The 13th Day of Christmas

by Jason F. Wright

  “That’s nice,” she breathed. “What does it mean?”

  “It means stories are really, really important.”

  Charlee pictured her dad wearing it and said, “I hope Dad wears it a lot.”

  Miss Marva agreed and let the silence hang before continuing. “So, Charlee, I need to talk to you about my wheelchair.”

  “Have you talked to a doctor? I have one you could talk to.”

  Miss Marva smiled and shifted in her chair. Then she rolled herself a little closer to Charlee’s bed. “That’s why I’m here, Charlee. I’ve been talking to doctors for a few days now.”

  Charlee instantly felt at least five more questions rise to her tongue, but she held her breath and let Miss Marva continue.

  “I’m sick, Charlee. I have been for a while, they think, and it’s a little bit like what you’ve had.”

  “Cancer?”

  Marva looked away and out the window into the hallway a moment before turning back and connecting with Charlee’s eyes. “Yes, Charlee. Cancer.”

  “Is it a tumor? Like mine? It’s gone, they said.”

  “I know, and that’s the greatest news ever. But it’s not quite like yours, no. Mine is bigger, and more spread out.”

  “Where?”

  “Well, it’s in my pancreas. Have you heard of that?”

  Charlee shook her head.

  “It’s by my stomach. Right next door.”

  “In the same neighborhood,” Charlee offered more as an observation than a question. “The way we’re neighbors.”

  “That’s right.”

  Charlee remained quiet, studying Miss Marva’s face, hospital gown, and unusually messy hair. “So they’ll take it out, like they did mine, and you’ll go home.”

  “I wish they could, sweetheart, but it’s not that easy in my case.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think because . . . I think it’s bigger than yours.”

  “The tumor?”

  “That’s right. It’s much bigger than the one they removed from you.”

  “Can they make two trips?”

  Marva smiled, but Charlee noticed that her laugh didn’t follow the way it always had.

  “I’m afraid not, Charlee. Mine is the kind that starts in one place, but grows to lots of others. No matter how much you want it to stop, it just grows until it’s in a lot of places.”

  “Like weeds,” Charlee said. And her mind went from her drab hospital room to the green and yellow field between the edge of Miss Marva’s yard and her own. Charlee looked at Miss Marva’s blotchy hands and ran her small fingers over the mud-pie colored patches.

  “You’re very, very bright, Charlee Alexander. Yes, like weeds. It’s growing in me like weeds that can’t be pulled or killed. There are just too many in the field, and they’ve been growing for a long time. We just didn’t know it.”

  Charlee noticed her mother standing just outside the door looking in through the small window, and even from across the room, she could see her mother’s cheeks were wet. She looked back at Miss Marva to find her cheeks were wet, too.

  “Are you going to die, Miss Marva?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, Charlee used the silence to pull a tissue from the box on the side table and press it against Marva’s cheek. She asked again, “Are you going to die?”

  Miss Marva breathed in deeply but did not look away. “Yes.”

  The word brought tears to Charlee’s tired eyes and soon her cheeks were wet, too. She lay her head down and let the tears run down her nose to her lips and chin. “Miss Marva?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Am I going to die, too?”

  December 21

  On the 8th Day of Christmas

  my true love sent to me:

  Eight Maids a-Milking

  Dear Charlee:

  We know you might be feeling extra sick right now, but we’re thinking of you, and we hope you can’t wait each day for your next verse and gift. We love sharing them with you!

  Okay, are you sitting down for this one? You better be because this story is pretty amazing.

  We’d been working hard for a long time when we woke up one day and realized we needed a vacation. We debated for a long time about where to go. Disneyland? The mountains? Mars? There were so many options.

  Then the kids suggested London, England. Of course! We checked into a hotel and had a wonderful week seeing the sights. Every night we’d come back to the hotel and couldn’t believe what an amazing job the maids had done.

  No matter how messy we were, they always made the room look brand-new and spotless. They were the hardest-working maids we’d ever seen.

  We were so impressed with these eight talented maids that we decided to write them into the song. The verse was meant to be, “On the 8th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, eight maids a-cleaning.” We sang it all the time.

  When the day arrived to check out of the hotel, we made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. We would show them the world if they would serve as our official Eight Maids in the song.

  They agreed!

  We put the maids in the sleigh and headed out of town.

  Here comes the good news and bad news. The good news is that we picked up a cow in Nebraska to save money on milk. (You wouldn’t believe how much milk the kids go through!)

  The bad news is that we sat the maids and the cow next to each other in the sleigh. Wouldn’t you know it, those Eight Maids got right to work and milked for so long and so sweetly that the cows started to make caramels instead of milk! It wasn’t a miracle—it was a milkacle!

  We had no choice but to change the song.

  So tonight you get eight Milk Maid Caramels. They won’t do much cleaning, or milking for that matter, but they sure taste good if you unwrap and eat them.

  Happy 8th Day of Christmas!

  The Traveling Elves

  23

  Neighbors

  Marva made her pitch to every nurse, doctor, and janitor who would listen. There was no reason she couldn’t move to the pediatric wing and be closer to Charlee, and she didn’t care how unusual the request was.

  “You can move me, or I can move myself,” she told the chief oncologist. “I’ve been up there, and I know there’s at least one empty room.” When the doctor hesitated, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Put me in it.”

  He did.

  Later, when Marva was settled across the hall from Charlee in a room with clouds on the ceiling and ponies on the wall, she sent for the doctor and apologized for her brashness.

  On her first day as Charlee’s neighbor at Woodbrook Mercy Hospital, despite feeling more fatigued than she had the day she collapsed at home, Marva insisted on lunch in Charlee’s room. The nurse obliged, but only on the conditions that Marva wear a mask when she wasn’t eating and that Charlee’s parents agreed to the idea.

  They did, and an attendant rolled Marva into Charlee’s room.

  “Have lunch with me today?” Marva asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How are you?”

  “Tired.”

  “Me, too. You’re not eating today, Charlee?”

  Charlee pointed to her IV bag.

  “I see.”

  Marva slumped slightly in her chair and watched her frail friend clutch Melvin and drift in and out. “How about I do most of the talking today?”

  Charlee nodded.

  “All right. Let’s see . . .” Marva surveyed the room. “Did you get your 12 Days gift today yet?”

  Charlee shook her head, no.

  “What day of Christmas is it? The 8th? The 9th?”

  Charlee nodded.

  “Do you know yet who your elf friends are?”

  Charlee lifted Melvin’s finger and pointed at Marva.
<
br />   “Nope, I’m not writing those letters, Charlee. It’s not me.”

  Marva couldn’t tell if Charlee looked confused, disappointed, or simply too hazy-eyed from the medication. “Let’s see, day nine is the ladies dancing, right? I wonder what’s coming.” Marva wanted to smile, but was deeply discouraged at how much energy it took to even finish a sentence. “I should come back.”

  Charlee shook her head again.

  “But you look so tired today, Charlee.”

  No response.

  “Truth is, I’m tired too. More tests . . . More doctors . . . More of everything.” Marva took a beat. “Oh, Charlee, I wish I could be as brave as you’ve been. I just don’t know how you’ve done it. . . . You’re quite a courageous young lady, you know that?”

  Charlee’s mouth grew into a half-grin that threatened to become a full smile.

  “It’s true, Charlee, you’ve just been so brave. So. Brave.”

  Then came the wide smile.

  “There’s the smile. . . . Now, do you know what you want for Christmas?”

  Charlee’s smile softened. “Uh-huh.”

  “What?”

  “I want us to be home for Christmas.”

  “My. Surely you want something else, too?”

  Charlee hesitated and closed her eyes before opening them halfway. “Mostly that,” she whispered.

  Marva watched Charlee drift off to sleep. During her short nap, and despite having no appetite, she ate a cup of raspberry gelatin and a piece of wheat toast to avoid the crusty looks she’d get from her own team of nurses.

  Marva valiantly fought the blue visions of sad memories, but as Charlee slept, she couldn’t avoid seeing again the final moments of her husband’s life. She’d been there in his room for the death rattle. She’d been there when, on three separate occasions, John had called out the names of loved ones who’d already passed on, as if waiting for one of them to escort him across a bridge only they could see. Marva had been there when the race slowed to a peaceful march and then, finally, to a quiet tiptoe home to heaven.

  Marva had thought of John as perpetually young. But at fifty years old, he was a veteran of marriage and fatherhood and a career. He’d lived through everything cancer was threatening to keep from Charlee.

  The thought made Marva angry, and whatever appetite she had left for cold toast and warm gelatin vanished. She pulled her mask over her mouth and took a deep breath. She looked at Charlee’s IV and considered her infection a prison, blocking a full, happy life out of spite and nothing more. There was no just cause, no rightful reason except randomness and the statistics that refused to lie. The feeling made Marva nauseous.

  Marva imagined a funeral for the little girl; then she erased the picture. She saw 27 Homes without Charlee trying to befriend ornery neighbors or porch wavers; then she swallowed those thoughts like painful horse pills.

  She closed her eyes and saw her son, J.R., on a field she never actually saw, in a country she never visited in person, in a war she never understood. He was young, bleeding, and sending his last letter home on the only piece of paper he could find.

  Marva leaned forward and stroked Charlee’s pale arm. For the first time since Black Friday, Marva realized that she’d lost her best friend not once, but twice.

  Charlee would make three.

  December 22

  On the 9th Day of Christmas

  my true love sent to me:

  Nine Ladies Dancing

  Dear Charlee:

  This is a heart-wrenching story, but if you are patient—in the end—you will be blessed with a story of faith, hope, and perseverance.

  It all started in 1954. Walt Disney was making preparations for the release of Lady and the Tramp. Have you seen it?

  The animation was complete and casting had begun for the part of Lady. Dogs from all over California were summoned to an audition in LA by canine super-agent Harry Schnauzer. (Side note: Schnauzer went on to represent Lassie, Benji, ALF, and the alien from E.T.)

  The mood was tense as one by one the dogs sang and danced for the team of directors and producers. One lucky pooch was on the verge of fame and fortune, and eight other dogs would be cast in supporting roles.

  It came down to ten finalists and a dancing competition to determine who would play the part opposite the Tramp and who would earn the smaller roles.

  The competition was fierce. Hair flew and drool puddled in all corners of the dance studio. Panting could be heard as far away as San Diego!

  But in the end, one dog came through as the clear choice. She was cast on the spot and would become a leading lady legend. Eight others were cast. But one—just one—was sent home empty-pawed.

  Her dreams were dashed.

  In a quirk of fate, on this same afternoon, the family and I were walking down Rodeo Drive. We rounded a corner to find this one puppy, this one wannabe Lady, sitting on the curb watching the cars dash by. We offered to buy her a cupcake and listen to her woes.

  Then came the miracle. My dear sensitive wife, in a stroke of genius, explained that we were casting our own project and needed a dancing Lady of our own. We asked, “Would you like to join us?”

  She barked, “Yes!”

  We sang the ninth verse of our song for her and she loved it! Even more, she was honored to represent all nine ladies dancing.

  So tonight, we present you with this stuffed pooch—the finest lady ever—the one who represents all nine!

  Happy 9th Day of Christmas!

  The Traveling Elves

  24

  Talkies, but Not Walkies

  Charlee felt more awake than she had in days. She picked up the phone by her bed and dialed Miss Marva’s room across the hall.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Miss Marva?”

  “Speaking. Is this Zach?”

  “No.” Charlee giggled.

  “Oh, Mr. Alexander?”

  “No!”

  “Emily?”

  “Warmer!”

  “Then it can only be . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Melvin, how are you?”

  “Colder, colder! It’s Charlee. You knew it was me, didn’t you?”

  “My. I suppose I did. Yes. And don’t you sound chipper today.”

  “I do?”

  “You sure do.”

  “Do you feel chipper today, Miss Marva? I thought you were going to visit me today.”

  “I was, sweetheart, but the doctor said I’m too weak to leave my room today. I’m not quite as chipper as you, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My. Don’t be sorry. It’s all right. I’ll be just fine.”

  Charlee switched the phone to her other ear and rolled over in bed so she was facing Marva’s room. “I miss our walkie-talkies.”

  “Me too. Those were fun, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah. The phone isn’t as fun. Plus we can’t really walk.”

  “But we can still talk, right, Charlee?”

  “Yeah. I guess they’re talkies, but not walkies.”

  Charlee heard Miss Marva laugh through the phone, and even though she couldn’t see the matching smile, the sound made her happy.

  “Guess who visited me today?” Miss Marva asked.

  “Who?”

  “Zach.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes, he came over after he left your room with your mom.”

  “That was nice.”

  “It sure was. He visits me a lot, you know.”

  “He does?”

  “Sure. He’s even been running errands for me, like my own messenger. He’s brought me some things from home and checked my mail. He’s been very helpful and one of my very best visitors.”

  “That’s nice. He visits me a lot, too.”


  “Well, of course he does, Charlee, he loves you. You know how much he loves you?”

  “I think so.”

  “He does. Even when he visits me, all he talks about is you.”

  Charlee smiled. “I had another visitor, too. Nurse Becky. She was my nurse before—after my operation—but she still checks on me even though she said I’m not in her department anymore.”

  “My. That’s so sweet.”

  “Uh-huh. She said she told her bosses that she wanted to still work with me, and they said I could still be one of hers, even if I wasn’t like an official patient.”

  “She sounds nice. I’d like to meet her sometime.” The line went silent before Marva continued. “Where’s your mom right now, sweetheart?”

  “She went with my dad to talk to the doctor a while ago.”

  “That’s good. Your dad isn’t working today?”

  “No, his new work said he didn’t have to come back until after January and that he could call first.”

  Charlee wondered why Miss Marva took so long to reply. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m just so happy that you sound better today. You sound like your old Charlee.”

  “Mom says I slept good last night and that helps me feel better.”

  “She’s right, as always.”

  Charlee took a sip of juice from her leftover lunch. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I got a cute stuffed puppy dog for the 9th Day of Christmas.”

  “A puppy?” Miss Marva said. “I thought it was ladies dancing?”

  “It is.” Charlee snickered. “I’ll show you the letter when you visit me.”

  “My. Now I’ll have to come see you.”

  “Yep.”

  The two friends stayed quiet a moment, and Charlee wondered just how long it would be until Marva was able to come back across the hall, but she decided not to bother her with asking. Plus, she didn’t want to jinx their luck. It had been bad enough already.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the Days of Christmas so much, Charlee. Someone must really love you.”

  “Do you think I’ll ever find out who the elves are?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I suppose if it’s meant to be, you will. But sometimes keeping things like this a secret is part of the fun.”