Unwrap these Presents

by Astrid Ohletz

  “You just can’t resist, can you?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “No, not really. But if it helps, I’m hoping you’ll be around in the future.”

  “I’d like to be.”

  “It’s a long drive from Bend.”

  “It was a long drive when my aunt lived here, too. We still visited about once a month.”

  “You came once a month, and yet you’ve never seen a winter storm?”

  “Well, I exaggerated a little. We came once a month most of the year. But not in the winters. Though we did come for Christmas once, when I was about eight. I remember being very excited about playing in the snow on the beach, because I thought it would be so cool to have snow and sand together. Imagine my dismay when Aunt Jackie told me it almost never snows here. I was crushed.”

  “Poor you. No snow and no storms.” Evelyn looked distant for a moment, then met Robin’s eyes with purpose in her own. “Come on. We’re going outside.”

  “We’re what?” Clearly Evelyn had drunk a bit too much wine; it was nasty out there. Robin was all for watching it from the comfort and warmth of the living room, but… “Aren’t those gusts up to about seventy by now?”

  Evelyn held up a finger and strode down the hall into the kitchen. She was back almost before the door had finished closing. “Seventy-eight is the highest so far. I have a little weather station,” she added when Robin raised her eybrows. “There’s an anemometer on the roof.”

  “Must be a tough one to hang on in these storms. So tell me again why you want to go out in winds that are approaching eighty? Not to mention the rain that falls sideways.”

  “Because I want to show you something. And don’t ask me to explain, because it won’t make any sense. Just…come with me.” She held out a hand.

  Well, why not? The rest of the day had been completely outside Robin’s experience, so she might as well be consistent. She took Evelyn’s hand and let herself be led out to the garage.

  Evelyn pulled her mostly-dry raincoat off the peg Robin had hung it on earlier. “Is your raincoat totally waterproof, or do you want to borrow this again?”

  “My coat is waterproof in Bend, but I’m not sure that’s the same thing as waterproof when someone turned on the fire hose.”

  “Then take this.” Evelyn handed her the coat, then opened a tall cupboard by the door and pulled out two pairs of waterproof pants. “You’ll need one of these, too.”

  Eventually Robin found herself suited up in boots, pants, and coat, all of which were a little large and seemed designed for working on a fishing boat. Evelyn was in matching gear, but on her it looked natural. So did the sparkle in her eyes as she put a hand on the back garage door.

  “Ready?”

  Robin checked the tie on her hood one more time. “Ready.”

  She wasn’t prepared for the noise when Evelyn opened the door. The immense roar of the wind through the trees tapped into some deep instinctual fear that said Stay the hell inside, but Evelyn was waiting, smiling at her. Swallowing hard, Robin stepped out and watched her shut the door of their shelter behind them.

  “It’s not so bad here,” Evelyn called over the noise. “The house is still protecting us. A few steps out and it will get rough. Just stay right behind me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She was right. Within five steps Robin found herself being pushed and pulled by the wind, and the amount of water hosing her down was beyond belief. She’d never seen rain like this before. It slammed into her from the side, paused as if it were taking a breath, and then slammed her again. Had she not been wearing the borrowed gear, she would have been drenched in two seconds.

  She followed Evelyn down a well-worn path, and when they turned into a second path, she knew where they were headed.

  “Are you insane?” she shouted over the storm. “We’re going to the cliff?”

  “Yes,” Evelyn called back. “Just trust me.”

  She was asking a lot on a few hours of acquaintance and one kiss. Robin stopped to look back at the house, its windows shining like a beacon of safety. Most of the lights were on the first floor, with only one on the second: the desk lamp she’d left turned on so she wouldn’t return to a dark room after dinner. As she stared up at her window, the curtain moved.

  She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.

  “I promise you’ll be fine,” Evelyn said. Her earlier smile was gone, replaced by an expression of concern as water streamed off her hood.

  Robin looked from her to the second-floor window, where a new shape was sitting on the sill.

  Jackie, of course. Except she didn’t remember leaving her door open.

  A long-forgotten memory surfaced, probably brought on by helping Evelyn with the dishes. She’d been in the same position, washing dishes with her aunt, who had said, Did you know that most people who live here never go to the beach?

  Robin had found that incomprehensible, because why live at the coast if you weren’t going to take advantage of it? Then her aunt had said, And I’m the only person I know who goes out in the storms. They think I’m cracked, but they don’t know what they’re missing. The only way to understand the power of the storms is to be in them.

  How had she forgotten that? All this time, she’d wanted to experience one of the storms her aunt had talked about, but somehow she’d lost the most important piece of all.

  “Robin—I’m sorry. This wasn’t a good idea. Come on, let’s go back.”

  She tore her gaze away from the cat in the window. “No. We’re going to the cliff.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Robin stepped past her and led the way, walking down a path she still knew by heart, though she hadn’t trod it in twenty years.

  The wind shoved at her, sometimes pushing her halfway off the trail before she could get her feet under herself again, but it didn’t feel quite as threatening now. She was in the lead; this was her decision. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get to the cliff. She walked faster and then began to run, ignoring the call behind her. Another turn in the trail and a wall of wind hit her so hard that she stopped, shocked by the strength of it. She was at the cliff’s edge, with nothing between her and the full fury of the storm.

  An arm went around her waist. “This is as far as we go,” Evelyn shouted. “But just feel it! Listen to it!”

  Robin took one more careful step, just enough to see over the edge of the cliff. Far below, the waves were crashing onto the rocks with a ferocity she’d never seen before. She was mesmerized by the sight, by the feel of the wind pushing at her, by the sound of the rain spattering on her gear. She felt like a speck of insignificant life, a mere observer of a power far beyond the human ability to replicate or understand.

  Evelyn leaned close, bringing her mouth near Robin’s ear so she wouldn’t have to shout. “Those weather reports, the ones that say what the top wind speeds are—they always get it wrong because the anemometer isn’t here, at the very edge. The wind hits these cliffs and goes straight up, and right here is where you get the biggest gusts. By the time they hit the weather stations, even a few yards inland, the speed isn’t the same. But here you’re in the heart of it. And you can surf the wind.”

  She let go, took a step toward the cliff’s edge, then spread her arms out and leaned forward. Her body canted to an impossible angle, supported by the sheer strength of the wind, and she stayed that way for several seconds before leaning a bit too far and putting a foot out to catch herself. Straightening, she shot Robin a grin. “Try it!”

  At any other time Robin would have felt like a fool. But standing here, with her aunt’s spirit practically buzzing inside her, nothing could seem more natural than to spread her own arms.

  And it worked. She leaned more and more, testing the strength of the wind and marveling at its ability to hold her body weight. Then she leaned too far and had to catch herself, but a moment later she’d repositioned and was trying it again. She found the perfect equilibrium and laughed at the
sheer wonder of it, of throwing herself into the storm and being caught and held.

  Evelyn leaned beside her, and they looked at each other with matching grins.

  “It’s fantastic!” Robin shouted.

  Evelyn’s grin grew even wider as she nodded. “I know!”

  They surfed again and again, competing to see who could lean the longest, and Robin could not remember when she’d felt this happy and free. Playing in the heart of the storm had woken something inside her, something that could never again be put back entirely. She never wanted to put it back. It made her feel more alive than she ever had before, and she understood her aunt’s words. She hadn’t known what she was missing.

  “Thank you,” she called. “For showing me.”

  Evelyn looked over, her eyes dancing and her face wreathed in a smile. “You’re welcome. Thanks for saying yes. No one ever has before.”

  Only because you never got the chance to ask my aunt, Robin thought. She reached for Evelyn’s hand and squeezed it.

  With an answering squeeze, Evelyn turned back to face the cliff. Robin followed suit and they spread their arms, holding hands and surfing the wind.

  * * *

  Hours later, when they’d celebrated their heightened senses in a heated exploration of bodies, Robin left Evelyn sleeping on the living room couch and tiptoed upstairs. Despite the top-grade rain gear she’d worn outside, her clothes were slightly damp and she wasn’t keen on putting them back on. A quick change into something warm and she’d go back to napping with Evelyn under the lights of the Christmas tree.

  She walked down the hall, holding her clothes against her chest, and stopped dead in front of her door.

  It was firmly shut.

  But Jackie had been with them downstairs. Jackie had met them at the kitchen door when they’d come in, dripping and laughing.

  So it couldn’t have been Jackie in her window.

  She turned the knob and opened the door, half expecting to see her aunt’s ghost waiting for her. But the room was empty, looking just as she’d left it.

  Moving quickly, she changed into dry clothes and stepped to the window. The storm was still fierce, lashing the glass with rain and howling through the trees. Beneath its roar she could make out the distant, deeper sound of the surf crashing against the cliff. She imagined her aunt standing at this same window, looking onto the same sights, and felt a peace that had eluded her for the past year. Aunt Jackie wasn’t really gone.

  This time when the ghostly touch brushed the back of her knee, she didn’t jump. Instead she turned and scooped up the purring cat, holding her close and rubbing her cheek into soft fur.

  “I know who you are. Thank you, Aunt Jackie. This was the best Christmas gift anyone could ever give me.”

  “What was?”

  Evelyn stood in her doorway, wrapped in the afghan from her couch. Robin smiled at the vision she made.

  “You. And this house, and the storm, and…Jackie.”

  Evelyn crossed the room and petted her cat. “Is she who I think she is?”

  “Yes, but my guess is not always. You said she never did anything unusual except for appearing on your doorstep last Christmas Eve, and then appearing on my car this Christmas Eve.” Robin pulled Evelyn into a one-armed hug, the cat contentedly snuggled between them. “Not that I’m an expert, but…I think she’s just showing a little holiday spirit.”

  Mama Knows

  Cheri Crystal

  It was as if my entire life had been leading up to this: sitting on a chartered tour overseas during the one Christmas that would change everything. That must have been how Mama saw it when she booked me an all-expenses-paid trip abroad for Christmas. Despite my protests that she should go instead, she insisted.

  “I’m old. But you’re young and fit. Go see the world before it’s too late,” she said.

  Mama lit up like a kerosene lamp telling me about this great deal—five nights in London and five in Normandy—she got on the highly rated singles tour everyone was talking about. I was skeptical. Who was “everyone”? Certainly nobody from around these parts. And why should I listen to “them” anyhow?

  Mama wasn’t subtle about living vicariously through her only daughter, the only family she had left. I could no sooner disappoint her than cut off my own finger. She was really hot for me to check out the American graves at Omaha Beach and put flowers on Granddaddy’s grave. She was too tired to make the journey herself. I figured she used age as an excuse to get me to understand the massive loss for the sake of freedom, so that I would think twice about wasting my own life. She harped on me about seeing it for myself that I finally agreed, just to shut her up.

  Do you want to know why mamas are such pains in the ass? It’s because they’re always right.

  Imagine a lonesome dyke on a straight singles’ tour and you couldn’t picture anything worse. It takes moving mountains to get a rise out of me, but I felt a rise of anticipation in seeing Europe and what all the fuss was about.

  Mama hovered as I shoved all my stuff, including a hat I’d never wear, into a duffle bag.

  “Geez, Mama, you do remember I’m thirty-five and old enough to figure this out on my own? Or are you getting soft?” I teased.

  She clucked her tongue but let me be after that. Most folks thought I should have married and moved out ages ago, but I wasn’t like most folks. Besides, if I left home, Mama would have to come with me. Easier to stay put.

  * * *

  It was time to leave. I made the huge mistake of calling my departure D-Day, and made other colorful remarks I regret. Mama had little tolerance for cussing, but avoiding bad habits for long periods was hard work and as a result, I received shitloads of Mama’s slaps on the arm until I thought I’d welt. Once in our pick-up, Mama was unusually quiet on the drive to the bus depot.

  We got out of the truck at the same time. All set with my brand-spanking-new passport in hand and foreign money in pocket, I gave Mama a hug and my best attempt at a cocky grin before I boarded the bus. There were tears in her eyes, which choked me up, but I’m certain no one could tell but her. If I’d said a word, I knew we’d both have started blubbering and that simply would not do. She could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I counted my blessings for having her. I didn’t exactly tell her this, but I suspected she knew.

  It was a couple hours’ drive to the nearest airport, where they had the kind of aircrafts that looked like the rubber band planes the Five and Dimes used to sell. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled when I discovered that I would be high in the sky in a tin box no bigger than the inside of an oil tank. Once we got moving, the rinky-dink flight turned out okay. Noisy, but the view was worth it. Hard to believe I’d never been on an airplane until then. Harder to believe was taking two airplanes counting the connecting flight from the USA to London Heathrow Airport.

  Atlanta International Airport was a frickin’ city in itself. Acres of concrete and tarmac took up more space from one end to another than the town and neighboring farms I grew up in, and the waves of people moving looked like a stampede. I hate to admit it, but I was a bit unnerved. Good thing I was tough or I’d have been shaking in my boots. I searched for the lady holding up the sign for our travel group. I’d sized up the crowd pretty accurately. They were from all over America, from California to New York and everywhere in between. There were proportionately more women than men and no doubt they were breeders on the hunt for suitable mates. Theirs was not my idea of the ultimate future, but I was going nowhere fast, so who was I to judge? Half past three decades, I knew it all, had seen plenty, and was fed up with hanging out in bars and job-hopping on the farms—farmers were having a raw deal most of the time, anyway.

  Work, when I could get it, was all-consuming, long days spent doing hard physical labor, which never hurt anyone, but there was always time to hook up with a woman if she caught my eye. It was rare for someone like me, living in Small Town, USA, to meet many like-minded bedmates, but I got lucky more often than th
e cowboys I chugged beers and shot whiskeys with did. I didn’t gloat about getting laid much, but the other farmhands were mighty envious. I never did take any shit from anyone, and I avoided a lot of fights because they usually backed off.

  There was one other lesbian in town and she avoided me like the plague. That’s how I knew she was gay. Girls like that made me laugh. They couldn’t see that being different was only interesting if it was kept secret. Like a wrapped Christmas present, everyone wanted to know what was inside, even if it wasn’t for them. But the minute the box was opened and the gift-wrap was torn to shreds, nobody gave it another thought.

  But there was no doubt about me. Liking girls never was a secret I desired to keep. No sirree. I always dressed in boots, jeans, and T-shirts. I kept my fair hair short, and never minced words with the male farmhands. My body was strong and my hands rough. I was the token dyke and proud of it. I dared anyone to make a disparaging remark and developed quite the hard-ass reputation. Surely, I could take care of myself on a little trip across the Atlantic without any worries.

  After risking life and limb aboard the “toy” plane from my hometown to Atlanta, I settled in the jumbo jet quite nicely. I shamelessly flirted with the hot flight attendant, who I could have had for breakfast, and had her phone number in my shirt pocket before the plane landed. Not that I was likely to use it, but it was nice to have just the same.

  London was unbelievable. It didn’t matter that the gals on my coach were chatty with each other when they weren’t flirting with the guys, but they didn’t have much to say to me. Everyone was nice enough, though, and I found myself immersed in history for the first time. What a trip! The world sure was vast and I wanted to know all about it. Mama was right. My horizons needed serious expanding.

  I signed up for every excursion, except for shopping at Harrods. I ended up at the London Zoo instead. A wise move. We did the usual touristy things, like the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace. The riverboat cruise down the Thames past Big Ben, the Tower of London, and London Bridge, among other notable sites, was good, too. Camden Market was quirky, all right. I was getting Mama’s money’s worth.