Goodbye

This whole town turns into fucking morons the second snow falls from the sky. It’s this time of year that makes me want to go on a joy murder spree and snatch the jolly right out of festive outfit wearers and the drivers of these ridiculous decorative Rudolph car accessories I keep seeing everywhere. I’m one slow Rudolph encounter away from ripping out window antlers and using them to beat the drivers who feel the need to go twenty under the speed limit At the sight of snow flurries.

It took me nearly an hour to drive to the local shopping center and find a parking spot that wasn’t a half-mile walk away from my mother’s bakery, ’Honey’s Goodies’. She called me earlier this morning to help hang Christmas lights along the building’s roof. Hanging lights is a pretty pointless task if you ask me. Why go through all the trouble just to have the streetlights overpower the vibrancy of the LEDs? Nothing says, “Let’s litter the world with cliche decorations, matching pajama sets, and forced interactions,” better than the Christmas spirit.

Reluctance leads my steps as I approach the store. The flickering of the shop’s neon sign caught my attention and evidently the eye of several passing pedestrians. The purple burned-out sign now reads “HO S DIE″. I’m no expert but the accidental discrimination of hoes may not be the best business move.

I followed the aroma of sugar cookies and the sounds of inaudible chatter into the bakery. I cringe at the sight of the recently painted pastel lavender walls. More specifically, I cringe at the reminiscence of the fatal event that prompted fresh paint and new dining furniture. It’s been a year since I found my brother’s lifeless body.

I had driven into Colorado Springs from Seattle, Washington the day prior. My mom had been begging Allison and me to spend the holidays back home in Colorado for years, completely oblivious to the raging hatred I have in regards to our hometown hiding behind every nonsense excuse spun from my mouth of deceit. Last year was an exception. Mom had recently undergone hip surgery after taking a nasty fall slipping on black ice. The bakery is her only source of income and with hospital bills piling up, she couldn’t afford to close the shop down, especially during peak season. No amount of hatred could have kept me from assisting my mother while she recovered.

It was a Wednesday morning, only two days away from Christmas. I had left Allison at my mother’s house to play nurse and made my way towards the family’s bakery two hours before opening. The night crew is notorious for leaving the store a mess and passing their closing responsibilities onto the opening shift. I knew I would need time to clean and get a head start on mise en place before the arrival of the remaining morning crew.

I opted to take the scenic route, wanting to take in the glory of alpenglow as it tints the sky and the summit of Pike Peak an orangy-pink. Seattle doesn’t glow the same way Colorado Springs does. I have never noticed how I took something as simple as nature for granted. Sunrises in Seattle merely consist of air pollution and watching the office lights of skyscrapers switch on while sitting in traffic. The ride to the bakery was smooth and quiet. The town wasn’t awake enough to create morning traffic or interrupt the mellow atmosphere.

Honey’s Goodies takes up the majority of the business strip making the alley a safe and hidden spot for employees to mindlessly park and walk their way to the shop without the fear of parking violations or the unlikely chance of getting mugged. I pulled my car into the narrow alleyway behind the shop and parked directly in front of the employee door. It was far too cold to be considerate enough to leave parking space for the two-morning employees expecting to open with me.

I didn’t realize I left my mom’s set of keys at home until I stood defenseless to the cold in front of the closed metal employee door. I didn’t bother checking if the door was locked, as the recent additions of security precautions involved an electronic automatic door lock. I could easily call home and ask Allison to get the code for the keypad from my mom but they were both up late watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark channel and the last thing I need right now is an angry wife and annoyed mother. It would be easier for everyone if I simply grew a pair and searched for a spare key hidden somewhere behind a loose brick in the wall.

I was mentally preparing myself to bear the cold long enough to find balance standing on the make-shift step stool I built by stacking garden boulders and stepping stones when I heard it. The sound came from inside. It was directly on the other side of the brick wall that was keeping me steady enough to not face plant onto the graveled road. I was slightly hopeful that a fellow employee arrived early and entered the shop by unlocking the front entrance, noticed my struggling figure on the security monitor, and came to my rescue.

I heard the whisper of clicks as the gun was cocked and then the thunderous echo of the bullet-breaking air. Not even a mere second later, I watched the employee door swing open wide enough to get caught on a stepping stone I had tossed out of annoyance a few minutes prior, followed by the urgent departing presence of an individual I had hoped and prayed I would never come across again. Adam.

I think a part of me knew what to expect entering the bakery. It was an outcome that we all saw coming. My brother, Joshua, had met his final opponent and the repercussions of the match had painted the cool gray walls of the family’s bakery a scarlet red.

Joshua was no stranger to trouble. He sought out experiences that would label him a target. He wanted people to be scared of the commitment he had in regard to his desire for destruction. What started out as stealing candy bars from the corner store quickly became home burglaries, grand theft auto, drug dealing, and his most recent endeavor- the leader of a local cult full of townies and society’s rejects. He attracted both admiration and hatred from those with the same desire to destroy and conquer.

Upon entry, through the back door, everything seemed to be in its place. It wasn’t until I turned the corner and approached the cashier counter when I came across the aftermath of the fatal interaction between Adam and Joshuah.

The dining tables were flipped. Picture frames were shattered. Blood had soaked in and begun to stain the wooden flooring. Joshua laid in a pool of his own blood in the far left corner of the dining area, covered in stab wounds and one shot to the chest. I watched in horror as he took his last breath. At only 22, Josh had wronged the world enough to be brutally taken out of it.

I must’ve stood in the front entrance too long. I had yet to notice the line of people forming behind me waiting to buy their last-minute holiday desserts. Succumbing back to my senses, it was alarmingly frightful how quickly I could find my (clearly annoyed) mother in the crowd of customers. She stood against the far left wall, almost in the exact spot I found her dead son a year ago, holding two boxes of Christmas lights.