text: The smell of rock salt fills the outside air. Burning the lungs of anyone that inhales. The deep mist in the atmosphere brings out the most depressing of feelings. Even in this time of year. I, at the moment, happen to be inside, huddled under a quilt, facing the stone made fireplace. My hands dangled a little bit above the crackling wood fire. I sigh in fatigue yet satisfaction. Just another Christmas in Bruinsburg. Barely anyone comes to visit. So I'm here all alone to warm up and mumble bad words at the people who choose to do otherwise for Christmas. I'm a fifty year old hermit trapped inside an eighteen year olds' body. That being a metaphor. Can you imagine if it were true? How weird would that be? That'd be a terribly weird case of Freaky Friday syndrome. If such a syndrome were real. Is it? I don't know. What I do know is that barely anyone is left outside. Deserted it is. They're all either around the big Christmas tree in the town square or they're inside with their families having a feast. I may be the only exception. As my family has all gone south for the winter like the Mallards they are. They wanted to spend Christmas unwrapping gifts in a tropical setting. Where as I wanted to stay in our medium sized penthouse, knawing on hazelnut toast roasted on the open fire like an irregular person. I lay in the recliner pulling the quilt over my body, snuggling a stuffed animal. My eyelids would occasionally close and open as I dazed off now and again. Can you blame me? There isn't much to do. No television. While everyone on the block rocks a general electric, we still got a radio. And it don't get good reception much. I tried tuning into a ballgame and all I got was static. No games or toys neither. So I'm just gonna sit in this seat basically until something happens. And as it looks, ain't nothing happening no time soon. After a few more minutes of being huddled up in the quilt, cold sweat dripped down my face. It was starting to get too hot now. I quickly got up from the recliner and threw the quilt behind me. Having it fall to the other side of the room instead. I looked around. The toast was gone and in its place, a plate full of crumbs. The fire was still crackling with the blissful noise that felt like gold to my ears. The house may have been as warm as a furnace however the wood floor felt as cold as ice on my bare feet. Frost grew and grew on all the window sills. Making quaint shapes. I walked out of the living room into the kitchen. Where the the chandelier was hanging as it should only it was glistening more than usual. It looked like real diamonds this particular day. Though, let's be real, they were nothing more than glass. Still, was nice. Below it, the circular dining table where the plates, silver ware, and glasses would be. I walked to the cupboard where the snacks were. Pizza Spins, Swiss N' Ham Flings, Corn Pokes and in the refrigerator, raspberry, pineapple and orange Sherbet. I took it all out and had a feast of my own. This is the peak of nineteen sixties snack food. Or at least to me it is. I grabbed a spoon and dug into the Sherbet first. Taking big spoonfuls, one after the other. Stuffing my face as much as possible. When the Sherbet was done, I went after the Pizza Spins and so forth. Not even half full, I grabbed the Pineapple upside down cake in the fridge mom made the day before. I just kept eating and eating and eating. No one was around to judge me. I was all alone to do whatever I wanted and eating all this food felt like a favorable thing to do at the moment. I mean I could never eat like this had mom and dad been here. Especially since it was so close to dinnertime. Not even halfway into the upside down cake and a timid knock arises. I stop eating. Waiting to see if the noise would repeat itself. And it did. For the second time, a timid knock arises. I get up from the table, wiping my face with a dish rag and approached the door. Next to the front door is a mirror. Of course before I opened the door, I needed to check myself out. See how I look. I fixed my boobs a little. Make sure they don't look lopsided. Fixed my mop top so I looked more like a girl and not a prepubescent boy with breasts. I even checked my teeth to see if there'd been any vegetation lingering around. The person knocked once more. "Hold on!" I said as I continued to check myself out for the last time. When I felt ready enough, I opened the door through the chain. "Can I help you?" I said in a whisper. A man with bifocals stood. He wore a college tweed jacket with elbow padding holding a puffy jacket in his arm. His hair was a little messed up a bit. And his pants seemed to be sagging a bit. In his hand, a wrinkled paper he kept looking down at and back up at me. " 'Ello young bint. Is this the adobe of the Westin family? I've very much like to congregate with my relatives once more, but an elder bloak such as myself keep getting caught in the limelight of the city, I don't know where I'm goin'." I stood there analyzing the words he's just spoken. It sounded like he was speaking another language. "Huh?" He gave an awkward smile before handing me the paper. 1301 Pope avenue. This was it. Since I couldn't understand him, I nodded. "Ahh splendid. Now. Where are is Elizabeth Westin?" Now that I understood. "Elizabeth Westin is my mom!" I said, excited. "Really? Well, she's my aunt. She raised me back in Cambridge." "Cambridge? Where's that?" "Why it's a city in England , of course." He poked his head into the place. "Fancy livin'. Can I come in?" Words escaped me however I still tried to communicate. "I uh- erm uh. Sure. I guess... Hold on. Lemme just unlock the door." As I did so, I rolled around the details in my head. Cambridge. Why didn't mom tell me about that? All I knew of our history was that mom was an escaped holocaust victim while dad is a political vet from Uganda. But I've never heard of any British descendants of such. As he came in, he sped walked to the table in the kitchen and finished my meal. I had so many questions. How did he find us? Who raised him when mom moved to the states? How much older than me is he? He turned around, catching my gaze and gulped. "Oh how terribly rude of me." He got up and walked back to me. Taking my hand into his. "The names' Jamerson. Jamerson Winslow Baker. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." I nodded for the third time. He looked at me, smiling. What was he waiting for? Oh s@#&! Right, I forgot! "Oh erm, my name is Estelle. Estelle Westin. Nice to uh- meet you too. Cousin?" He grinned and sat back at the table. I sat besides him watching him scarf the food I was previously eating down his throat. I'll give him one thing, he eats like me. And mom. And Lelly, my littlest sister who looks the most like mom and dad. She has the most beautiful kinky chocolate colored curls and caramel skin like dad, but with beautiful green eyes and button nose like mom. I just have mom's dead strait hair and pale tan-ish skin with dad's roman nose and full lips. I've been told I look masculine. It doesn't surprise me. Thinking about it now, Jamerson looked an oftly lot like me. Only his hair was in a messy top knot and he had monolid eyes. Otherwise, we were twins. Same complexion, same eye color, smae body type only I have breasts that are sadly not as engorged as the many young women my age, same height, same grin and same hands. As when both our arms rested on the table, my fingers seemed to be the same length as his. Cool. A long lost relative. But why now? Why not earlier like a day ago when everyone was here? Once done and hopefully full, he looked to me. "So..." "So..." I replied. It was so eerie seeing him now. I know I should turn him away, but for some reason, I couldn't. Mom said never to let someone in when she wasn't home and I should've told him to leave, but I couldn't. "How did you find us?" He shrugged and a weak smile spread across his face once more. "She told me to come here." "Who my mom?" "Why yes. She didn't want me to be lonesome, all alone in Cambridge. Since nana died and I was left with her flat. Aunt Elizabeth said I could come over here to spend time with my cousin." Figures mom wouldn't leave me all alone. Ever since last Christmas I was left alone. It wasn't even that big of a party! Nothing got destroyed or stolen! So what if one guy vomited on the bush daisies in the window sill garden? Didn't someone say that vomit and with crap makes a good fertilizer? Besides, we're rich. She could've just bought some more bush daisies. Whatever. He's already here and it'd be rude to turn him away after having just arrived. "So what do you like?" I asked, rolling my eyes unenthusiasticly. "Ahh" He dug in his jacket. What was he gonna pull out; a list of rules mom wants me to follow? Or is it a note mom sent him in Cambridge full of things I'm not allowed to do. To my surprise, he pulled out a mushed up baggie of brownish green flakes that looked an oftly lot like cannabis. "Do you know how to roll?" My jaw dropped. "Where did you get that?" "My nana owned a farm. Not a big one. Just enough to make some money to pay our rent and food necessities." I grinned. Okay. I like him. This might just be the most interesting holiday week I've ever had. "Jamerson, did you drop from heaven?" "No I'm from Cambridge remember?" Ugh okay he obviously doesn't understand metaphors. No matter. It'd be fun teaching him all the stuff I know that he doesn't.