The Christmas Violin

by Buffy Andrews

  The old woman did something she never did. She spoke. “Thank you.”

  Big Feet’s eyes widened. He blinked. “Lordy me. Ain’t never thought I’d hear you talk.” He laughed. “Must be a good day.”

  The old woman nodded. She said more than she intended to. Her next words she was saving for Charlie. He wasn’t at the door when she arrived, but she knew he’d be sure to see her off. And she wanted to thank him, too. Two thank-yous in one day were plenty, she thought. That was more than she had said to anyone at the soup kitchen in all of the decades she had been going there.

  She ate slowly, enjoying the scrambled eggs and home fries slathered in ketchup. She wrapped four pieces of the bacon in a napkin and stuffed the pouch into her pocket. She ate the other two, taking tiny bites and sucking all the juice out of each bite before swallowing.

  Her hand shook as she spread butter on her toast. She stared out the window, lost in her thoughts, thinking maybe she would go to the park and sit on a swing. When she was a child, swinging was her favorite thing to do. She’d go to the park, which wasn’t far from her house, and swing as high as she could. For a few moments she was free, flying away from all the bad stuff in her life. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been on a swing. Or the last time she felt free.

  Peter

  Peter stared at the shirts hanging in his closet. He couldn’t decide between a button-down oxford and a more casual polo shirt. He laughed at himself. He couldn’t believe he was worrying about what to wear. He picked the tan striped polo and brown slacks.

  He looked into the mirror, making sure there was no hair coming out of his nose. He smiled. He had never worried about hair peeking out of his nostrils until Camilla noticed it one day. They were getting ready for work, standing side by side at the bathroom vanity.

  Camilla was making funny faces in the mirror and he was making funny faces back.

  “You’ve got hair coming out of your nose,” she laughed.

  He leaned closer to the mirror.

  Camilla put her hand on his shoulder. “Here, let me trim them. I’ll check your ears, too. I hate when guys have hair coming out of their ears.”

  “We’re like two monkeys,” Peter said.

  Camilla laughed. “Well, there’s no way I’m letting you groom me.”

  Peter smirked. “Don’t trust me?”

  “Exactly,” Camilla laughed.

  Peter shook his head. Would it always be like this? he wondered. Would moments from the past always pop into his mind when he was trying to move on? It’s not that he wanted to forget the past. But it was tough to concentrate on the present when the past kept showing up, reminding him of what he had lost.

  He popped another breath mint into his mouth. By the end of the ten-minute drive to Willow’s house, he had eaten half the roll. He pulled into the driveway and glanced one last time in the rear-view mirror. No hair. Good.

  By the time he got to the front door, Willow already had it opened.

  “Want to come in for a drink?” she asked.

  Peter smiled and nodded. She looked more beautiful every time he saw her. She wore strappy heels and a black dress that hugged her curvy figure. Her hair hung in waves around her narrow neck. For a second he imagined kissing her jaw line, her hair falling over him as he did.

  Willow

  “Mom, it’s no big deal. It’s just someone I met at the cemetery.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Willow’s mom said. “Who meets someone at the cemetery?”

  Willow told her mom about the date during their daily afternoon phone call. As soon as she did, she wished she hadn’t. Her mom always had a million questions.

  “Yes, he’s a widower.”

  “Yes, that’s why he was at the cemetery.”

  “No, I don’t know what his wife died of.”

  “I don’t think he has any kids but I didn’t ask.”

  “I don’t know if he makes lots of money.”

  “Yes, he’s good looking.”

  “Mom, it’s just a date. It’s not like I’m going to marry the guy.”

  By the time Willow got off the phone with her mom she felt like she had been interrogated by the CIA. But it also reminded her how little she knew about Peter.

  Oscar had texted her earlier, asking if they could connect the next day. He had a family emergency that he had to attend to. Willow breathed a sigh of relief. She had hoped by the time she and Oscar talked that she would have made a decision about her career, but she was still waffling, still looking for a sign.

  She spotted the bag containing the plastic pumpkin she had brought home from the cemetery and carted it to the basement to store. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the box containing her artificial Christmas tree. It was in the far corner, with the box containing Luke’s electric train sitting on top.

  The last time Willow had put up the tree was the Christmas before Luke died. She used to decorate the entire house for Christmas: red candles and wreaths and garlands and snowmen. By the time she was finished decorating, the house looked like Santa’s headquarters. Luke had loved it. But that was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. And Christmas hadn’t been happy since.

  Willow looked in the mirror, turning around. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to squeeze into the black dress, but she hadn’t gained as much weight as she feared. She heard a car pull into the driveway and looked out her bedroom window. Peter was here. Her heart jumped, and she felt the strange tingling she had felt earlier when she saw him in the cemetery.

  The Old Woman

  The park was empty and the old woman breathed a sigh of relief. She figured she’d have the playground to herself until mid-afternoon, when the school kids would infiltrate and take over the slides and swings.

  She pushed her metal cart toward the towering metal swing set. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sit on the swing, which reminded her of a piece of a rubber tire. Back in the day, swings were made from wooden planks that were sturdy enough to hold even the biggest man. And more than six inches wide! she thought.

  Using her metal cart for support, she lowered herself onto the black belt swing. She wiggled, trying to get comfortable. A smile crawled onto her face. The chilly breeze tickled her nose. She rocked ever so slightly to and fro.

  A flicker of a longing grew into a flame and she did something she never would have imagined she’d do. She nudged her cart off to the side and starting swinging. She didn’t go very high, but high enough that her tummy tickled. She curled her legs toward her butt when she went forward and leaned back with her legs out when she went backward. She even laughed a little. She had forgotten what her laughter sounded like.

  When the swing stopped, the old woman closed her eyes. She wanted to remember this swing day forever. She was six again. There were no voices. Only mean people.

  Peter

  Peter sat on the leather sofa and Willow handed him a beer. She’d picked up a six-pack on the way home from the cemetery just in case he preferred beer over wine. She always had plenty of wine.

  Peter smiled. “Tastes even better in a frosted mug. Thanks.”

  Willow smiled and sat down next to him. He could smell a hint of lavender.

  “Is that your son?” Peter asked, pointing to a grouping of frames sitting on the cherry end table.

  Willow picked up one of the frames and nodded. “His name is Luke.”

  As soon as Peter asked, he’d wished he hadn’t. Willow’s eyes immediately became glassy.

  Peter shifted on the couch. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No. No. It’s all right. You weren’t prying. I mean, obviously it’s why I go to the cemetery every day.”

  Willow put the frame back on the table.

  “Tell me about him,” Peter said. “I mean, if you want to.”

  Willow took a sip of her wine. “You first. Why don’t you tell me about your wife?”

  Usually when Peter shared his Camilla story, he went on autopilot, but not this time. He
took his time and explained how Camilla was a journalist and how she got terrible headaches and how the headaches got worse and how she ended up one morning in the hospital because her head hurt so badly. That’s when they found the brain tumor. They operated and Camilla endured radiation and chemotherapy only to learn less than a year later that the cancer had spread.

  Willow focused on Peter as he told his story. She could hear not only the sadness in his voice but also the love he had for his wife.

  “And so, like you, I go to the cemetery every day. Just so hard to let go, you know? And move on.” Tears pooled in his dark eyes and one slid down his cheek.

  Willow grabbed the box of tissues from the coffee table and handed them to him.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be such a downer.”

  “You aren’t a downer. I get you. Sometimes life sucks.”

  “Can you tell me what happened to Luke?” Peter asked.

  Willow

  Willow looked at the menu, which was encased in a leather binder. “Thanks for suggesting this restaurant. The menu looks delicious.”

  Peter nodded. “The toughest part is choosing. Everything on the menu is excellent. Trust me; I’ve had it all.”

  The waiter, tall and lean with a bald head and mustache, came to their table. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”

  Peter looked at Willow. “I think we’re ready.”

  Willow ordered chicken parmesan and Peter ordered penne a la vodka with scallops.

  “Good choices,” said the waiter, committing it to memory instead of writing it down. He turned to Willow. “May I get you more wine, Miss?”

  Willow put her hand over her wine glass. “Not right now, thank you.”

  Peter looked around the restaurant. There were no empty tables. He was happy he and Willow were seated in a corner. It was more intimate and quiet.

  “So we talked about Luke and Camilla,” Willow said. “Tell me about you.”

  “You first. I went first the last time.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Well, you already know I play the violin.”

  Peter smiled. “It’s what led me to you. If I hadn’t heard the lullaby in the cemetery, I wouldn’t have followed the music to see where it was coming from. It’s a beautiful song.”

  Willow finished the last of her wine. “Thanks. I wrote it when I was carrying Luke.”

  Willow had told Peter about Luke at the house, the story tumbling out of her in starts and stops. But she hadn’t gone into any detail about her career or shared how much she had been struggling with it until now.

  “My manager, Oscar, is losing patience with me,” Willow said. “He tells me I need to get back to the world stage.”

  Peter took a sip of his beer and stared at Willow, trying to decide whether to share what was on his mind. “Willow, don’t take this wrong. I know it’s none of my business. But you have a gift, a gift that was meant to be shared. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up over what happened to Luke. You weren’t any more responsible for his death than I was for Camilla’s. You were right when you said earlier that sometimes life sucks. But you’ve got to start living.”

  “What about you?” Willow asked.

  Peter nodded. “That’s fair. I haven’t been good about living either. But I’m trying. I decided to branch out on my own. That’s something I never would have done a year ago. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget Camilla, but it means that I’m ready to move on. It’s why I asked you out.”

  Willow could feel her face heat up. What was it about Peter that made her feel as though they had known one another forever? She felt as though she could tell him anything. There was a tingling in her chest, and it frightened and thrilled her at the same time.

  The Old Woman

  By the time the old woman got back to the cemetery, the better part of the day was gone. It had been a good day, laced with happy moments that tickled her heart. The woman who played the violin was back. The Christmas tree was back. Big Feet had saved her six pieces of bacon, and she got to swing. Swing, like she did when she was six.

  She already planned to celebrate with a feast in the shed before putting her surprise on the tree. She licked her chapped lips just thinking about it. The four pieces of bacon Big Feet saved her. A box of dry cereal and a pack of saltines spread with the Cheez Whiz she found in the trash. But when she opened the shed door, she found something even better. Sitting on top of a small plastic end table was a container of soup, a roll in a plastic baggie and a bottle of water. The old woman’s hand shook as she felt the side of the container. It was still warm.

  She eased herself down into the lawn chair the caretaker had put in the shed years ago and picked up the container with both hands. She didn’t use the plastic spoon that was left next to the container but sipped it. It was chicken noodle, her favorite.

  She pulled out the bundle of bacon she had stashed inside her pocket and ripped the roll apart, making a bacon sandwich. It was one of the best meals she had had in a long time, and she was grateful that she had the caretaker’s sympathy.

  Funny how some strangers are your best friends, she thought. Big Feet. Charlie. The caretaker. She smiled just thinking about them.

  She was too full to eat the dry cereal or Cheez Whiz and crackers. No matter, she would have them another night.

  When she was done, she shuffled over to where she kept her prized stash and picked up the shoebox. She opened it and took out the ornaments, one at a time. She couldn’t decide if she should put one ornament on the tree at a time or all of them at once. Maybe all at once would be too much, she thought. There were a couple dozen of them. But she’d see how they looked.

  The old woman still remembered the chilly night she found them in the trash. It was cold and she almost didn’t go trashing that night, but she needed soap. Most rich folks threw out bars of soap when they still had plenty of cleaning left in them.

  She never understood how they could trash something that still had so much life left. Well, it was good for her they did. It’s why she found the good stuff she found. Folks who had lots didn’t like “little” or “nearly empty” or “almost gone” stuff. She found plenty of “crumbs” in chip bags and cereal boxes.

  She picked up the plastic gold violin by the metal hanger. The glitter sparkled as it twisted in the air. She looked at the writing on the back. It was the first ornament she had pulled out of the trash, and she had decided that it would be the first one she put on the tree.

  She laid it on the floor and picked up another one. This one was hand-carved out of pine wood.

  She looked at every ornament in the box, thanking God each time she held another one up that she had found the perfect gift for the young woman who played the violin for her dead son every morning.

  She put all of the ornaments back into the box and put the box into her cart. Then she got up and opened the shed door and looked out. The sun was slipping lower in the sky and she wanted to put the ornament on the tree and get back inside the shed before it got too dark. It had been a perfect day and she wanted it to end that way.

  Peter

  Peter walked Willow to her front door. He noticed the white porch swing and thought it was probably the perfect place to read a book.

  Peter wanted to kiss Willow but he wasn’t sure if he should. He didn’t want to scare her away. The night had gone quickly and he learned a lot about Willow, and he liked what he had learned. Even the bad stuff, as she called it, wasn’t so bad.

  “I had a wonderful time,” he said. “I hope we can do this again.”

  Willow smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear. “Me, too. I hope my life story didn’t bore you.”

  Peter shook his head. “Not at all. It was fascinating. You’re fascinating.”

  Willow looked down at the porch and Peter put his hand under her chin and lifted her head. “Thank you for tonight.” He stared into her eyes, which seemed to beckon him with need and desire.

 
Before either of them knew it their lips had touched. Peter could feel the hunger in her lips as they pressed against his and opened for more. He followed her lead.

  “I should go,” said Willow, pulling away before she got too lost in her desire.

  “How about tomorrow night?” Peter asked.

  Willow smiled. “I’d like that. But this time, why don’t I cook dinner for you. I make a mean frozen pizza.”

  Peter laughed. “Better yet, I’ll bring one from this place I know that makes incredible pies.”

  “What? Better than frozen?”

  Peter laughed. “What time?”

  “Seven,” Willow said. “And if you bring the pizza, I’ll make the dessert.”

  “Will it be frozen, too?”

  Willow hit Peter playfully on the arm. “No. I can bake, just not cook.”

  Peter waited for Willow to open the door before turning to walk to his car, feeling like he was seventeen again.

  Willow

  Willow pulled back the curtain in the living room and watched Peter get into his car and drive away. As soon as Max heard Willow come home, he was by her side. She picked him up and scratched his head.

  “I like him, Max,” Willow said.

  Max whimpered.

  Willow grabbed his leash from the nearby table and took him outside. When she came in, she checked her messages. There were two phone calls from her mom, who said it wasn’t anything important; she just wanted to see how her date went. But, her mom added, that it obviously went pretty well because she wasn’t home yet. Willow smiled. It did go well, and she was kicking herself that she hadn’t invited Peter in for a night cap. But it was late and she had a lot to do tomorrow.

  Max followed Willow up to her bedroom. She couldn’t stop thinking about Peter. He had a beautiful smile and a way of making her feel like she was the most important person in the world. Just like her dad. And he made her laugh and she couldn’t remember the last time she had done that.