In between there was fear, hope and anxiety, mixed with caring and tenderness. Everything was somehow rushing, faster and faster leading somewhere, to something wonderful. To find joy in another, so unexpected and wonder why you never saw it before when it was right there the whole time in front of you for years. Until one day…
Winter (Us)
“I never could keep a happy secret! Your Christmas present is finally done,” Matt said with a laugh in his voice.
“Show me!” Kristina laughed, shifting the phone at her ear and opening her computer to see the picture he was sending.
Soon a picture appeared on the computer screen that bridged the many miles still between them, stretching from Minnesota all the way down to Florida. Despite the distance, it was as if they sat next to each other, knees touching, hands drifting together automatically without conscious thought. It was a picture of a carved wooden heart, stained red and blue; it was beautiful, with looping scrolls and intertwined hearts. He’d spent many hours and made it with his own hands. But really, it was something different entirely, a message just between them. It was a gift, freely given. His heart. His love. A promise just for her. And she knew right away, it said everything that needed to be said between them without another word. It was just the beginning.
***
Love is a choice.
You make it every day.
When you have once loved and lost,
if you are lucky enough to find love again,
you cherish and protect it fiercely.
In order for that love to be real, to survive,
you have to give everything you are.
You take the risk.
***
“It’s wonderful,” she said quietly, “I love you too, Matt.” He could hear her tears through the phone.
“There’s more,” he said softly, his voice gone gravelly with emotion. “Come home love; come back to Minnesota, to me. I’m here waiting for you. I want you and I want the kids here with me. You’re the only Christmas gift I want, all of you.”
THE END
© 2013 Kristina Blasen
This Christmas
By
Greatest Poet Alive
Perhaps I was Riley Freeman before he was even thought of by Aaron MacGruder. Yeah, I was a black kid growing up on the south side of Chicago, existing in a lower middle class environment slowly becoming gang-infested, waiting for December 25th to arrive. Christmas was a symbol of hope during a year in which I had been chased from school almost every day. Christmas was watching all of the cartoons that came on television that started right after Thanksgiving ended. Quick reflection: I always thought, until I got older, that Black Friday was an African American holiday. Don’t judge me. I grew up in the city with Jesse Jackson and the famous “Keep Hope Alive” mantra. Christmas was going to plant a huge smile on my face and make life worth living for a tortured sixth grader (which is another story).
I believed in that Santa song, especially the part where it says, “He knows when you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake…” So, I made it my business to be good. Whatever my parents asked me to do, it got done. Take out the garbage? Done! Turn out the light at 10:00pm? I did it at 9:55pm. Make sure my homework was done, play nice with my younger brother, and come in before the street lights came on? Done!! Done!! Done!! Besides taking care of the home front, I was this close to being the “apple polisher” at school. I know Mrs. Mitchell loved me. No task was beneath me, as I cleaned the blackboards and the erasers, took Mrs. Mitchell’s tray back to the lunchroom, arrived early to help staple the test papers, pass out and collect the very same test papers, and remain after school sometimes to do anything that I had not already done for Mrs. Mitchell. Whew. So if any boy, any black boy who just happened to be living on the south side of Chicago, was being good and not bad, nice and not naughty, it was me!! With that being said, all I wanted from Santa was what my cousin Derek had gotten as a whimsical gift. What was that you might be asking? The only thing on my list was a GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip. I didn’t want any vehicles. Even though there was a play set that could have come with him, I had no desire for that, either. All I needed, all I wanted, was a GI Joe with Kung Fu Grip. And darn it, I had busted my little black butt to get it. Yes, Santa, make sure you stop at 2743 East 79th Street first, and drop that off!! Oh yeah, I bought the Chips Ahoy cookies and two percent milk. You deserve only the best, Santa, and that is exactly what you’re going to get. Hey, don’t even mention it. Just bring the 12” inch figure with the beard to the address I put on my letter. Yep, that’ll do it.
My parents taught me never to be ungrateful, especially when it came to gifts. They said that there were always children who were worse off than my brother and I. And as much as I wanted to believe the words my parents spoke, I could not. There could not be possibly any black boy, any boy for that matter, who was worse off than me right now. Because on Christmas morning, when I raced past my brother to where the large, powdered Christmas tree stood, there were plenty of gifts. But what did I discover when I began to rip gift wrapping and tear boxes open? There was no friggin GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip!!! My eyes were wringing out tears, which my parents mistook for joyful droplets, and I let them believe that. I didn’t want to spoil it for my brother who was having a ball switching back and forth between the gifts he had sprawled out in front of him. No, I wasn’t that selfish, even though I was that angry. In that moment, I knew what hatred was and who the object of it would be. I swore that I would never write another letter, acknowledge the existence of, let my sleeping pattern be dictated by, or ever put cookies and milk out for him. But more than that, I was going to get even with Santa Claus for ruining my Christmas and all the ones that would follow. Yes, I had set my mind and heart to it. Santa was going to die, and I was going to be the boy that did it.
Walking in the Evergreen Plaza Mall with my girlfriend Tabitha, I watched the long line forming where the Footlocker was down several stores past the Garrett’s Gourmet Popcorn Shop ending at the center of the mall. I wondered what the reason for this long line was, and simultaneously, this very thought was answered aloud by Tabitha. Her words changed the smile that had been on my face and sent violent chills throughout my body.
“Look Baby, all those kids are waiting to see Santa. Isn’t that great?” She continued, “Hun, what do you want from Santa? You can tell me because your secret is safe.”
Why did she have to point that man out to me? Why did she have to ask what I wanted, rather, still wanted decades later after the Christmas debacle? Why did he have to be at this mall at the same time Tabitha and I were here? But the most important question was not why I still hated Santa Claus. No, that wasn’t it. What was I going to do about the searing sensation that inhabited my heart at the very mention of his name? As I led Tabitha away from where HE was, the answer became solid in my thoughts and would consume me going forward. Yes, that was it!!!
As soon as we arrived at Tabitha’s Lake Meadows’ apartment, I told her I needed space. This relationship of a little over a year was moving faster than I wanted to, is what I told her. Tabitha asked the normal questions of whether there was someone else, was I dying, etc., and so forth. And I gave her the obligatory answers. She slapped my face and sobbed uncontrollably as she exited the car without closing the door. It was all for the best because she would never understand my mission. Hell, I didn’t understand it, but it had to be done!! I was going to murder Santa Claus. And with that thought taking center stage in my thoughts, I smiled and drove home.
There is no point on the map that says North Pole. To a lot of people, neither this place nor the individual I am searching for even exist. But they do, and I was going to find them. The legend goes that somewhere in Anchorage, Alaska, there was a point of an enormous mountain, and there were a series of caves that led to a lengthy tunnel where his hideout was. Th
is information came after frequenting several seedy bars, spending thousands of dollars on drinks, and listening to ten times that many stories of good ole Saint Nick until some of the tales started to sound similar. Yes, this was a long shot. But I was a grown man who harbored intense hatred for a mythical figure. I had absolutely not a darn thing to lose, so off I went.
The flight from Chicago to Anchorage, Alaska was close to seven and a half hours. The journey after would be longer and more treacherous. A stretch of caves, I estimated were the distance from Chicago to downtown Detroit, were my first hurdle to overcome. Then, as dehydration, exhaustion, and frostbite tried to overtake my body, I fell down a hole that seemed to have no end. My ankle was broken, fractured, or maybe severely sprained. Everything was spinning. My mouth tasted like cotton, and my stomach roared like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Somehow though, I continued. If the journey had been any farther than it ended up being, I would have been done for. Thank goodness, the proverbial light was real and at the end of the tunnel. A mansion of Dynasty or MTV Cribs worthiness beamed with an aura of extreme wealth. Literally, I covered my eyes to shield them from being blinded. This could not possibly be the home of the evil Santa Claus!! Wait a minute!! Yeah, it could. It really could. All of that nonsense about him loving children, spreading holiday cheer, and being a great guy was all malarkey. Now, I didn’t feel so bad about what I had to do. Actually, it would be a great service to all the children who sit at home writing lists and letters, being good for goodness sake, putting out chocolate chip cookies and milk, and then waking early only to find that they didn’t get a GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip. Hell Yeah!! Santa, you’re about to be mine. As I walked towards the mansion, a pack of what looked like rabid reindeer attacked me. The battle was vicious and taxing on my already fatigued frame. Though I was able to fend them off, I sustained a horrible bite to my left bicep that bled profusely. I remember nothing after that, but I believe the following occurred.
*****
Dashing thru the snow (it was more like fleeing), they were right behind me. This Christmas was supposed to be different, but this is the way it turned out. I had travelled miles that encompassed half a major city’s blocks, but there would be no resting or taking a breath. Those were luxuries I would have to do without. Fatigue and delirium were winning against my tenacity, so finally, and reluctantly, I give my escape a pause. I saw the elves appear in the near distance, so I renewed my sprinter’s marathon. I could never let them catch me because this Christmas was to be the Christmas I murdered Santa Claus! Hours ago, the wintry wind whirled thru the air like a cracking whip. Though the Vaseline was heavily placed on my lips, it did not stop the cracking and bleeding. I wore special hiking boots on my feet to keep me from falling and incurring a fatal slip. Fearing fate would not be on my side, I felt both sides of my snowsuit begin to rip. Elves were asleep all over the workshop; it was obvious they had partied too hard. This scene reassured me that my mission’s fruition was on the cards.
It figures that he was sitting there drinking brandy, feasting on a giant ham that was covered with pineapples and lard. He looked up and saw me, but gave no response as I emptied my gun, so not one bullet would I discard. I smiled with satisfaction, tucked the gun, and ran towards the hills without pause. Because a little black boy never got a G.I. Joe with Kung Fu Grip, a black man murdered Santa Claus.
I ran for twenty-five hours, but wouldn’t make twenty-six. I came upon a high snow wall that wasn’t there before, and I was out of escape tricks. Cornered in all directions, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t fall. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head, my fists both balled. The tallest of the elves with a helium-sounding voice screamed, “Do you realize what you’ve done?!!” He pointed to the thousand elves that surrounded me, letting me know that there was really nowhere to run. I sighed; he did the same. A revelation from his mouth was the next thing that came. He said, “Santa wasn’t really Santa or St. Nick, but the Fallen Angel was his name!” My shock was palpable after the giant elf made this unholy claim. On behalf of all the elves, he thanked me vigorously, and each of the thousand told me, “You’ll never know what you gave us.” Before they departed, and me leaving with my life, the large elf told me that they sold their souls to the devil to be taller, “so you truly saved us!!”
THE END
© 2013 G.P.A
Secret Santa
By
Madhu Kalyan Mattaparthi
Music filtered softly through the house as a candle flickered on the mantle, casting shadows on the wall. Stockings hung flat along the wall, empty of toys and treats. A small Christmas tree sat in a corner, looking barren and sad with no toys hiding beneath the low hanging branches. There were misshapen cookies resting on a plate, alongside a a glass of milk and a note addressed to Santa. A strand of lights flickered along the staircase, casting soft rays of blue, green, red, and yellow. The rest of the house was dark, save for a single light upstairs, where a shadow could be seen pacing in front of the window despite the lateness of the hour.
***
Kim came to a stop before the window. Staring out at the snow covered yard, she sighed. Pulling her robe more tightly around herself, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her lips turned into a frown and her brows pressed together. Her mind was racing with thoughts and worries, making sleep impossible. The night was slipping past Christmas Eve right into Christmas morning, a time where kids expected a bounty of toys and presents. Her children, however, would not have such a morning.
Money had been very tight lately and they were barely managing to slip by on Kim's bi-weekly pay check. This year had been especially rough, with lay-offs at the office and bills stacking up. Jessica needed a new fencing outfit, having outgrown the original starter set given by the coach upon signing up for classes. Dustin needed a new bow and quiver, having made the choice to transition from a short bow to a long bow, wanting a new challenge. Between the bills for food, electricity, heat, water, cable, phones and mortgage, Kim could occasionally afford to buy her kids some new clothing but rarely anything more. She was proud to be able to provide for her kids though, having always done her best to make sure they were well fed and clothed with a roof over their heads.
Kim stared out the window, wishing she had more money, wanting nothing more than to shower her kids with presents. They'd been so understanding and patient this year, never complaining about not being able to get the latest games or phones. It filled her with pride while breaking her heart. Kim chewed her lip as she walked towards the closet. Maybe she couldn't afford to buy a ton of presents, but she had made sure that her kids would get something. She pulled open the closet door and took out two packages; one addressed to Jessica and the other addressed to Dustin. They were both wrapped in silver-white paper.
She placed the packages on the bed, before searching for bows to place on them. She found a light blue bow, removed the sticky tape, and pushed it onto Jessica's present. She looked again and came up with an emerald green ribbon, which she placed on Dustin's present. Kim picked up the cards, that were sitting on the dresser, and placed them on top of the packages. Holding the two silver-white parcels in her arms, she walked down the hallway and crept quietly down the stairs towards the tree. She placed the packages on the couch, before taking the cards and pushing them into the top of the stockings. She then pushed the two presents beneath the tree, making sure they could be seen at first glance.
Kim sat down on the couch and watched the candle flicker. She knew how important the fencing outfit was for Jessica and how much Dustin wanted the new bow. To make sure she could afford to get her kids these things, she'd sold her mother’s watch. It was something she'd cherished, a piece of the beloved woman who had died early in Kim's young life. As special as it was, she had gone out earlier in the week and sold the jewellery to pay for the very presents she'd just placed beneath the tree; she wanted to do everything possible to make her children smile.
<
br /> Kim wiped at a stray tear, while staring at the flame of the candle as it ate away the wax. The scraping of a branch against the window jarred her and she straightened, pushing the couch cushions back into place. She walked to the mantle and blew on the candle, extinguishing the flame. Kim then headed back upstairs. Walking down the hall, in the opposite direction of her room, she stopped in front of the first door and slowly turned the knob to peek into the room. A loud grunting snore greeted her, the tousled blonde hair of her thirteen year old son Dustin was just visible on the pillow. She smiled gently and eased the door shut again. Kim walked a few steps further down the hall and stopped in front of her nine and a half year old daughter’s room. Kim turned the knob gently and eased the door open. The dim light from a Reindeer shaped night light welcomed her and she gazed gently at the peaceful face of Jessica. Kim walked quietly into the room. She pulled the scattered sheets up over Jessica's limp form and softly smoothed Jessica's hair, before slipping out of the room and closing the door quietly behind her.
The sight of her children sleeping so peacefully erased the sting of loss she felt over the watch and a smiled slipped over Kim's face. She would give up anything to make sure her kids were happy. She walked down the hall to her room and glanced at the clock, it was now four in the morning. She'd spent the entire night awake, worried and wondering about how to make sure this Christmas was special. Kim covered a yawn and stood in the doorway of her room. Not sure what to do now that everything was in place, she decided to finish the mystery novel she had been reading. Slipping into bed, she pulled the book out of the night-stand and opened it to the page she had last read. Settling down, she began to read.
Plink. Plink. Plink!
Kim shifted within the warmth of her blanket, wishing it would stop hailing.
Plink. Plink. Plink!
Kim groaned and peeked out from beneath the blanket. Through blurred vision, she stared hard at the window as her mind slowly realized that there was nothing but a clear, night sky beyond the glass. There was no hail or rain tapping at the window, she frowned, sitting up in bed.
Yuletide Tales A Festive Collective Page 11
