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feverinfeveroutfic · 5 months

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hanukkah bingo 2023

Fic or Art/Graphic Title: alone in the dark, prologue: “If I Were a Rich Man” Author/Artist Name: josiebelladonna Fandom: Testament (Band) Jewish or Jew-Ish Character(s): Alex Skolnick (and how) Bingo Squares Being Filled: h3 (music), h4 (tradition), h5 (first night), a2 (snow), n2 (family), n4 (survival), u4 (winter), h2 (yiddish) Rating: (chapter) Teen and Up; (fic in general) Mature Warning(s): Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Link to Work: x (p.s., no idea why ao3 isn’t letting me add this to the collection, like it’s not showing up in the drop-down menu when i try to add it in) @aimmyarrowshigh

notes: hey, y’all! i’m a gentile girl participating in this little challenge here because i love you guys and am fiercely defensive of you, and i want to introduce you all to the light of my life and the fire of my loins, alex. this fic is flirty, kinky, and very inappropriate so please be careful while reading. i also wrote this fic for nanowrimo this year! 🔥

I was certain that I could get back home to be with my parents and my brother over in Scarsdale and the new house a couple of blocks over by the temple, and I was certain that I could reach the neighborhood by the time the snow piled into the area. I had promised to, at the very least, visit for the holiday before I made the bold move across the country to be closer to my parents in particular. I had missed Rosh Hashanah back in September because of money, but this time I was determined, and I wanted to be closer to my parents, and it couldn’t have come at a better time, either, as I was alone in California at that point. Then again, there was a part of me that had no idea if I wanted to do that: so much work to do, and I needed to lay my head down every now and again like everyone else. My parents understood the daunting task that faced me, but I still had that obligation upon my first visit.

Regardless of my own indolence, they were getting older, and I was as well. It was time to do something drastic, and something that, I knew in my heart, would help me forever. It all would help me forever.

But I never did reach there on time, and the whole affair had left me wanting more of it all. Maybe I was greedy, but I would admit to it, though.

I was such a mess at the time, and the delays only made me more of a mess. It was times like this where I couldn’t stop to say that I had survived another year without having my throat slit so I can eat, either. This was something else. This was something that brought me elsewhere.

I was flying into New York from the Bay Area the weekend before the first night of Hanukkah, which, much to my dismay, coincided with the week after Thanksgiving. I had missed most of the crowds on the Wednesday and Thursday prior, but I still knew it was going to be hell because I was leaving on that Saturday, before everyone went home, so I had to hustle and go with the flow regardless of anything. I needed to fly in from California to see my parents, especially for that year as my relationship had ended over the summer and I spent what money I had on my person before my next paycheck from the gigs I could scrounge up to keep my head above water for the time being. I had missed Thanksgiving with them all because I didn't get paid yet, and thus, I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to be home, to clear my head, to heal my heart and my mind, and to feel like myself again.

I was out of Testament: I had left almost two years prior when my relationship remained in good shape and she was the first person I told about my decision to leave all because I needed a challenge. The next person I told was a friend of mine, followed by my father and my mother, and she reasoned with me about it because I knew it was going to be tricky.

Be patient, I was told. Be patient and just roll with it.

Okay.

On second thought, I was glad that I had left when I did because they pretty much imploded the second I walked out that door with my guitar over my back. There was a part of me that believed that I had become a glue of sorts, and my departure only made them fall apart even more. For a moment, I was guilty, but I needed to move on and find my own footing, even if it meant I had nothing for a while.

I was going to have nothing again. I took the first plane out of the Bay Area at around five in the morning, and the night before, I called my mom for a check-in.

“I’ll pick you up at baggage claim, honey,” she vowed to me, and I took that to heart. I had to be there for at the very least the first night and the lighting of the menorah. The first flame that would light up the proverbial oil in my own heart.

We broke up back in August, and I still licked my wounds at that point. I had nothing to do other than play the blues for myself: I knew I always had it in me, the one Jewish boy in a yuppie neighborhood in the outskirts of San Francisco with the older parents. I had my friends but I still found myself alone at times.

We were together for only two years: I had met her shortly before my last tour with Testament and maybe it was just my own ignorance, but I thought I had found my one and only. I gave her my heart and she took it and tore it straight to shreds. I was torn to shreds.

I couldn’t bear to look at my own reflection, at my hair, at my face, at anything. In fact, it was right after she and I had gone our separate ways when I decided to crop my hair from the top of my stomach up to my shoulders. I could still let my hair fly around behind my head whenever I walked and whenever there was a gust of wind.

I had gained a little bit of weight since the break up, enough to pad my tummy a bit but not nearly enough to make me fat, though. I knew I was always going to be a skinny lad, even when I grew into middle age. I loved to eat, and there was a part of me that wanted my body to stay the same no matter what I stuck through my lips. So, that was another thing I looked forward to. I had survived another year without having my throat slit and my body broken, other than proverbially, so I would resort to eating to my heart's content.

I had brought one of my guitars with me because I knew I was going to have to perform for my family once I got there. I was Mr. Big Shot after all, having gone from a rock n' roll band which I helped build from the ground up and then I went about my own way. I had to show and tell once I made my way to the house and we were all settled in for the next eight evenings. It was the one I always kept in a soft fabric case lest anything happen to it on the plane; I checked myself into the airport, and I took my one overnight bag with me onboard.

Once I tucked it into the overhead, I hunkered down in the middle of the plane. And the very second I sat down next to the little old man by the window, I let the thoughts hit me: if the plane went down, he and I both could probably survive, and we could survive with the fire on my back. I was already in the mood for surviving, and all I needed was the proper situation for it.

Then again, as soon as I thought that, I knew I would have to pay the price. Such was my life at the time.

Within time, there was a little more than fifty people around me and the old man, and the door closed.

I'm coming home, Mom, I thought to myself. Mom and Dad.

The airplane rolled along the blacktop: I peered out the window, past the old man's slumbering face, at the glimmering lights as they lined the dark horizon, at the black sky overhead where there wasn't a star to be seen. I returned my attention towards the front of the cabin, and I closed my eyes. I never liked the take-off, especially at night and the stars had not poked out as of yet. So many things could go wrong. So many things on the plane could go wrong and I did not want to even so much as think about it but I thought about it, anyway.

I held my breath and gripped onto the armrests on either side of me.

The old man next to me was still asleep by the time the landscape fell away from the plane and we rose up into the blackness. I closed my eyes.

It felt like an eternity rising up into the clouds before we finally leveled out.

I opened my eyes and it felt as though my chest was about to explode. I opened my lips and let out a low whistle. I peered out the window again, and that time I could see the clouds right below us, barring the wispy ones that caressed the body of the plane.

I needed something. I needed to find a way. It had been two years since I bailed from Testament and I still hadn't found my way.

Of the whole time that she and I were together, not once did we have an intimate period together. In fact, she barely touched me. It was as if she waited for me to make a move on her when I was totally lost on what to do for her. All the while, I had this lingering guilt in the back of my mind that told me that I had no right to feel that way. How dare I feel that way about her, or anyone for that matter. I couldn't say that I needed to be touched or held because it was too much to even talk about.

I knew it was hard for her, and I always hear how it's hard for them, but there was me, though. The boy with the long hair who looked on at girls with nothing more than pure fantasy because he didn't feel good enough about himself.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she wasn't for me. And the more I thought about that, the more I wondered if I could have any woman I wanted, or any man for that matter.

Indeed, I glanced over the sleeping old man in the window seat next to me, with the brim of his hat tugged down over his eyes and his hands tucked underneath his face. His ashen skin and the heavy tweed that wrapped up his body reminded me of my grandpa and the way he'd always dress after he came home from the temple.

I couldn't explain it but the weirdest thought crossed my mind right then: to make out with a man in a temple. In fact, I fluttered my eyelids and shook my head about as if I had bumped my head at the mere suggestion of it. I rubbed my brow and shook my head some more.

“Are you okay?” the stewardess asked me. I lifted my head for a look into her big blue eyes and her golden blonde hair: she looked like a model on one of those greeting cards you'd see around this time of year.

“Me?” I asked her with a break in my voice.

“Yeah, I saw you shaking your head about. Do you feel okay? Do you want some aspirin?”

“Oh, no, it's just—the altitude,” I told her, and I couldn't resist the grin on my face. “I would like a drink of water and maybe a cup of coffee, too, though.”

“You got it,” she assured me, and for a second, I swore she winked at me.

I was a skinny lad with a little extra butter cream on my ass and I could feel it in my pants. In fact, if there weren't three children about two rows in front of me, I would have gladly unfastened my belt for her. Maybe I was a crazy creep at that point, but I had my feelings, too. I simply couldn't help myself. I was fresh off the boat in a few things, but I had my feelings, too.

I needed to feel and connect. I needed to be safe with another person, and I was so close to making the declaration that I didn't care as to whom I could connect with, either. Karma was more of a bitch to me than I realized before.

She returned to me with two paper cups in either hand, one of water and a cardboard one with coffee. The warmth crossed my face at the sight of her; I thanked her and sipped on the water first. All the while, I watched her go tend to the two women three rows before me; I craned my neck for a better view of her there. She wore that short dark green skirt that accentuated the shape of her legs.

I raised my eyebrow and sipped on the water some more as my eyes wandered up to the backs of her thighs and the shape of her ass. I then set down the cup and rubbed my eyes.

I'm a dog. I'm a dirty dog and a bastard, but my eyes wandered no matter what.

Maybe I needed to tamp down everything. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was the one for me but I had no other means of telling her because we should just assume.

I rolled my head over the surface of the seat for a view out the window again: that time, I saw nothing but clouds underneath the belly of the plane. Something about it gave me a weird feeling.

The weirdest feeling, even as I sipped on the coffee. There was no way I could take a nap, either. So much to think about with all of this.

And yet, I needed something to do.

I needed something to do.

I brought the coffee cup up to my mouth again as I took another peek at the stewardess, who had moved up to the next row. I could see the entirety of her figure as well as the backs of her legs. Those three kids in front of me were going to have to know about it sooner or later—

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,” the intercom crackled on over our heads. “—I'm afraid we're going to be making an emergency landing in Reno. Radar is showing a massive blizzard over the Rocky Mountains, as well as an incoming one over the Sierra Nevadas. Please fasten your seatbelts.”

My heart sank at that. So much for going home to my parents on time.

I glanced out the window again, and indeed, more and more clouds collected along the northern end of the Central Valley to the point I couldn't see anything over there.

“That was fast, though,” I muttered, simply because I knew we had barely cleared the Sierras at that point.

“Fasten your seatbelts, we're making an emergency landing in Reno,” I heard the stewardess say to the two women in front of me.

“Wonder what happened,” the old man next to me said aloud, and I turned my attention to him.

“There's a blizzard over the Rockies,” I told him. “Pretty big one, too. I think there's one coming in from the Northwest, too.”

Once again, I peered out the window to the darkness down below the plane: that time I made out the orange glow on the underside of the incoming clouds, and I knew that northern Nevada and the Sierras looked at a great deal of snow. I sighed through my nose, and I gripped onto the armrest with my free hand. I was already starting to regret the cup of coffee.

“You look nervous, son,” said the old man. “We're in the best spot if there's a crash.”

“I am a little bit nervous, to be frank,” I confessed to him.

“It's funny because my name is Frank,” he quipped to me, and I couldn't help but laugh, albeit nervous laughter.

“I'm Alex,” I said. “And I really hope I'm not the last person you see before this flight ends.” We were in fact flying into the rim of a massive blizzard, and for all any of us onboard knew, we could hit a wave of turbulence and crash right into one of the mountain sides around Lake Tahoe. But I was certain that we would survive, however. It was still rather nerve racking to look out the window and see nothing but orange clouds and not know the whereabouts of any mountains down below us.

“Where were you headed, by the way?” he asked me.

“New York. I was going to be with my parents for Hanukkah.”

“Oh, Hanukkah! I was going to be with my daughter and my son-in-law for the next month: they're in school so their Thanksgiving break will end in the next day or two, but they wanted me to come along before Christmas.”

“Aw, that's sweet of them,” I said in a soft voice; something about the mention of marriage my heart sink even more, and yet there was an even bigger voice which loomed in the back of my mind that told me to embrace being alone, even in the circumstance of the plane crashing down. All the while, I braced for impact on the mountains, but we never did hit anything as we descended through the clouds. I kept on looking out the window to the pitch darkness below us.

“It's been a while since I've been over the Reno-Carson City area,” he continued.

“How long?” I asked him.

“About ten years. My daughter got married in Hawai'i over the summer, but she always came home to the Bay Area.”

“I'm kind of alone back there,” I confessed to him with a toss of my hair back. “For me, it almost feels like I'm coming home to New York.”

“You? Alone? A handsome Jewish boy like yourself should have the girls all over you.”

I bowed my head and blushed at that. I had never really heard the word “handsome” thrown my way before, at least not after I turned eighteen. It was always “cute” or “hot”.

“I see Reno,” I heard one of the children in front of me say aloud.

“Do you see Reno?” I asked him.

“There she is,” he remarked with a gesture out the window. Beyond the mountains and the wispy clouds stood the glimmering lights of Reno, Nevada. I knew I would have to call my mom, anyway, should there be a layover of any kind, but I never knew I would have to do it when the plane had just barely left California. I shivered even though the heater worked fine all around us. I was going to be alone for Hanukkah as well as Thanksgiving.

I was going to be stuck there with only a few bucks to my name.

I held still as we kept on the descent to the airport, but Frank seemed eager to step off the plane to be with his family. So much was my own life.

In fact, as we made our way through the clouds, I noticed the little flurries collecting on the other side of the glass.

“It's snowing,” I told him, and his face lit up at the sight of it.

“It is!” he declared.

We rounded the outskirts of the city before I could feel the plane sinking down towards the blacktop. The kids ahead of me seemed more anxious than me to get off that plane: I hoped that I could have enough to even feed myself let alone find a place to stay in for the night.

The snow picked up the pace outside of the plane windows, and already, I could see the drifts forming on the runway as we touched down: the entire plane jolted forth, which was in turn followed by a slight wobble at the back.

“Ice on the runway—hang on, everyone,” I heard one of the stewardesses say. The blonde had disappeared into the back of the plane, and I didn't think to ask her for her number, either, especially since the plane slowed as best as it could before it reached the actually airport itself. I closed my eyes, and I could feel Frank's fingers on the back of my hand.

“We'll be alright, son,” he assured me.

I cracked him a smile but I was still nervous.

But then the plane hit a dry patch of tarmac, and we slowed up a great deal. That time I opened my eyes and gazed out the window: little flurries floated outside of the glass but the sky directly overhead was clear. It was only a matter of time, though.

I almost wanted to laugh when we jolted some more along the tarmac towards the airport: something about it just seemed funny to me, a big jet airliner like that jolting forth like someone learning to drive. But we reached the terminal and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I stood up first and picked my bag out of the compartment: I was glad I had my big peacoat in there because there was no way I could walk out there dressed in nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt. I hoisted my bag over my shoulder: the blonde stewardess had stayed in the back of the plane, and thus, I was greeted by a different woman at the door of the plane as I made my way out of there.

Only fifty of us, and we all congregated in the space outside of the gate in total silence.

“Are we the only ones here?” one woman asked aloud.

“I think we are,” I told her.

“All the flights are cancelled,” said another woman who stood by the big screen near the gate. “Every single one of them, including the ones to Phoenix and Dallas.” I craned my neck for a better look: sure enough, the ones headed out to New York were all kaput. Add to that, we were alone in the whole entire airport.

“Looks like we're all gonna pitch tents for the time being,” one man declared. Frank strode up behind me with his suitcase in hand and a quizzical look on his face.

“What's happening?” he asked me.

“I think the airport's closed,” I told him, and I could feel my heart sink. After all of that preparation and hope that I had set aside for myself, and I found myself stranded in the airport in the heart of downtown Reno.

“I'm lucky my daughter's in town,” Frank said with a grim look on his face. “I hope you can find your way out of here, son.”

“I hope so, too. You stay warm for me, okay?”

“Of course! And I would take you home with us if there wasn't only room for one more.” He patted my upper arm and showed me a smile before he stepped away and towards the big front doors of the airport. I sighed through my nose and took my wallet out of my jeans pocket. Somewhere around that airport was a series of payphones: I had just enough money to call my mom and buy myself a hotel room, but I had no idea if I was going to have enough for breakfast in the morning. I could either be cold and have food in my belly, or I could be cozy warm with a bed and a shower but wake up hungry the next morning.

One of the women who sat in front of me turned her attention to me: an older lady with dark shoulder length hair and wire framed glasses. She reminded me of my mom when she was younger.

“Do you need a ride?” she offered me.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” I said in a low voice. “I have money for a hotel room but not enough to get something to eat, though.” The woman next to her turned her attention to me as well: she had a head of short, fiery red hair and big dark eyes that seemed to swallow me whole. She looked a lot younger, too, as if she was the daughter.

“We could take you in for the time being,” the one on the left told me.

“Could you?” I asked her.

“Yeah! We're only going to see my parents—her grandparents—” She gestured to the girl next to her. “—here in Reno, but they have a big house, though. We could help you out.”

The last thing I wanted was to impose on her or her daughter. But it was a nice gesture and I was stuck in Reno with nowhere else to go. Donner Pass was closed, and I had no car and no other means to contact anyone. I may as well go with these two women. I showed them a little smile: the girl bowed her head a bit at me as if she was shy. The airport lights shone over her short red hair to make it look even redder than usual. Her brown eyes gelled with that rich red color so well that it made me think of a volcano. I returned to the woman and her putting her fingerless leather gloves on.

“I'll do it, but I don't want it to feel like I'm pressuring you, though,” I confessed with a shake of my head.

“Believe me, you aren't,” she assured me. “I'm a school teacher so I know how to handle strange situations, however they may come up.”

“My parents are teachers, too,” I told her. “They know the feeling, too.”

“Oh, wow! I’m Wendy,” she introduced to me. “Wendy Peck. And this is my daughter Christine.”

“I’m Alex,” I said. “And seeing as you’re a teacher, may I call you Mrs. Peck?”

“Oh!” She chuckled at that. “You're too sweet, Alex. You can call me whatever you want.” I turned my attention to Christine and her head of short red hair. It was so bright and fiery red, as if she had dyed it with Kool-Aid.

“I like your hair, by the way,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

“I say I know how to handle strange situations,” Wendy repeated to me, “but she is the one exception. Two years ago, just out of the blue, she decided to cut her hair really short like this and dye it bright green, then fiery red. Seventeen years old, soon to be eighteen, and I felt I lost control of her a long time ago.” She chuckled and shook her head at that. But I turned to Christine, however.

“If it makes you feel better, my parents feel the same way about me,” I told her.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. So many times growing up, I'd hear 'my kid's meshuggah!' or 'my boy's meshuggah!' whenever I did anything, especially when I got into music and again when I got ink done.”

She gaped at me and her eyes sparkled.

“'Meshuggah', is that—Yiddish?” Wendy asked me.

“Sure is. My family's Ashkenazi Jewish. I was headed out to New York City to be with my parents and my brother—the first night of Hanukkah is on Monday. I missed Thanksgiving, so I really want to be home for those eight nights.”

“I have a few Jewish kids in my class,” she elaborated. “I'll hear them throw out some words here and there and it's always interesting to hear.”

“We're one big family,” I proclaimed, and I noticed her looking over at something behind me. I followed her gaze to the baggage claim, and I realized that my guitar case may be over there.

“Let's go and get our things,” Wendy goaded me and Christine, and the three of us walked on over there, away from the other fifty people fretting about what to do next. Christine walked along side me, and the crown of her red hair only reached my shoulder.

“Seventeen, you said?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I'll be eighteen in April,” she replied. “I don't know what I'm gonna do after high school, though.”

“Do you play any instruments? Because if you play something, you can go and start a band or be a singer songwriter like Liz Phair or somebody.”

“Not really. I like art, though, but I'm not very good at it.”

“I'm sure you can get good at it,” I promised her with a nod. “I didn't think I'd be good at guitar when I was a kid, but here I am, calling myself a professional guitarist.”

“Do you have your guitar?” she asked me.

“It's over here with the luggage people,” I answered, and I could not resist the grin on my face. Seventeen or not, there was something about her that tickled me. I had no idea if it came from her fiery red hair or the twinkle in her dark eyes.

She had more of a twinkle in her eyes when I showed her the soft felt case and slung it over my other shoulder.

“Travelling Wilbury!” Wendy decreed as she handed Christine her little suitcase.

“For real!” I chuckled at that. “All I'm missing is a hat.”

I let my hair flow back behind me as the three of us returned to the front of the airport, and we stepped outside to see the snow drifting down in fine flurries over us. The blizzard was only beginning, and especially since the darkness seemed to fall over the whole heart of Reno. I turned my attention to the Hilton off to the left, only to find that the sign had burned out.

“Is the power out across town?” I asked them in a hushed voice.

“I think it is,” Wendy told me as she reached into her coat pocket for her car keys. “It's going to be really strange going back home...”

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