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He hadn’t even wanted to come with Duff to the thrift shop. Steven had been perfectly content at home, laying on his bed and twirling a pair of drumsticks around as he tried to generate some creative spark. The bassist had pleaded that Steven join him, being the only other person home, and ignored his protests about “Interrupting important songwriting, Duff, Jesus!”
And so Steven had shoved on his coat, and walked with Duff to the stupid thrift store to buy a stupid gift while grumbling the whole way. He hadn’t expected to stumble across this, though.
A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “Hey, Pop, you alright?” His bandmate’s caring voice infiltrated his ear, and Steven glanced up to see an unruly mass of blond-streaked hair gazing down at him.
“Yeah, yeah, I— I’m good, man. Good.” He swallowed softly, his eyes falling back down to the menorah on the table in front of him. It was nearly hidden in shadows, disguised by the surrounding clutter of items, but somehow it had caught Steven’s attention. The fading metal seemed to taunt him, bringing back a swarm of memories and emotions that he didn’t know he could handle.
Steven hadn’t celebrated Hanukkah since he was ten years old.
He hadn’t thought about it since then, either. The last few years at home, he’d been embarrassed to celebrate at all after learning most of his classmates had Christmas instead. He’d begrudgingly participated in the traditions until the year he was kicked out for good; perhaps the repeal of his heritage was a reason why.
Even so, how had he forgotten Hanukkah? Well— that wasn’t entirely true. There was a difference between forgetting and simply not remembering. The beginning date of the eight-night festival seemed to slip his mind every year, but in no way had he forgotten Hanukkah.
Steven remembered the candles, flickering in their stand upon the windowsill. He remembered prayers, murmurings of holiness and repentance he hadn’t quite understood. He remembered his mom’s fried latkes, crispy and salty on his tongue, and the sufganiyot, jelly bursting from the middle and coating sticky fingers. Steven remembered the dreidels, their wood carved with the Hebrew words he’d never bothered to learn. He remembered family, and laughter, and dark, cold nights warmed with celebration.
He remembered Hanukkah, all right. But he hadn’t remembered to acknowledge it.
Now, everything came flooding back, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. The memories he hadn’t cherished as a child, he now longed for— they left a bittersweet feeling inside him that had his heart stinging and stomach sinking. All because of the cheap, thrift-store menorah.
Nevertheless, as Duff patted his shoulder and walked back up toward the front of the shop, Steven stared at the menorah for a few more seconds, then snatched it up off the aging desk. He didn’t allow himself time to think before he was shelling out his last two dollars for a shitty, thrift shop candle holder, blowing the only cash he had for booze on the dented hunk of metal.
Following his bandmate out of the store, Steven could only stare blankly at the menorah in his hands. “What did you find?” Duff asked curiously, walking so close to Steven their shoulders brushed.
The shorter man shrugged, still clutching his purchase tightly in his fist. “It’s… uh,” he stumbled, not sure how to respond. “For the holidays,” he stuttered out, still processing it himself. “I dunno why I even got it.”
Duff gave him a curious look, but brushed it off quickly. “Hey, if it made you happy, man—“ he replied, trying to console the drummer’s unsure tone.
Steven turned the menorah over, eyes landing on a familiar symbol casted onto the front. His thumb rubbed over the marking as another memory came forth, loud and clear. Ohr. Lights.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, still staring at the menorah. “I guess it did.”