When we were all in the living room, piled on top of each other because of the mountain of presents and enormous fucking tree that took up half the house, Saylor stood in the middle of the room, ready to hand out gifts. But first she took the time to close her eyes, hold out her arms, and breathe in the scent of pine and maple syrup and someone’s, probably Shady’s, rotten-ass feet.
I didn’t pay much attention because I’d seen her do it so many times before, but everyone else in the room watched her with curious faces. When she was finished, the excitement in her eyes was so much that I found myself smiling at her, even as she took my picture. Today really would be a great day, and tomorrow, we would say yesterday was better.
Shady is pumped about all the cool new shit he has, and I realize that this might have been his first real Christmas too. Most of the men in our club come from broken homes and fucked-up lives. That’s what drove us to be a part of Sinner’s Creed. Here, we mattered.
I assisted in all the shopping, but when it came to Shady, I made sure it was things he could actually use. Like new leathers, a breather kit for his bike, and a set of Vance & Hines pipes. Saylor picked out a shave kit, socks, some black hoodies, and an iTunes gift card.
Donnawayne and Jeffery squeal and hug Saylor every time they unwrap a new present. It’s only clothing, but apparently its nice shit ’cause they “just can’t believe she got this.” When they announce that they want to try everything on, I decide I need a smoke. Shady agrees and joins me on the porch.
“Saylor seems happy,” Shady tells me once we are away from the chaos happening in my house.
“She is happy.” As I’m saying this, I hear Saylor laugh.
“When y’all heading back?” Leave it to Shady to ruin a perfect Christmas. I refused to think about what would happen in just a few days, but now that he had brought it to my attention, there was no escaping the reality of what was fixing to happen.
“Friday.” That was the day after tomorrow. Too soon. I knew life was about to get hard. I knew it would be hard for Saylor to endure, and hard for me to watch. I wanted to be selfish and ask her again to not do this. But I wouldn’t. This was Saylor’s decision, one she was hell-bent on keeping, regardless of the consequences.
Shady says something, but I’m more interested in looking at Saylor through the window than listening to him. She’s wearing her hideous Christmas pajamas and her glasses and has her hair on top of her head. But what’s so stunning is the smile she has on her face. Her laughter fills the room and I close my eyes, memorizing the sound and putting this image with it. This will be her last Christmas, her last time in Nevada, and the last day of life as we know it. Tomorrow we will step back into reality, and it’s the last place I want to go.
—
It’s early, maybe four in the morning, when I feel Saylor sit up in bed. So I sit up too.
“What’s wrong?” Because something has to be. But Saylor doesn’t answer me, she just stares straight ahead. I turn the lamp on and ask again. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you know who Samson is?” Her voice is calm, sweet, and melodic. She isn’t sick and I’m glad she isn’t crying. And the only Samson I know is Saylor Samson. “He was a man who was given supernatural strength. He had lots of hair, tons of it. That was his source of power.”
I’m not following. Saylor puts her hands into the thick, unruly curls of her own hair and pulls it around to her face to examine it. “I don’t believe that my hair is the key to my power or strengthens my relationship with God, but I don’t want to wake up to find clumps of my best asset on my pillow. My hair makes me who I am.”
She looks at me and is just as confused as I am. I want to give her words of wisdom, but I just woke up and I don’t know what in the hell to say. But I better say something because she is staring expectantly at me as if I can give her some insight into her epiphany.
“Your hair is beautiful. It’s fucking amazing and it’s one of the things I love most about you. But it’s not why I love you, and it doesn’t make you who you are.” That sounds pretty convincing to me, but Saylor frowns and is now even more confused.
“Then what does?” This time, I don’t have to think about what to say, because the words are spewing from my mouth before I can stop them.
“I don’t know what that special thing is. I don’t have a name for it. All I know is that you are you, and that’s everything I need. Your good outweighs my evil and your love overpowers my hate. Whatever makes you you, gives me something that I never knew existed . . .” I can’t name it because I’m too caught up in the realization and truth in my words.
“What?” But Saylor already knows the answer.
“Hope.”
21
NOT TWO HOURS later, Saylor is straddling me in the bed, holding a pair of scissors in one hand and some clippers in the other.
“What are you doing?” I still haven’t mastered the art of not sounding like a dick, but it doesn’t faze Saylor anymore.
“I want you to cut my hair.” No. Hell no. I haven’t said anything because the look I’m giving her should say it for me. “Please?” Her begging will get her nowhere.