that outcome.

"It's very sweet and refreshing. Soothes your throat," my wayward uncle assured me.

I looked through the small hole at the top of the bottle, seeing the liquid below - it was dark and sticky, like the wine Mom was drinking earlier in the evening. It looked like juice, *dark* juice.

Juice was tangy and... refreshing. This liquid looked harmless, and the bottle was cold. My uncle's behavior was concerning and making me itch, but... he didn't seem to be entirely *wrong* about the drink?

I had tried new things tonight. What was wrong with trying another? Fighting fear and two hazy eyes on me, I held the bottle with my right hand.

"Good girl," Uncle Lewis praised. "Now, put it to your lips and try a sip."

Second guessing, I hesitated, only putting the tip at my chin.

It was harmless. It looked like juice. It was refreshing.

However, what would Father think? Was this... *okay*? I needed validation that wasn't the questionable speaking coming out of my uncle's mouth.

"Go on, Winterlyn. Try it!"

I hesitated again, squeaking. *It looks good, but daddy...*

"For god's sake, stop thinking about approval from your dong-danged daddy! Live it up, *child*!" Forcibly, he put the tip at my *lips*, the sharp top sinking into my cupid's bow, but not painfully.

I gulped my own saliva down. This was *it*. Uncle Lewis was *demanding* I do this. It wasn't encouraging, but *demanding*.

*Pressuring me*.

He was family... he was right. Was he right? Should I just say no?

No, there was no option to say *no*. Do or do not, there is no try.

Wait. Uncle Lewis didn't tell me to drink the *whole bottle* - what was left in there. One sip was all he wanted.

Just *one*.

I swallowed down my anxiety. Okay, one, harmless sip, that was all. I wasn't going to get in trouble.

I opened my mouth and tilted the bottle downwards.

The liquid would *never* touch the tastebuds on my tongue.

All of a sudden, a hand flew past my face, knocking the bottle straight out of my hand, and it careened into the ground, *shattering* into thousands of pieces, the liquid that once looked to be a deep brown or black staining the floorboards.

Then, the hand flew past my face again, this time a fist, and the next thing I knew, *crack*.

Uncle Lewis let out a *blood-curdling* scream, and I did as well, shrinking back to the end of the couch. I turned, finding *Father* panting, his chestnut eyes gleaming with *mutinous fury*, over a crumpled-up Uncle Lewis on the ground. Uncle Lewis put a hand to his face, only to take it off, revealing a black eye and a bruise along his cheek. It looked dented, and blood poured from his eye and gashes in his cheekbone, dripping to the floor.

My uncle opened his mouth and spat out drops of blood and a *tooth*.

*Holy shrimp*.

It was only going to get *worse* from here.

"**WHAT KIND OF VILE SYCOPHANT ARE YOU**?" Father snarled at Uncle Lewis, his voice filling the whole volume of the house, and the dog upstairs went off in a series of fitful barks.

Mom, my aunts, other uncles, cousins, and grandparents looked on at the scene in sheer *horror*, the magnitude enough to silence the loudmouth Grandma Anny, who's narrowed eyes kept flitting to her sons. Fanny hid behind Steph, quivering and gripping the edge of her leather jacket.

"Edwin! Edwin, stop!" Aunt Jodie pleaded, but the plea fell on deaf ears.

"Uncle Edwin! Please calm down, you've done enough!" Brody insisted from Steph's other side, but his plea too fell on flat, deaf ears.

"**ANSWER ME**, you **scum**! **Why** did you decide you wanted to give my daughter **ALCOHOL**??? She's a ***MINOR***! She's ***MY KID***! And you cannot walk out there and expect me to not notice the stuff you want to ***CRAM DOWN HER THROAT***!"

I gasped, begging for my body to melt into the couch and disappear. Tears sprung to my eyes, beginning to fall, and I quietly weeped.

What the hell had I *done*?

"I ain't done nothing to that bit-" Uncle Lewis interjected, causing Father to growl at him rabidly and punch him on the same cheek again. He screeched in pain, spitting more blood and two more teeth out of his mouth.

"You **attempted** to corrupt **my daughter**. To teach her **wickedness** and **sin**. You **know** damn well that she cannot have **any** alcholic beverage until she is *twenty-one*. Were you trying to ***KILL MY DAUGHTER***?"

*Murder*.

Father had accused my uncle of trying to kill me.

I couldn't cry silently anymore, and at the suggestion, I wailed, letting out an ear-splitting cry. Most of my family turned to me, the broken, sobbing me, and I let the tears fall. They hurt. My lips stung. My body was on fire. My heart was beating out of *control*.

I was clinging onto no family at all. They were too busy watching Father shred my uncle and bloody him to death.

"Winterlyn!" I heard a voice gasp. "Someone get to Winterlyn!" It was Steph, pointing to me. Mom, finally seeing me in splinters, gasped and ran over to me.

"Winterlyn! Oh, Winterlyn, baby, ssh... deep breaths. You're okay. Mommy's here."

Nothing was okay. I could have gotten myself killed just now. Mom's embrace was not enough to make me cease wailing and wailing and endlessly *wailing*.

The blame was on me. I had persuaded myself that Uncle Lewis could be *trusted*. I ignored all the red flags. I was a naive child.

I had misbehaved. Father's warning from earlier popped into my head, and frost forced its way through my whole body. Mercy wasn't going to grace me.

Father snarled at Uncle Lewis again and advanced toward him, standing over him at this point, and through my tear-streaked eyes, he was *massive*. Violent. A force to be reckoned with.

This was *not* the Father I had known. This Father was *different*.

This Father *horrified* me.

"You will ***NEVER*** step a single one of your toxic ***feet*** around **my daughter** ***again***, you poisonous ***snake***. Harm Winterlyn, or ***anyone else in my family***, and I'll ***make your life miserable***. You hear me, Lewis? You **HEAR ME**?" Father snapped, saliva flying out of his mouth, his teeth pulled back in an *inhuman* snarl.

I gasped and sobbed into Mom's shirt, my wails ear-piercing and loud and matching the dog's barking upstairs. The whole of Aunt Debbie's house was in pandemonium.

Silent, *silent* pandemonium broken by Father's attacks on Uncle Lewis.

"**Apologize to my daughter**," he demanded coldly, his chestnut eyes flickering with livid flames.

"No, I shall not," Uncle Lewis refused, rolling his eyes and spitting at Father. "The child was curious about it anyway. It's her fault, not *mine*!"

*Everyone's* eyes were upon me in seconds. I gagged, choking on my own sobs, and hid my face in my arms.

"No! That's ridiculous! Winterlyn would *never*!" Aunt Bonnie cried. Aunt Jodie put a hand on her head, woozy, and nearly stumbled into the wall.

"If that child ever drank alcohol, then God would have forsaken us!" Grandma Anny spoke out, engaging in the clamor, and Steph elbowed her hard.

"Even if she did," Grandma Krystine surmised, "you *coerced* her into drinking it, Lewis!"

"She didn't even take a sip! She's a flippin' coward," Lewis sneered, and Father clenched his fist in warning. His fist was so tightly clenched a vein had popped out.

"You say that, boy, and *you're* the one on alcohol!" Grandpa Pierre spat. "If anything, before we all go to war, we should ask *Winterlyn* for her side of the story. She's clearly a far more *credible* source than *him*!"

Aunt Debbie stood in solidarity with my grandpa. Everyone stared at me, their eyes scintillating with disturbia. Only Father didn't face me, keen on intmidating Uncle Lewis until he apologized to me.

But then Father turned to face me, and I caught a first-hand glimpse of his smoldering eyes. I felt cold, so, so very cold, and helpless, and *scared*. It was so quiet and I was struggling to breathe. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to *disappear*.

"*Winterlyn McCormick*," he stated, the line ghostly slipping off his tongue, "what exactly happened here?"

The delivery was an icicle through my fickle heart, and I sobbed for a second, unable to gain a hold on myself. Mom hugged me, whispering a few *ssshs* into my ear to calm me down enough.

"I... I-" I stuttered, struggling to form the words, the confession. I blinked back more tears, and my face stung. With every tear, it felt like wounds were being torn open on my face. It *scorched*.

Mom hugged me soundly and kissed me on the side of my head. "Winterlyn, it's okay. You can tell your daddy what happened. No one is going to hurt you, I *promise*."

Mom's words helped me a little, and holding onto her arm, I choked what happened out, fearing that I had just condemned myself to death.

"He... he wanted me to take a sip... he *really* wanted me to and g-gave me the b-bottle..."

Lightning struck, and a new flame burned in Father. Hissing, he assaulted Uncle Lewis for a third time, and an enclosed fist struck his throat. He sputtered, hitting the ground hard, and a fresh purple bruise appeared on the top of his windpipe.

"***Feral BEAST***!" he roared, becoming so terrorizing that I shrunk into a ball amidst by sobs. I just couldn't look at him and meet his eyes, or watch him mince the uncle I barely knew.

There was too much going on, too much pain, too much blood. I couldn't stand it anymore.

It was all my fault. If I wasn't foolish and naive, this wouldn't have happened.

I ruined the family reunion for *everyone*.

"I'm so sorry. Please make it stop, it's my fault, I'm *sorry*!" I whispered, the words reaching Mom, and she gasped. She craned her head to stare at Father, who pinned Uncle Lewis to the floor by his boot.

"You're **tainted**. You're **inconceivable**. You're **reprensible**. Stay **away** from my daughter and from ***my family*** and see yourself ***out***. You are ***not*** my brother, you are an ***outlaw***. You tried to ruin ***MY FAMILY'S NAME***, and if you even think about crossing me ***AGAIN***, I'm going to-"

He let loose a growl high-pitched enough for the astonished family members to hear, removing any further complaints or vitriol-filled jabs, and with it, he prepared to aim at my uncle again. Time slowed down, frozen, seconds lapsing slowly.

"*No*!" I sobbed. "Daddy, *please*! Please *stop*!"

I wailed, beginning to cough. Mom saw me, then saw Father, and the blood, and the shattered glass, and the violence, and the horrified faces of the family.

It motivated her to defy gravity, time, and space, and determined, she bounded away from me and leapt in front of Father.

"Edwin, ***ENOUGH***!" she bellowed, pointing at me. "**Look** at your daughter! She's **shaken** beyond *belief*, and she doesn't need to see you ***beat your brother to a pulp***! Cease this violence **now**!"

"That *prick* tried to-"

"**EDWIN**!" Mom furiously spat, coughing from the tone. "Winterlyn needs to go *home*. She's blaming herself for *this*. She thinks this is all her *fault*! She's seen *enough* and is begging you to stop. Do you want her to *suffer* more and see all this needless *bone breaking* and *bloodshed*? **Traumatize her**, even?"

She put a hand on Father's shoulder, but he snorted, his face contorted with outrage and repulsion, his eyes still smoking from the fight. Mom didn't waver and moved her hand down to his, rubbing it, which slowly, slowly, brought his temper down until his face was a regular white. I caught my breath, uneasily gulping it in now that Father wasn't... that *creature* he just was.

The tension in the air still remained, however, and would not leave that night.

Father growled at Uncle Lewis one more time, the frost in his composure drifting off, and then, he came to me, stroking my face and giving me a quick hug. He saw just how fragile I was, how in pain I was, and made sure to sweeten it with extra sugar. He sighed and kneeled down to whisper in my ear.

"I'm sorry, baby. It's okay. I promise, you're not going to see me do that again," he whispered, but even with the apology, the words felt really harsh and raw. I sniffed.

He then turned to face the whole family. "I'm sorry... this has escalated into something it should not have been. I've made my point clear... and it's best we end this reunion before things descend into far worse terms."

Without another word, he and Mom ushered me out of Aunt Debbie's house and into the night, leaving behind the shocked family and the bludgeoned Uncle Lewis, a shell of the commanding mysterious-liquid-drinker he was. I stumbled into the back of the car, dazed, lost, and *haunted* by the events in there.

Mom, instead of taking her usual place up front, chose to sit by me and cradled my hand. "You're safe now," she promised, but I didn't reply, biting everything back.

I hated myself. Hated myself bad. I had placed all my trust in Uncle Lewis because he was a McCormick. He was family, and families were kind and loving. Family didn't betray you. Family didn't coerce you into taboo or law-bending.

But I believed he was to be trusted. That he and no family member could do no wrong. He screwed me up.

I was paranoid Father would kill me for wanting to even try the drink - alcohol, as he called it.

It was wrong. I should've known. If I had just intervened myself and got Father or someone, I would have been okay.

Nothing was okay.

It was all my fault. I was a fool. Father was right to try to tell me I shouldn't go to this reunion. I wasn't ready. I was a stupid, *stupid* kid who could have died.

The car ride home was *dead silent*, so silent that I could hear music blasting from other cars and trees rustling in the wind.

The moment we got home, my parents took me to my bedroom and closed the door, and I sat on my bed, Father on my left and Mom on my right. We didn't look at each other or speak. I faced my shoes, and I felt the sensation of more tears leaking down the sides of my pinkish cheeks.

Not only did I hate myself, I humiliated myself and was a complete, utter fool. A disgrace.

Brimming with nervousness, I snuck a glance at Father and saw that rage was *still* woven firmly into the creases of his forehead, and his teeth were bared, his fists clenched.

I started to panic, whimpering and squeezing my nails into the palm of my hands, causing my palms to itch with pain. Was Father going to *disown* me? Was I going to get *rejected* for my foolish mistakes?

Father said what my uncle did was a sin. Did I commit *sin* as well?

I felt a gentle hand hold my cheek, Mom's, and her touch was soothing.

"Winterlyn... do you want to talk about what happened with us?" she offered, scooting closer to me, and there was only the most rich, motherly love in her cerulean-blue eyes.

It wasn't enough, and I couldn't hide the apprehension and *terror* within me. It didn't leave and roosted in the cavities of my body. I was helpless.

I felt so *alone*.

"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice cracking a little.

"Stuff like this is very scary. You don't have to tell us yet if you don't want to." She saw Father's embers of fury and frowned at him, hoping that he'd cool down with the return home.

Mom's presence was very warm, comforting... and if Father flipped on me, she'd stand with me. Mom handled the situation more calmly, professionally, and maturely. She dived in to save me when Father was in too deep.

If there was anyone I could trust in this moment, it was Mom, and I made my choice.

"Okay... I'll t-talk about it," I reluctantly agreed. Father's chestnut eyes began to drill into the side of my body. I bit on my lip and accidentally drew a bit of blood, causing a salty tang to fill my mouth.

"*Winterlyn*. *What happened*?" he demanded icily, not even bothering to conceal his disdain of my uncle or to try softening the question for me, who was clearly scarred from the incident. I softly whimpered again and wrapped my arms around my stomach, wanting to throw up and crawl under my bed to *die*.

If Father was going to kick me out on the street, it was going to be my fault.

"*Gentle*, Edwin," Mom advised sternly. "She's very young and still processing what happened. Don't let your hatred cloud your judgment."

The words Mom spoke weren't exactly clear to me then, but from how delicately she spoke to Father, it was evident she was trying to calm him.

Father didn't voice any discontent or have more to say to me, going radio silent with Mom's brief lecture, giving me the room I needed to speak.

"I... I was alone on the couch, and Uncle Lewis j-joined me... he had the drink in his hand. It was just n-normal talk a-at first... but... b-but h-he-"

"Breathe, Winterlyn. You're doing well so far," Mom encouraged. I hastily took some deep breaths and sniffed, willing myself to go on.

"He-he asked me i-if I wanted the d-drink... I d-didn't know it was w-wrong, and I t-thought it was, and I thought about what d-daddy told me earlier about the w-wine...

"Uncle Lewis t-told me to d-drink it and n-not to a-act like d-daddy... the d-drink looked like j-uice, and I j-just thought o-one sip wouldn't h-hurt..."

*There*. I had told the information that burdened me, and I sniffed twice, letting out small sobs yet wiping away the tears. The bones in my face hurt, *everything hurt*. I was sick to my stomach and kept hanging my head low.

I was still trapped in the woods.

Hands seized my wrists, and gasping, I faced the monolith that was Father, piercing through every cracked part of me and my cracked heart, a needle through cloth, a spear through flesh.

"*Winterlyn*! I specifically *told you* not to get into **trouble**! Do you not **understand** how *dangerous* this was??? You could have gotten **hurt** or even **killed** by that **sanctimonious brat**!"

"Daddy, I-"

"I don't want to **hear it**," Father snarled. "I raised you *better* than this, Winterlyn! When someone does something shady, you *must* tell me *or* your mother as soon as possible! You're so young you could easily get yourself **KILLED**, and if that ever happens, so help me-"

Father's forehead creases wove together harder, and he growled, which slowly rose into a low hiss. He clenced his fists, at his breaking point, his fuse about to blow. I shrieked, instinctively shielding myself and preparing to be hit and disowned.

Goodbye, Winterlyn, you just ruined your whole life at the age of five. Nobody will love you now, sweet dreams.

"**Edwin McCormick**!"

I opened my eyes, and Mom had stood up in front of me, pointing her finger at Father's chin.

"You are in **no state of mind** to handle this situation right now. You are pent up with all that **fury** your *brother* handed you!" she scolded, adding, "You're only going to **traumatize** Winterlyn and make her believe this is **her fault**."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"**No**, Edwin, that's final. I get your're seething and feeling *very* protective of Winterlyn right now, but your rage is making you handle this *inappropriately*. Go outside and... *punch the trees or something*, but Winterlyn *does not need* your attitude. *I* will talk to her about this *ordeal*. Are we clear?"

A look of guilt was etched across Father's face now, combining with the fury, and with an apologetic glance at me that screamed *I'm sorry, my love*, he took his leave, exiting my bedroom and closing the door roughly. I heard another door slam which transitioned into angry yelling. The air in the room was peaceful again now that Father had left, the anger dissipating. Wow, Mom was trained to handle stressful situations amazingly.

That was a relief.

But things were far from over. Mom sat back down on the bed with me and pulled me into her arms, letting me nestle there and grow cozy. I clung onto her desperately, fearing that I'd lose her, believing I had still lost Father to all of the anger I had *caused*. I had brought out a syco-elephant-thing in my uncle. I did something *foul*.

I committed a *crime*.

Oh lord, was I going to go to *jail*?

"Momma...?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Am I... am I gonna go to jail for this?" I asked quietly, sniffling.

"Heavens no!" she exclaimed, holding me tighter. "Winterlyn, you're five years old, and no child goes to jail for something like *this*..."

"But... but momma, I almost drank something I shouldn't! It was w-wrong, but I thought... I thought it was right..." Regret surging full wave into me, I buried my face in Mom's shirt. She continued to hold me, her hands massaging my back.

"Baby... ssh, let me explain to you." She rocked me back, and forth, and back, and forth, until the tears stopped flowing and until my face had returned to its regular color. She tucked a loose strand of sandy-brown hair behind my ear before speaking.

"You might have heard your father say it, but what your uncle was drinking is called *alcohol*. It's a drink you see in a certain section of the grocery store called *spirits*. Beer and wine are both alcoholic drinks, and it means you can't have them until you're the age of twenty-one, which is the appropriate age to drink in Washington.

"Lewis... he drank *too much beer*. When you drink too much beer, your body acts funny, but your mind is very blurry. It's called getting *drunk*. It makes you hazy and blinds you to the weight of your judgment and decisions. And it can make you do some very, *very* rotten things."

"Uncle Lewis drank too much beer? I thought he just had one..." I murmured.

"My darling, he had *way* more than just one. He had at least three or four that night, Barry told me. Your uncle's had a history of getting drunk, but it was *never* as bad as tonight. There are no excuses for what he *did* to you and for what he tried *persuading* you to do."

"So it's not... it's not my fault?" I questioned weakly, beginning to shake. My uncle had a history of getting *drunk*. I thought I was the bad guy for wanting to drink the beer in the first place.

I convinced myself that it was fine. How was I blameless? Father could be hatching a plot to abandon me as we spoke!

"Winterlyn, you're a very young, bright, and curious child. In Lewis' state, he saw you as an easy advantage because your danger senses aren't fully coming in. You just didn't *know* any better and didn't know it was *wrong*. How could you have known? It is *not* your fault this happened, baby. It was *never* your fault.

"But in the future, you *need* to be careful. Don't place your trust in somebody you just met - get to know them more before you let them in. And don't go near *any* alcohol until you're older. Okay? I promise I'm not mad at you. I'm going to stay right here with you."

"T-thanks, mommy," I said, relaxing and feeling the stiffness in my body leave. It wasn't my fault this happened. It was Uncle Lewis for trying to manipulate a guillable me into having a drink not meant for me.

Father saved my life, but... did he *hate me*? I knew this wasn't my fault now, and I knew I was taken advantage of because of my age.

However, I had seen Father's *enraged* look, the wicked *flames* cultivated in his eyes, and how much of an *animal* he became when violently attacking Uncle Lewis.

Just now, he had been close to snapping at me, and my wrists prickled from where he had roughly seized them. Father was *someone else* when he was fueled by rage.

Would Father ever act that *way* toward me? Would we move forward as a routine family, or would Father forever hate me for nearly getting myself killed by my uncle?

"Momma?" Mom looked at me fondly, anticipating what I had to ask next.

"Does daddy hate me for what I did?"

Mom's face grew somber, and she sat me down back at her side, yet kept a hand on my shoulder.

"No. He does not hate you, Winterlyn... but your father is a *very* complicated person... he's *very* rough and has been for years. He comes from a *very* strict family and is very protective of those he loves, especially you. He's told me so many times that you're his *everything*, and if he ever lost you, he'd *never* forgive himself."

I raised an eyebrow, decently surprised. Father would be *lost* if it was not for me? I brought joy to my father's life, I brought the *light*. If that light was snuffed out, if something happened to *me*, would he ever *recover*?

If he had lost me tonight, would Father hate himself the way I hated myself for trusting Uncle Lewis?

All that rage, his *velocity* and *power*... was because he wanted to protect me?

"Daddy loves me that much?"

"Oh, darling," Mom said, cupping my cheek with her soft hand. "Your father gets mad very easily. His temper is fragile, and at times, he *can* be violent... behavior which he shouldn't have shown in front of you, given his background and morals. What you saw tonight was *horrifying* - no child should be a witness to mutiny like that."

"Are you mad at daddy?"

"I will sort things out with Edwin myself," she reassured. "But in the meantime, my priority is *you*, Winterlyn. Edwin doesn't hate you for *anything* you've ever done. He's very overprotective of you because he *loves you infinitely*. You are his *beautiful* girl, his *perfect* child, and all he wants is to see you smile and succeed in life. No amount of family drama or anger in his heart will change that."

Relieved, I caught my breath. Mom would bring Father back down to earth. Father wasn't furious with me - he *loved* me. He wouldn't cast me out for what my uncle had done. He wouldn't *ever* disown me, or think I was ugly, or think I was a *disgrace* for trying to taste something *sinful* and *poisonous*.

I had escaped the worst as a whole person. As long as my head wasn't cut off, then I was going to be okay.

"So daddy won't act like an animal? Like... that?"

Mom tugged me into her body again, placing her chin on the top of my head. "I can't guarantee that he won't since he's very... unpredictable. But Winterlyn, *he loves you*, and so do I. We are *never* going to let anything like *that* happen to you. **Ever**. Mark my words, you are *safe*, little one. *Safe*. Your father only wanted to protect you tonight, nothing more. He did what he had to, and while it wasn't necessarily *right*... his heart was in the *right place*. You don't need to fear *anything*."

Mom suddenly coughed into her arm a few times and swallowed, taking a few, shaky breaths. "Oof. Some speeches take a lot out of my immune system," she remarked, looking at me with a cocked head and giggling.

I smiled, my world revolving on its axis again contentfully, and I hugged Mom, burying myself into her, letting my worries thaw in her arms. "Thanks, mommy. I love you so much."

"I love you more, Winterlyn," she responded, putting her nose on mine and giving me some loving eskimo kisses. We fell back on the bed together, nestled into a ball, and Mom wrapped my favorite blanket around me. In just a second, I was easeful and snug and reached for my cat plushie, putting it beside my head.

"Is it time for bed?" I asked.

"Hmm..." Mom pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. "8:31. One minute past your bedtime, love. Why don't you go get ready?"

"Okay!" I sprinted off my bed, dug out my PJs from the dresser, and sped into the bathroom, brushing my teeth (using the floss for extra cleaning afterward) dilligently. After I was done, they gleamed a sparkling white.

I also studied myself in the mirror - my face was no longer wet with tears, and my eyes were less puffy. The picture of me from the bloody reunion fiasco was dwindling, and in its place was the five-year old me I had known, her long hair curling over her shoulder blades.

It was time to sleep off the conundrum of the family reunion, the manipulative monster hiding in Uncle Lewis, and Father's use of brutality against his own brother.

I wanted to wash the blood away, wash the living nightmare away. I yawned, growing tired, and I flopped into my bed, rolling up into my blankets. I was a piece of crab meat, and the blankets were the exterior of the sushi.

Nicely bundled up and snug tight.

Mom laid back down with me, planting a kiss on my forehead, and she hugged me, refused to let me go, and did not speak. Through her tenderness, it evoked buds of *serenity* in my heart, and slowly, my eyes closed.

But that was not before I heard something *sublime*, something unexpected, and something *special*.

A beautiful, *beautiful* song, a flowing melody, an uplifting rhythm, coated in honey and sugar. A voice that I recognized straightaway, so calming, but in a unique way when put into *song*. My heart thumped.

It was Mom.

*Sleep well, little one*

*Your life is far from done*

*There's so much in the world for you to see*

*When you're in doubt, oh, just believe me*

*From the meadows to the forests to the houses to the place we call our home*

*Throughout your life there's going to be a whole world for you to roam*

*And in your journey, you'll never be alone*

*With my words, let the light in you be known*

*You're brave, curious, and my favorite little girl*

*As you grow you'll find that life's a neverending whirl*

*But not to fear, there are people in your life*

*Who will care for you and banish all your strife*

*Sleep well, little one*

*Your life is far from done*

*There's so much in the world for you to see*

*When you're in doubt, oh, just believe me*

*And even when I'm no longer here*

*Look up to the stars, my dear*

*Because when you see the light*

*You'll know that I'm there to keep you safe when it is night*

*Like a bird, you shall fly*

*Don't let the others steal what you can't deny*

*Trust your instincts, let your heart be your guide*

*You'll find spirits that'll match you stride by stride*

*Sleep well, little one*

*Your life is far from done*

*There's so much in the world for you to see*

*When you're in doubt, oh, just believe me*

*Look up to the stars, sweet Winterlyn*

*And see the white and blues of the sky dancing*

*Whenever you're lost, just look up at the stars*

*And that's where you'll find me from where you are*

*And that's where you'll find me from where you are*

"Goodnight, Winterlyn. Love you." Blowing me a final kiss, Mom turned off my light, shut the door, and the room grew dark. I fizzled with the words, the *lullaby* inside me, and for a moment, I stared up at the roof, imagining that I was under the stars like I was on the road trip.

Mom told me to look up to the stars. Someday, she'd be among them. I didn't want to think about the concept of death, not after tonight. But I knew that one day, we'd all be up there when we died.

There were millions of stars in the sky, millions beyond our *sight* that glowed and gave us light to break up the darkness that infected the world at night.

They were *beautiful*. All the constellations up there, connected, giving us *reasons* to look at the stars and ask questions about them.

Where did they come from? What did they know about us? Would they always be there to keep us safe?

She

She has a lovely room

On the second floor

She likes to be alone

I glanced up at the "stars," still the ceiling in reality, and raised my hand up to them just as I did before.

"Will you guys keep me safe?" I requested, and the stars faded to the plain roof. Sighing, I closed my eyes, and sleep overcame me five minutes later.

She feels safe when she's in control

Afraid of letting go

But time is running out

The rest of the days passed us by, quietly and without further incident.

We moved on from what happened at the family reunion, stowing it behind us, and I let it serve as a painful lesson for me: not everyone in your life is to be trusted. There are horrible, *horrible* human beings that will *screw you up* and *dent* the brilliance in you. There will be people that hate you, even family members, and mistakes will be made. As humans, it's our responsibility to heal from those mistakes, to get back up, and to look towards the future, not the past.

She's fading like a star

Light years away

She wonders where you are

If you'll come back someday

I recovered and added to my growing resolve to not go near any alcoholic beverage, staying close to my parents' side and listening to everything they told me to do. *Everything*.

When the rules were followed, there was no fear and no pain, and no feral beast in Father coming out to feast on the blood of my kin. Father was relaxed, being the jovial, outgoing, and doting father that he usually was, and he relaxed his demeanor around me, starting to take me out on trips just meant for the two of us.

There came the milkshakes. The delicious, sugary drinks and nights out at Steak N' Shake.

Every time we went there, we'd get one milkshake to share between the two of us. Father always let me pick - he'd say that it was "my night," thereby relinquishing the control to me.

She sings on her guitar and plans her escape

She's trapped inside a dream

In her glass menagerie

On each trip, I'd pick a new milkshake for us to try. Starting with the regular vanilla, we'd get chocolate, strawberry, Oreo, mint cookies n' cream, every one in the book. We'd get two paper straws (our location was eco-friendly, go save the turtles!) and then share.

It was *bliss*. Infinite amounts of serotonin, the nights spent at the diner, where we were alone, father and daughter, sharing a milkshake and telling each other fun little secrets.

Lately, I'd become interested in racecars, fascinated by their speed as they zipped around racetracks on TV, and kept asking Father if he knew any.

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

"Well, there are those NASCAR cars," he'd tell me before trailing off, unfortunately not knowing more. "I'm shocked you're interested in those. They don't seem to be something I hear girls like you playing with."

I playfully blew a raspberry at him. "I don't think like them," I'd retort.

Father chuckled. "You silly girl, Winterlyn."

Trips out for milkshakes became family trips too, and Mom would sometimes join us, ordering a smaller milkshake and picking at the contents. No, Mom's not picky; do you remember what I said about her diet in regards to lupus? She didn't want all that sugar and asked for the most sugar-free versions possible.

I don't remember her name, but a very kind lady who worked at Steak N' Shake gave her a small cup of a sugar-free milkshake with a strawberry on top (Father and I got the sweet cherries). It was a cute little non-sweet treat for Mom.

La-da-da-da-da-da

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

Other times, we'd choose to go outside, playing until sunset and sometimes even staying out when the night had fallen, protected in our yard by the fence.

Mom or Father would usually call for me, wanting me inside, but some nights, I'd stay out longer than they'd like just to meet the specks of stars in the sky.

Mom told me to pay attention to them. I felt *close* them. I felt a *connection* to the stars.

I didn't know what this connection was or what its purpose was. Not yet. There was just something about the stars, though, that pulled me in.

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

La-da-da-da-da-da

"Winterlyn, come inside, it's nearly time for bed," Father stated once as I stayed outside, sitting on the patio.

"Just five more minutes, daddy!" I begged.

"Pfft, I don't know how lenient I can be with you." He walked outside and sat down next to me, observing that my head was tilted back, my eyes transfixed on the sky.

"What are you looking at?"

"The stars."

"Is that why you want five more minutes?"

She keeps all the things you said

On repeat inside her head

Built a prison in her mind

"Yes! I just want to see the stars."

"Isn't that something?" he inquired, leaning up against me. "Can you see any constellations?"

I squinted, looking up at the sky and hoping to see a line of stars that would guide me across space, but they were all scattered about and inconsistent. Stars had wild hearts. They ran with liberty and didn't form straight lines. They refused to conform, those rebellious white specks, and they roamed where they desired.

"No, I don't see any."

"Look harder, Winterlyn. Here, I see one! Do you want to see it?"

Astonished, I nodded. "Show me! Show me show me show me!"

"Alright, alright." Father picked up my hand and took my finger, pointing it off to my left.

She feels safe

Caged in by your words

She thinks this is what she deserves

Punishment for all her crimes

"There's a little star right there," he explained. He raised my finger a little and slid it in an uneven line to the right. "Follow the stars there..." He guided me to an end point. "Now backtrack, and go all the way down." He traced another uneven line facing downwards with my finger.

"Do you know what that constellation is?"

"No?"

"That is Perseus, and it's named after a monster slayer and hero in Greek mythology."

"What's mythology, daddy?"

"Greek history about powerful figures from the past. Constellations are hard to see, but they'll appear to you if you just scout them out correctly."

She's fading like a star

Light years away

She wonders where you are

If you'll come back someday

"Woah..." Starstruck, I hugged Father and looked up at Perseus whilst resting my head on the shoulder.

Constellations were *remarkable*. *Stunning*. One day, I'd be among them with my parents.

Was I just as special as the stars? I saved that question for another day.

The private talks and narratives pre-disaster reunion between Mom and Father resumed, clearer this time. They got me new books and new supplies and were eager for the "next step in my life."

What next step? I was clueless as a confused chimpanzee seeing a computer for the first time.

By now, it was late August, and the summer days were long gone. The air was still warm, but becoming chillier as the mountain winds picked up. The trees were a bright, vivid shade of green, but in a few months, the leafs would brown into shades of yellow, orange, and red and drift with the wind currents when autumn came back around.

She sings on her guitar and plans her escape

She's trapped inside a dream

In her glass menagerie

The day was the twenty-second of August - a Friday - and I had sat down on the sofa to watch some morning cartoons when my parents beckoned my attention.

"Winterlyn," Mom said, "on Monday, you're about to go to a whole new place."

Really? Somewhere new? Intrigued, I faced her and Father.

"Ooh! Where?"

"You're going to school!" Father announced.

*Snap*. The word mentioned in the family reunion in Father's conversation with Uncle Barry (and something with Steph, she mentioned it too) returned to me.

I hadn't questioned what *school* was, not after the reunion. In fact, I had forgotten about that completely!

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

"What's school?" I asked.

"School is the place where you *learn* some new things! Where you can meet some new friends!" Mom clarified.

"*And* this is where your education starts, my dear," Father added.

So *school* was a place for *learning*. I was naturally curious since my *birth*. I'd fit in just well here!

"Sweet! I can't wait for you to watch me learn!"

"Well, I wouldn't say it works like *that*, Winterlyn," Mom chuckled. "We don't go to school *with you* - we're dropping you *off* there."

*Oh*.

La-da-da-da-da-da

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

A heavy weight dropped on my heart. I had been so used to visually learning with my parents; that's how it was for the first five years of my life. We learned *together*. We *flew* together and shared so many memories.

But at school, my parents *wouldn't* be there. I'd be with *strangers* in a *strange place*. Wait...

...were my parents attempting to *ditch me*?

"Are you... are you gonna *leave me*???" I demanded, frightened, and suddenly, I imagined me sitting all alone, isolated in a foreign place, without my parents, for the rest of my life.

*Eternal solitude*.

I gulped.

"Oh gosh, Winterlyn, who put that belief in your head???" Father shook his head, amused, and sat next to me. "No, you're going to school for a *few hours*, and you'll be in the company of your teacher and classmates. The teacher will help you adapt to your new environment! And when the school day's over, one of us will come to pick you up and take you home."

I brightened, the trepidation draining out of my heart. Yay, I wasn't going to be abandoned like a roadside teddy bear and discarded! I internally chastised myself - how much of a loon was I being assuming that my parents would *do* such inconceivable things?

"Okay!" I enthusiastically agreed. "I'm ready!"

La-da-da-da-da

Ha-ha

La-da-da-da-da-da

"Great! We have your backpack and lunchbox ready and your school supplies. Do you want to see?" Mom asked.

"Yes!" I agreed, and I was promptly taken to my room, where my parents dug out my supplies from my closet. My backpack was blue, having tiny red hearts (surely Mom's craft) on it, and the lunchbox was matching, being cute and even coming with a strap so it could hang from my shoulder. I didn't know how much my parents splurged on this, but a lot of money had *sunk*.

Which was a good thing. I also got to meet my supplies, a set of paper, a notebook (for DOODLING - okay joking, for notes), pencils, pens, markers, and all that jazz that I'm not going to name so you don't get bored and all that.

Three days later, the day had come, and outside the doors to the building were a line of students and parents. I faced it, my chest puffed out with pride. My first day at Small Pine Elementary was about to happen, and happen it did.

There was a small orientation with the parents and students at first, and eventually, my parents said goodbye and walked out the doors, officially leaving me alone for the very first time.

She

Unlike many other children, who paced nervously, some in tears, I waited patiently for instructions on what to do next. I didn't necessarily approach anyone on the spot either; it was important to remember what my parents told me about trusting others.

Five minutes later, we were all directed to our classes. My first ever teacher was Ms. Yulia, and she was scratchy as a log on the outside, yet a marshmallow on the inside.

Sometimes it was hard adapting to school and its strange learning environments - trying my hand at math (spoiler: I suck), sorting shapes, learning how to spell, basic vocabulary, reading and writing, and creativity.

Sometimes it was hard to understand other people too - children that picked at their noses (disgusting), liked trash things (no context shall be given), or were straight up rude, brash, and thought that they were the most superior divinities of the classroom. Ms. Yulia lost it fast and yelled at those who misbehaved.

Ugh, I had to deal with this for a *year*? How was I gonna survive???

I was in an *education jungle* with no connection. Friends weren't first on my agenda - I was just fine on my own. Education was necessary for me to push on as a human, to leave the nest I had been raised in since my youth.

I had to grow up. There was no point staying young forever when time was fleeting, seeping through the cracks, a liquid fusing with space.

So I stumbled onward, through new obstacles, technology, punks at recess (recess is just bonus alone time for this child), more math (kill me), science (weird science), and endless, endless amounts of tangled-in-a-fishing-net-level confusion.

Sigh.

Needless to say, I wasn't everyone's go-to candidate for the popular kid. I was average, and average was good *enough* for me. Enough to have Ms. Yulia acknowlege me and appreciate my unfaked curiosity, thanking me (and sometimes growing tired of) for my endless amount of questions.

Young me didn't see that I was whiddling her down. I was skilled at figurative woodworking.

Weeks began to pass me by, and I kept on learning. I learned how to type on a computer and play computer games (space pinball when?), how to write in cursive and tell a (very very *ugly*) story, how to do basic math (two plus two equals fish... hehe just kidding!), and how to nap peacefully after romping around at recess.

When school would end, I'd run out and meet either Mom or Father outside, hugging them and telling them about what I did that day.

School was managable, and with my continued success, I was destined for greatness.

Or so I thought.

It wasn't long before my successes reaped in big rewards. No, don't think of the lottery. Father barely got lucky with that.

But rather, a new place on the map of Pineshadow that I unlocked.

A few weeks into the school calendar, my parents informed that I had earned a *special treat* - traveling to a territory not yet seen by my naked eyes... or grainy child eyes that didn't visualize things correctly. This place, they promised, was a *land* that I'd enjoy, spend *hours* in, and have infinite amounts of *fun* in.

We were doing it as a family, going as a family - I couldn't wait to see what was in store for me. Funny I say in store...

...because when we parked, I was in a *sprawling space*. Buildings of brick, reddish to brown, spanned across a wide square of the property. Outside these buildings were gaslamps, hanging lights, and *people*. So many people chattering, holding bags in their hands, skipping on the streets happily.

The trees were planted in rock holders full of colored rocks, arching over the streets to create a mini awning. We moved to the center of the area, the hub of all activity - the place that stood out to me as *legendary*.

In the middle was a leafy terrace, leaves drifting all around it, and a pure white marble sculpture with people sitting on a circular base outside. A kid chucked a coin into the water, and it made a *splash*, disappearing into the current.

This was known as a *fountain*. I wished they were everythere. Fountains are *amazing* and add so much *life*. This one was created by *gods*.

You might be asking where my parents took me. In the words of Father...

"Winterlyn, welcome to the mall!"

The *mall*. The Pineshadow Outdoor Mall.

The mall had a lot of tenants, from big to small and locally owned, and split into streets and sections per each. For example, one street circuit was called Eatery Enclave, and a street with *super rich* tenants was called Luxury Lane.

Overall, the mall was upscale, and my parents weren't able to spend much money here - the shops would kill their bank accounts - but the awe of *looking around* was the thing I'd love about this mall.

*There were so many places to go*.

I peered through the windows of Yankee Candle, seeing all the candles tucked into wooden display cases, and going inside, I'd sniff as many candles as I could. They made my mouth *water*. I, in particular, was fond of the tiny candles and would hold them in my hand for a moment before Mom made me put them back.

At Brookstone, I'd try the weird gadgets they kept for sale and had my back punched by a broken massage chair. Ouch...

A sweet smell wafted out of Williams Sonoma, and to me, snooping around in there was a golden opportunity. They had infinite amounts of cookware! And free food to try too. Their cookies are something *else*, my friends.

Williams Sonoma's nextdoor neighbor was Pottery Barn and Pottery Barn Kids. Mom says she used to buy me pillows from Pottery Barn Kids, having adored their furniture for a long time. Rumor has it they'd make a custom pillow with your name.

In the middle of the mall was Lululemon, an athletic wear store I didn't have much interest in, and Pandora. Nope, expensive jewelry not for me! Also in the middle was Francesca's and Crabtree & Evelyn. Francesca's sold assorted clothing and gifts (one of my plushies was from there), and Crabtree & Evelyn sold soaps and fragrances... but for expensive prices. Not for us McCormicks!

On Eatery Enclave, I'd dance under the Pacific yew and paper birch trees, following the beat to the songs that played on the street, and I'd peer into the windows of Corner Bakery and Starbucks. Yummy food couldn't be more closer, and I longed to eat a Corner Bakery sandwich or get a scone from Starbucks.

Some days, I'd get my wish, and I didn't regret a thing.

Other restaurants on Eatery Enclave were Blue Goose Cantina, which served awesome quesadillas; BJ's, which was always extremely busy; and Buffalo Wild Wings - I didn't eat there often, but when my parents scouted for appropriate food to eat there, I got to play their mini-golf game with Father.

Also on Eatery Enclave was Nestlé Toll House, who's cookies I'd munch on from time to time, and Häagen-Dazs - nothing compared to their ice cream.

At the mall, we'd sometimes do shopping for clothing for ourselves. Father, as always, frequented Allen Edmonds for his workwear and shoes, and Mom swung me through Gymboree or Children's Place to freshen up my wardrobe with new apparel.

The matching sets were always the cutest. It was a bonus if the sets weren't too glittery.

Throughout my visits at the mall, I'd encounter some stores I was allowed to go in - like Lids (HATS) and Journeys (for the cool kids). However, certain stores didn't get my parents' stamp of approval.

One day, I stumbled into a store with white wood panels and black, tinted window frames that provided a dim look inside. Low music played from the inside, hardly distinguishable from all the chatter, and even though this store's aura completely communicated *uninviting*, my unlimited curiosity challenged it.

A strong scent was coming from the inside too - perfume, but very... *manly*.

Interesting. I walked straight in.

Then a hand seized my arm and dragged me right back out.

"Do not *ever* step foot in there *again*," Father growled sternly, and baffled, I looked up at him in shock.

What was wrong with this store? It seemed harmless as it was.

"But why? They're-"

"They're gross, Winterlyn, and do not cater in any sort to your gender or your feminity."

Now I stared at Father in sheer puzzlement. They had no clothes for women? Nonsense! And what did me being a *girl* have to do with this?

I wanted to go into the cool rave store, man...

"Unfortunately, this isn't one you can protest, my love," Mom cut in. "Abercrombie's CEO is *not* a nice guy. He hates equality and doesn't let us be who *we* want to be."

I was even more bollixed. I didn't know what a CEO was, and also, what did she mean by him not letting others express themselves?

If Mom was in agreement with Father, then I would not oppose it or ask questions. That was my introduction to Abercrombie & Fitch.

So then I tried the neighbor to Abercrombie, Hollister, and it reeked of California, palm trees, and cologne. Just look at that beachhouse awning and its lights!

I walked right in, Father pulled me right back out.

"*Also* owned by Abercrombie," he groaned, dragging me away by my arm.

There went my last chances of checking out those stores. As I learned years later, Mike Jeffries was the *scummiest* of earth *scum* and no more than a racist *snotbag*. We don't talk about him.

Anyways, moving on.

The loss of Abercrombie and Hollister didn't dampen my mood, and I kept finding new stores to peruse and stomp around in. Talbots, known for its women's wear; Vineyard Vines, where I had a *whale* of a time (my humor is terrible, I know, leave me alone), Payless (you can never go wrong with so many shoes), and even an AMC dine-in.

The movie theater was *huge* and situated in a back corner. At night, the neon overtook the building, forming waves and pine trees on the exterior. The first movie I ever watched there was *Chicken Little* on suggestion by Father. He has horrible movie taste, and I was so tempted to spit my popcorn at him throughout the movie.

Don't worry! I saw better movies there.

A more special place compared to the AMC was the massive Barnes & Noble bookstore I visited in my baby days near to the theater. It was a full *two* stories, having an escalator system in the middle. It was split into two floors: books and children's books on the bottom, and upstairs, CDs, used books, music, and Starbucks (coffee and reading is the ultimate satisfying combo).

Early on my life, my parents urged me to *read*, *read*, and *read again*. Knowledge was ever the more *important* to consume, especially now that I was in school. Of course, technology was expanding, but it didn't mean books were entirely irrelvant. Who wouldn't want to read about a group of dragons and anarchy, or territorial cats who are too obsessed with politics? Who *would* say no to a brain teaser with a crossword puzzle, a magazine with all the latest trends?

I had to keep sharp and up my game, so trips here were frequent. Though, compared to educational books, I preferred my fiction books. Mom loved my interest in fantasy, and Father wished I would aim for the more educational books, like *Math for Dummies* (Father, I did try my best, you know!).

Barnes & Noble plays a crucial role in my life that you'll learn about in the next chapter.

The last store that caught my attention at the mall was one blocked by a rusty iron gate. In the windows, all black clothing, advertising things I didn't hear of. Linkin Park... seemed like it had nothing to do with a park. Skulls. Fire. All these strange things.

"Oooh..." I gawked, momentarily becoming a window shopper, and I tried to pull back the iron gate.

"Winterlyn, *off limits*," Father scolded. "You don't need that *yucky* goth influence on you, and besides, you're way too young..."

Mom rolled her eyes. A group of teens walked past me and into the store, pointing at all the clothes and contraptions.

They looked very... angry. But not actually angry, just with the appearance of looking angry. Was that what *goth* was?

It felt odd. Strange, to young me.

Disappointed, I walked on. I'd be back for you one day, Hot Topic, when I was older and more in control of my decisions.

*Whew*. That was a lot of mall geeking on my part. The Pineshadow Outdoor Mall meant a *lot* to me, and to this day, it still rekindles part of my youth in me when I go there to shop or hang out. It's a defining part of my childhood that like me, experienced its own changes. It's where I discovered the shops that were blacklisted (resisting my urge to yell at Mike Jeffries is hard), the shops that I was "too young for," and the shops that I could spend hours in, talking and spreading my undying love of them with a candle, a book, a scoop of ice cream, or a coffee and scone.

The place was a huge influence on me, and it would be for years to come after that.

After my first trip to the mall, time began to soar by so fast you wouldn't even feel you're getting older until *bam*, it's right upon you and latches on to you, transforming into your shadow.

I progressed through school and its many trials, completing half a year there. Not to mention, I'd completed a full solar return, and I was now the (still) young age of six.

The December I turned six would probably be seen as fair grade, average, and not worthy of nothing. However, I'm inclined to disagree, as a very worthwhile moment occurred in this time. Let me clarify.

What comes after my birthday? Christmas.

Now, now, now, if you're familiar with me, you're about to ask me this: why celebrate Christmas when usually people like you don't celebrate the holiday?

Yeah, my family is a *little* different. We have our *own* Christmas, and Mom's to blame for it. I would go in depth, but boring you guys to death wasn't scribbled down on my agenda. Basically, despite our beliefs (clarification after this story), Mom believed we should still have a season where we could be extra compassionate to each other, decorate the house, give gifts, and cherish what we had.

With Christmas comes the snow, the drop in temperatures, the delicious beef wellingtons and turkeys and roast vegetables, the presents under the tree, the decorated sugar cookies and milk by the fire (which hopefully didn't kill Santa), Santa himself (never believed in him because we don't celebrate *that* extensively), reindeer (they don't fly, and they're more known as caribou), the decorations on the Christmas tree, and all of the festive decor on the streets.

Our celebration was scaled down *heavily*. No exterior decorations, just the tree with a few ornaments hung onto them, mostly custom ones Mom ordered or bought at Tuesday Morning (how much money did she ever splurge on that one place???). The food was mostly just some small cuts of beef rib with veggies, which Mom cooked in a special sauce she never gave the secret to (the world will never know).

On Christmas morning, Mom and Father would give me my gifts and hug me. There's no "merry Christmas" or "happy Christmas," because, as I've said, we've never properly celebrated it. We got our gifts and hung out on the sofa together, and that was that.

Usually, early in the month, I'd make my Christmas wishlist and show Mom and Father. This year, however, I was drawing blanks on what I wanted. Clothes? Another plushie? Toys?

I'd look in my room for any bare spots, and I'd stare at the walls, wanting something more on them, but I couldn't place my finger on it. I ran out to the living room, where Mom sat on her beach chair, reading through a catalog for ornaments.

"Hi, Winterlyn! Do you have your Christmas list?" she asked, placing her catalog on her lap.

"No... I can't think of anything I want," I complained. Oh, life, why must you be so *annoying*?

"Hmm... do you want a new plushie? A toy or two? Clothes?"

"I don't know what I want..."

Thoughtful, Mom scratched her chin and coughed, pouring a glass of peach honey tea down her throat to soothe it. "Seems like you're quite in a pickle, darling."

Alarmed, I looked at my body in shock, but was relieved to find that I was not standing in an oversized pickle and didn't smell like pickle juice and salt.

"Oooh! Why don't we go to the store, Winterlyn? Some shopping will help you decide what you want."

*The store*. Why did I not come to this ideal solution earlier? The store was the *go-to place* for Christmas shopping, and a wide, wide grin appeared instantaneously on my face.

"Yes! Let's go let's go!" I cheered. Mom and I prepared, and then, we dove into the car.

Fifteen minutes later, we parked in the parking lot of Super Target and went inside with a red shopping cart.

Following the neon circuiting the store, Mom and I searched high and low for what could suit me as a gift. We started in the electronics section, aka the Land of Blue Neon, which curved in swirling shapes up on the wall and spelled "Electronics" in cursive.

I stared at the thousands of TVs mounted on the wall, all playing the same commercial. It always put me in a state of wonder at how in-sync the TVs were.

I peered at the DVDs and movies, but none of them caught my interest, even when Mom suggested I'd check out some Disney classics like *Mulan* or more recents, like *Lilo and Stitch*.

"*Lilo and Stitch* has the beach! I think you'll like it."

"Eeh..." I shook my head.

"Okay, then. Off to a different department."

The Land of Blue Neon quickly shifted to the Land of Red Neon - the home goods section. In the back corner were bicycles.

Not for me. If I rode one, I bet my ass I'd fall off and cut my legs open. Then Father would kill me.

Land of Red Neon got better, though, and we sifted through the home goods. I was stocked up on pillows, blankets, and plushies, so those weren't necessary. Then we got into the toys section and moved through the isles.

"Look at all those LEGOS..." Mom murmured. None of the sets latched onto me, though. I'm not a fan of construction and stepping on things that would send me to the fifth dimension in terms of pain. The jungle sets were kinda cool, I will admit.

Next section made me want to internally vomit - it was pink, neon, and full of *Barbie* and *My Little Pony*. *Please kill me*.

"Nope, nope, nope," I muttered, shaking my head.

"I figured you wouldn't like this... too much pink," Mom stated, swinging her shopping cart around to the next isle: plushies.

I didn't need any more plushies, I swear to *hell* I had enough and Father would have an aneurysm if my room became the hideout of fifteen more plushies. Girls squealed in the pink girly isle, squawking for those freaky *Barbie* dolls, and I shuddered.

Then, I heard *deeper* voices talking from the isle that leaned against the wall.

"Yooo! Check *this out*!"

"This is super cool!"

"Wow, it's so fast!"

They were male voices, and curious, I peeked around the corner, finding them staring at a glass casing installed into the wall. They were pointing, holding toy cars in their hands, and looking at each other, in their eyes sparks of *awe*.

"They're having fun," Mom noted aloud, leaning against the shopping cart.

I trotted up to them, looking at what had made them so spellbound, and my mouth fell open in surprise.

Two racecars, battery-powered and painted bright red and orange, *raced* around a circuit, around a full loop-de-loop, crossing a bridge and then stopping at the finish line before starting again.

*Whoa*.

Cars that could do *amazing tricks* on their own? Cars that were *automated*? The dopest of dope *racetracks*?

Surrounding that wall were a lot, and a lot, and a *lot*, of car sets.

Hot Wheels.

Boy, they were *hot*, and boy, I was *captivated*.

Excited, I jumped. "Can I play?"

"Sure!" The boys all said in unison, giving me their cars, and we *raced* them around the walls and isles of the store, laughing and zooming and *vrooming*. NASCAR got nothing on us!

Oh, if only Father would understand just how *rad* racecars were.

When the boys were called back by their parents, I returned their cars, and Mom joined me, amusement all over her face alongside her typical warm smile.

"Having fun?" she asked.

"I know what I want!" I exclaimed, pointing to the infuriatingly-awesome-must-have set in front of me. For a moment, Mom's eyes flashed with a *shine*, a starry shine, almost like she was *proud* I made this decision.

"Mmm... alrighty, then. Come on, I have some groceries your daddy needs me to buy."

The rest of the Target trip proceeded smoothly, and I radiated with triumph. Racecars were super, *super*, *super* cool, and even if I didn't seem like the person to like racecars on the surface, they were *everything* I could have asked for.

The rest of December was a racecar itself, zooming laps on the track until *kaboom* - it was December 25th.

Christmas: McCormick Edition morning.

Getting dressed (this young child had *initiative*), I swore I tore up hunks of carpet and sped to the living room. Three presents were tucked neatly under the tree.

*To my loving wife - from Edwin <3*

*To my husband from Lorelei*

*For our wonderful, incredible, sensational daughter Winterlyn: Mommy and Daddy*

Aww, they didn't have to caption my present with *that*... tears of joy slipped down my face.

"Thanks," I whispered, and I ripped open the wrapping paper to find...

*The infuriatingly-awesome-must-have set*.

"**YES**!" I screamed, running full circles around the living room, and then Mom and Father emerged from the kitchen.

"I'm still a little shocked that you'd want a *racecar set*-" Father started to point out good-humoredly, only for Mom to cough to interrupt him.

"But it's an awesome choice nonetheless," he corrected himself.

"Winterlyn, I knew there'd be something in those racecars that would make you want to *die* for them. I hope you enjoy it," Mom said, hugging me and putting a Santa cap on my head. The pom drooped over my nose.

Looking at the set's description, I then saw, to my *delight*, that it could be mounted on any wall surface.

My wall was about to be the most *superb* of all walls.

"Thank you mommy! Thank you daddy! I love you **soo much**!" We all pulled in for a hug, and clearly, the way I was jumping and hollering and bawling my eyes out over the perfect gift spurred Mom to get her camera and the special mount she had gotten not long ago from the Camera Store I Forgot the Name Of.

She put it on selfie capture, and we posed for a photo. *Snap*. The Polaroid printed it fast, and then, once the photo had rendered fully, it joined the two over photos on the kitchen wall gap string.

A memory so worthwhile, so jolly, so merry, that it was worth keeping and remembing.

Always cherish what you *have* - it was something I didn't learn until later in my life.

As after the McCormick Christmas, my life took a *new* turn, and down a new path I went. This one wasn't chosen... Father says it was destiny. In our blood. The duty of a McCormick.

It didn't take long for me to take *five* steps forward into something *beyond* arcane - but something that every McCormick held dear.

On the first Friday post-McCormick Christmas, I had sunk myself deep into the couch, keen on watching some television with my family, who were in the bedroom getting ready for something.

What was on right now was *That's So Raven*, but I was only on Disney Channel because they'd be airing *The Fox and the Hound* in fifteen minutes. I couldn't wait to dig in to my favorite movie again, even getting out a bag of pretzels for a snack.

Just as Raven Baxter entered one of her swirly visions, my parents popped out of the kitchen, all dressed up, shoulders covered, hair preened.

"Winterlyn, get ready. You have to attend something *very* important tonight," Father informed me.

Incredulous, my ice-blue eyes rained down on him - excuse me, sir, but my favorite movie is about to be on! I didn't get the pretzels out for no reason!

"But *The Fox and the Hound* is about to be on!" I protested.

"My dear, we can watch it on DVD when we get home. You can't skip out on this event, you're *required* to attend it. Plus, it'll be fun once you'll get there! Put your best self forward," Mom remarked, giving me an earnest look, and the protests that I wanted to let out evaporated.

Okay... maybe this wasn't so bad. The DVD was a fair compromise.

What event *were* we going to? Something *fancy*? A flash mob at the mall? The concerts Mom expressed interest in attending? I had to look *stellar*.

My fashion sense was *still* not solid. I just put myself in a t-shirt, jeans with flowers on them, and my tennis shoes.

Good enough for me. We set off after that to what I would soon learn was the *holy place*.

Ten minutes later, upon whipping through the Pineshadow scenery tipped with the sunset, we arrived at the *holy place*.

Hot *damn*, this place was *massive*. This was a *castle*. A gigantic holy *castle*.

The castle was made of red brick, having four spires that *reached* into the sky, clawing at the orange clouds, and in the middle of those spires was a glass dome, stained in all sorts of colors, from red to blue to pink, reflecting *brilliantly* in the setting sun's rays. The panes were glistening rubies and gemstones from afar.

On the front of the building was a huge wall, and woven into the bricks where white and dark blue painted bricks shaped like a star with six different points.

What might this star be, you ask? Here's a hint: it does not belong to a rando named David. It involves some other guy named Solomon.

Holy *cow*, this place was *astounding*. Mythical, seemingly plucked from the fibers of a dream, and placed here, in Pineshadow.

Why hadn't my parents taken me *here* before? LET ME IN ALREADY!

I followed my parents past the wooden doors and into the inside of the holy castle place, and my breath was *snatched* from the inside of me. The most *stunning* wooden benches sat in rows, tons of them, under a laminated wooden floor and plush blue rugs. The walls were supported by stone columns, human and animal figures carved into them. They had to be important.

The wooden panels composing the walls also had etchings of animals, nature, and humans, which didn't escape my eye, and I nodded. This place was *definitely* scoring my attention in droves.

A long, royal-blue carpet spanned across the floor and up to a raised stage area with a podium and several sets of chairs behind it. Behind those chairs were tall, black curtains that ominously towered to the ceiling.

Architecture can be weird.

From the inside, the domed stained glass was something *else*. Mountains were depicted, wrapping all the way around the glass, which reflected colorful blue skies and a sky magnificently clear.

This place had something *special*. Something *remarkable* and *arcane*, something that couldn't compare to anything.

"This place is *magical*," I murmured aloud, and I like to imagine that my eyes were wide and flecked with starshine.

"It's gonna get even more magical, just you wait and see," Mom whispered, holding my still tiny hand.

We sat down on the third bench from the stage, and in front of were flyers and books stashed in the back pocket-thingies. I didn't dare reach out and touch what was not mine, not wanting to make Father rampage like he had at the family disaster months ago.

Soon, everyone was seated, and a man walked out from behind the curtains and onto the stage. He wore a hat with a velvety purple bow decorating the top, and his body was covered by a long black robe with quite a few pockets on the front. He also had a graying beard, which he twined with his hand before looking up to face the crowd gathered before him.

"*Welcome*, my friends! It's been another week, and this evening, we meet again in the graces of our ancestors. I see from your smiles that your week has been pleasuring and brought you good joys. Remember what our dear friend the Talmud said: "The highest form of wisdom is kindness" - I trust we have been practicing that?"

The way he spoke was strangely *soothing*, though I had no idea what he was going on. Why were *all of us* his friends? What did he mean by meet again? How did he know our joys?

"Daddy, what's going on?" I questioned. Father silenced me and pointed me to the black robe guy. Apparently, the time limit to ask questions had expired.

The man spoke again. "Remember what we have been given for our years of hard work. We are *all* equal, different in our ways in many aspects, but *equal*. We are one, *big* family all watched by the nible, intelligent mind of our Great God Yahweh. Together, we are in harmony at Harmony Hollow."

*Harmony Hollow*. So that's the name of this place? It fit perfectly with what the black robe guy was saying. Things were really in harmony here.

Then, I felt a gaze pierce me, and I faced the guy, who was now *staring* at me. I raised an eyebrow.

Uh... did I do something wrong?

"Tonight, we have a new member of our family, who, per her parents, has come of the age of their choosing to join us..."

*Her parents*. *Their choosing*.

Wait a minute, he couldn't have meant *me*, right? I felt two more stares impact me from my left and right.

Mom and Father.

Oh Pineshadow, *I was the girl*.

Did my parents sign me up for a peaceful cult?

"May Winterlyn McCormick step up and join me on the stage, please?"

Gently nudged by Mom and Father, I nervously stood up, arms tucked behind my back, and I walked up to the black robe guy, hiding my fear and bewilderment deep within me.

I gulped. "Hi...?" I squeaked out in a whisper.

"Hello, Winterlyn," the man greeted, offering his hand to me. "I'm Rabbi Kealer. Welcome to your synagogue *and* your Jewish community."

*And there we go*. Yeah, if you didn't already know, I'm Jewish. Or, I *was*.

My family (on both sides, for the most part) is Jewish, and our ancestors had a lot of Jewish ancestry.

Yes, I thought for *one second* that synagogue was a place where you could get free cinnamon buns. Yum.

My family, especially Father, *heavily* followed Judaism as a whole. They'd wanted to give me a few years to prepare, but now, this was my first night where'd I'd attend synagogue with my parents.

Was I prepared? Not exactly. Did I survive and gain knowledge? Yes.

"Welcome, again," Rabbi Kealer broke me out of my thoughts, and I shook his hand. "Embrace your heritage with the most open of arms, and be loving to your community and what they give back to you. They're just as much as your family as your lovely parents. Create just like Yahweh, discover something new and share your knowledge with the world, just as Abraham did so long ago, and follow your *own* moral code, no one else's, just like Moses taught."

So now I knew how to pronounce Yahweh. He's our God. And there was also our founder, Abraham, and Moses, who led the Jewish out of slavery in Egypt and took them to the Holy Land. All important figures I had to learn, had to recognize, and had to follow no matter *what*.

They were to guide me into being a devout follower of my religion and give me strength now, just like my parents, but from the stars.

"I promise to listen to them," I told Rabbi Kaeler, and a grin spread on his face. He nodded and pulled out a brown book with foreign scribbles and lettering on the front. They didn't look like letters, and I inclined my head, pondering what it could mean.

On the bottom, much to my shock, was my name written in cursive ice-blue:

*Winterlyn*

"This is your copy of the Torah. We like to give custom individual ones here," Rabbi Kaeler explained, giving me a quick head pat. "Off you go now, darling. Join your parents and I'll begin this homily."

"Thank you," I said, dipping my head in common courtesy before walking back over to my parents and sitting between them.

"You did *perfect*, honey! Congratulations on your induction," Mom praised, beaming, and I sat back down next to her, having no clue as to what an *induction* meant, but I figured it involved the thing I just did.

"Being Jewish is a *major* part of what defines you in the family," Father added, pointing to the Torah. "The Torah is our holy book, and you *must* oblige by its commandments. *Every* last one. There is no room for misbehavior, not when your ancestors and Yahweh, Abraham, and Moses are watching."

I gulped. Everything in the book I held in my hands had to be *obeyed* without *question*. If I didn't, I'd be *admonished*.

"How many commandments are there?" I asked innocently, shoving down the internal fear of disownment and breaking the powerful statements in the Torah, the fear of the *wrath* I could face.

"Six-hundred thirteen."

*THERE ARE SIX-HUNDRED THIRTEEN COMMANDMENTS???* I thought, eyes dilating all the way back.

"Easy, Winterlyn," Father assured me, yanking me into a side-hug. "You'll learn them all with our help, and we'll guide you through this part of your life. Being Jewish is an *exceptional* part of yourself... let it come into your life, and let it be."

Well, school was one thing, and now I had to learn bucketloads of religious stuff? Commandments? How to avoid being disrespectful? How these homilies worked?

"We'll teach you together," Mom vowed, also hugging me, and in her grip, I calmed down.

No, this wasn't overwhelming. This was very strange, new, an unbeaten path... but who's to tell me that this was wrong?

"Okay... I'm ready," I declared. The words had just escaped my mouth, and Rabbi Kealer started the homily. I don't remember much after that besides the occassional mentions of the Holy Three.

When the homily ended, I got up, but Father tapped me on the shoulder. "Uh-uh, sit down real quick, Winterlyn," he instructed.

I obliged. "Why?"

"We gotta get a picture of you after your first homily and your Torah! Wouldn't that make for a sweet memory?"

I brightened, giving a smile that could light the whole synagogue and shine through the stained glass above. How could I think this could go down without being a major focal point in my life?

"Oh! Great idea!" I agreed, holding my Torah and placing it against my chest, holding the front outward so my name showed.

"Perfect pose," Mom praised, fishing her Polaroid out of her purse, and aiming it at me, she took it.

*Snap*. The photo printed, and it was down to *perfection*. I was a happy camper moseying along a new path - a complicated, yet extraordinary path followed for *generations* before me. That photo became the fourth on the kitchen wire, sacred to all of us.

After that, it took a lot of time to grapple with the sentiments of the Torah, usefully translated into English from its debut language, Hebrew (can't speak Hebrew and never fully will), but things started out small as I was taught them.

*To know there is a God*. Yep, Yahweh. I was quick to figure that out.

*To have not other gods*. Young me was bummed that there weren't more gods... my imagination ran wild, and I originally believed Judaism had a lot of gods for different magical factions. No, I'm not obsessed with Greek culture, don't throw *Hercules* at me.

*To know that He is one*. Yahweh was with us wherever he went and would look after us. Maybe he was up there in the stars that I saw almost every night, resting on the moon like the Dreamworks guy?

*To love Him*. Yahweh, we've never met, but I love you infinitely! Just kidding, there are people in my life *outside* of religion that I'm head-over-heels for.

*To fear Him*. Uh... if we pissed Yahweh off, did that mean we'd die in our sleep? Eep! Young me could think up of some morbid things.

Trust me, those are only the first *five* of the commandments. There were so many more I struggled to learn, to understand, and to even abide by. But they had to be obeyed - if I didn't obey them, doom would be inflicted on myself... and Father wouldn't approve of it in the least.

Initially, I enjoyed my Jewish heritage, researching it extensively with the help of Mom. Our holy worship day was known as a Sabbath (which I thought had something to do with a bathtub, clearly my child thoughts were in the clouds), which was when we'd go to synagogue and listen to sermons.

When I'd reach the age of twelve, I'd have a bat mitzvah. Think of a birthday party, except that the whole point of it is that I'd be grown enough to study Judaism on my own without any additional help from my parents. I didn't worry about it since it was light years away, but my bat mitzvah would never come to pass.

Our diet was very, *very* restrictive, known to the world as *kosher*, and we couldn't eat certain meat or seafood. While I was disappointed I wouldn't be able to expand into foods I was so eager to try since my youth, like pork or certain parts of a cow (specifically cut from the hindquarters), I knew I couldn't break such a hallowed rule and adapted into the kosher diet with my family.

No swearing was allowed - Father would sternly stare at me if I came close to uttering something unholy.

There were many different types of Jewish people - McCormicks are Ashkenazi, meaning that we're descended from European Jews.

Alongside my research, I'd ask my parents *many* questions. What was allowed, what was not, why we worshipped and prayed in the morning and afternoon, why some of our community wore heavy robes, why were some stricter and others not so strict, and so on. Each time, I got answers and ever the more sharper.

Father was right - religion *was* a major part of me. It was *fascinating* to find out more of our ancestry, to carry on a legacy started so long ago, to *learn* how to behave oneself in society and strive to be *the* example for others.

I also realized that the three stars that hung over our fireplace were the Stars of David, which symbolized Judaism prominently - the two big stars representing Mom and Father and the smaller one in the middle representing me.

This was so *special* to me. To see myself represented in a new spectrum, making friends in a community where we all shared the same faith and same scriptures, learning how religion defined us, holding the weight of something carried on for generations on my *shoulders*. Not a *burden*, but a *gift*.

A blessing, a blessing just as earth-shattering as my birth.

I was always destined to be holy, and Mom and Father knew it.

I promised to myself that I wouldn't let them down and that I'd obey every single Jewish teaching the Torah had in store for me.

Even the smallest kinks in the road can form up to five paths to take in life. As I've stated repeatedly: some paths aren't chosen by you, they're chosen by others. It's for better or for worse. You could be walking into the Holy Land that Moses discovered, or you could be walking right into a hornet's nest and have a face covered in swollen pink stings.

Some paths are *destiny*. Some paths are a leap of *faith*.

Some paths could spell new beginnings or the bitter end of a short life. Out of all of the paths I've encountered, I'm lucky to have survived their trials and tribulations.

Sometimes, I even believed Abraham, Moses, and Yahweh had set me on these paths once I started to deeply value my religious upbringing.

I still had a lot to learn, but I was willing to try and keep pace, believing that from my teachings, my destiny was going to be lined with accomplishment.

Abiding by the Torah meant that I *refused* to fall out of line, not even once, and I did as I was told. There was no more saying no, only obedience to appease our God Yahweh and my parents, especially Father, who preached Judaism the most.

He couldn't be let down. To quote Mom, I had to put my best self *forward*. No reversing.

Once I chose a path, I couldn't turn back.

But things changed when a sudden encounter dragged me into another world, full of fantasy, color, and vivid life, that made me question *everything*.

From my future to the very autonomy that composed me, I began to think that there was more to me, outside of religion... something deep within me, something that was even bigger than being Jewish.

When that manifested inside of me, I realized something about myself.

With a snap of two fingers, *everything* I had known for years *transformed*.

## Cast

* **Mae Whitman** as Winter
	+ **Hala Finley** as young Winter
* **Jim Pirri** as Edwin
* **Cozi Zuehlsdorff** as Lorelei
* **Kath Soucie** as Debbie
* **Jennifer Saunders** as Bonnie
* **Jane Lynch** as Jodie
* **Alyson Stoner** as Fanny
* **Evan Saucedo** as Brody
* **Natalie Palamides** as Steph
* **Susanne Blakeslee** as Anny
* **April Winchell** as Krystine
* **Frank Welker** as Pierre
* **Cam Clarke** as Willie
* **Jordan Klepper** as Barry
* **Kevin Costner** as Lewis
* **Matt Chapman** as additional voices
* **Adrien Brody** as Rabbi Kealer

## Songs

* *Lorelei's Lullaby*
* Anna Yvette - *Menagerie*
* Arcien - *Elevate*

## Trivia

* The chapter was released on Tasha Baxter's birthday - Baxter was a critical artist in the development of *Winter's Tales*.
* What Winter quotes in the monologue to the chapter is a line from the Varien song *Supercell*, and the singer she is referring to is Veela.
* The "bookworm" that Winter indirectly mentions early in the chapter is Evie.
* It is revealed that:
	+ Winter has a large family, with it being larger on her father's side.
	+ Winter had a paternal grandfather, Darrell, who died of cancer when she was four.
	+ Winter's uncle, Lewis, attempted to forcibly give her alcohol when she was five. However, her father saved her and violently attacked Lewis, which in the process heavily shook her.
		- Due to the nature of the event and its shocking implications, she likely did not mention it in Season 1.
	+ Lorelei can sing and has a lullaby for Winter. This was likely paired with how her voice actress is Cozi Zuehlsdorff, who is also a singer.
	+ Despite being Jewish, Winter's family celebrated Christmas, albeit a bit different than how it's usually celebrated.
* Bonnie and Jodie are named after two aunts that appear in a GEICO commercial, and Bonnie shares her love of rooting out expired items with the fictional Bonnie.
* The sports documentary Winter tries to allude to is *30 for 30*, and the friend who she believes knows information on it is Evie.
* Jodie's shirt is a reference to a viral *Sims* meme in which a Sim at a computer is captioned with "Not Now Sweaty, Mommy's Cyber Bullying." Av found this a neat and hilarious detail to include, as Jodie does not have children of her own.
* Anny's attempt to insert herself into the story of the girl who fell into a tree, and Brody calling out for it, are each references to the the real story of Annabel Beam, who was diagnosed with two life-threatening disorders at the age of five. When she fell headfirst into the cavity of a tree in 2011, her ailments were mysteriously healed, which her family believed was a miracle from heaven (her story would be retold in the 2016 movie *Miracles From Heaven*).
	+ This event appears to have taken place years earlier in the *Evie and Mya* timeline, as suggested by Brody's knowledge of it.
* Lorelei commenting that the Texas power grid sucks is a reference as to how it breaks down seemingly every year in the state.
* Before Fanny cut him off, Brody was going to say that Lord Farquaad had "small d\*ck energy."
	+ This is not the only instance of almost-swearing in the chapter, as Lewis also attempts to call Winter a "b\*tch" before being cut off by Edwin.
* As Winter transitions into life post-family reunion, the Anna Yvette song *Menagerie* plays in the background.
* While Winter explores the Pineshadow Outdoor Mall, the Arcien song *Elevate* is heard.
* Much of Winter's love of the mall was inspired by Av's frequent visits to malls from her childhood to present day.
* The reason why Winter wasn't allowed into Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister was because both of the companies were still owned by Mike Jeffries - under his direction, the companies faced controversy in regards to worker treatment, ableism, racy apparel, and racism. Jeffries was later fired in 2014, and Abercrombie overhauled its store model in favor of more diverse operations.
* When Winter describes book series with dragons and fighting cats, she alludes to the *Wings of Fire* and *Warriors* franchises.