by John Paulits
About an hour later, Philip’s father sat down next to him on the sofa. He took the remote and muted the sound of the show Philip had on.
“What’s with Francis?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s up in his room crying.”
Philip’s stomach did a nervous dance. His father went on.
“I think he’s been up there crying since dinner. Did you do something?”
Philip shrugged.
“Philip, what’s going on?”
“I don’t think Francis likes Christmas.”
Mr. Felton waited for Philip to explain. To help Philip along, he said, “Because . . .”
“It’s not my fault, Dad. He always breaks things, so I put my stuff away and told him I didn’t have anything to play with. Then he opens his presents, and he doesn’t get anything to play with.” Philip’s mother walked into the living room. “We went to Mrs. Moriarty’s, and she didn’t have a present for him. She gave him candy, but not like a wrapped up Christmas present. Emery tried to hide his stuff, but Francis caught him, so Emery had to lend him movies to keep him quiet. He says he doesn’t have anything to play with at home, and his birthday sucks and Christmas sucks. He didn’t even want to look at toys when we went to the mall. Christmas for him is sucking on candy canes.”
Philip’s mother interrupted. “Did I hear you say you hid your toys so Francis couldn’t play with them?”
“I had to, Mom. He breaks things.”
Mrs. Felton shook her head. “That wasn’t very nice of you. Especially after he went and bought you a present.”
Philip’s head snapped up. “He what?”
“He came home from the mall with a present for you. He gave it to me and told me to wrap it for him.”
Philip sank back on the sofa and listened to his parents talk.
“I know they don’t treat Francis like he’s a small child. Joanne and her husband have odd ways,” said Mrs. Felton.
Mr. Felton added, “Must be tough not to have anything to play with when you’re seven years old. They must think he’s a little adult. He’ll be miserable tomorrow, too. He’s got nothing, really, to unwrap.”
“Joanne insisted I buy him clothes for his present.”
Philip sat up. “I know what we can do.”
“Yes?” said Philip’s father.
“The mall’s still open, isn’t it?” Philip asked.
“Until eight, I think,” his mother said.
Philip glanced at the clock. “We still have an hour then. There’s time.”
“What exactly do you have in mind, Philip?” his father asked.
Philip explained, and two minutes later he and his father were in the car and heading for the mall.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning even Philip hated Christmas. He couldn’t open his presents, which had gloriously appeared under the tree overnight. Not until his aunt and uncle got there, anyway, and who knew when that would be? Francis didn’t come back downstairs the night before and now, finally, he trundled down the steps still in his pajamas.
He’s probably hungry, Philip thought, and he’ll probably have candy canes for breakfast.
Francis had cereal, though, and refused to respond when both Mr. and Mrs. Felton each wished him a Merry Christmas. After he had his cereal, Francis went back upstairs, and the dreariest of Christmas days plodded along.
Around one o’clock, Emery arrived and described his Christmas take in great detail.
“I don’t know what I got yet,” Philip said miserably. “We’re still waiting for Francis’s mother and father to get here to open the presents, but let me tell you what we did last night.”
A few moments later the doorbell chimed, and Mrs. Felton hurried to answer. Philip and Emery listened to her greet Francis’s parents and eventually lead them into the living room.
“This is Philip’s friend, Emery,” Mrs. Felton said by way of introduction.
Emery gave a quick wave.
“Where’s Francis?” asked Francis’s mother.
Mr. Felton, who had joined the group, said, “Well, he’s upstairs in his room. He’s . . . mmm . . . a little out of sorts.”
“What did he do?” groaned Francis’s father.
“No,” Mr. Felton explained, “he didn’t do anything. Christmas doesn’t seem to agree with him, is all.”
“What a boy,” said Francis’s mother, giving a shake of her head. “You’d think this day above all others would excite him.”
Philip and his father shared a glance.
“I’ll get him,” said Mrs. Felton.
Francis’s parents talked about the wedding they’d attended until Francis, now properly dressed, came downstairs.
“Hi,” he said gloomily.
“Merry Christmas,” his mother bubbled.
“Yeah,” Francis responded.
His mother frowned. “Well, I know you boys are eager to open your presents, so have at it!”
Neither Francis nor Philip moved.
“Well, Francis,” said Mrs. Felton. “Why don’t you go first?”
“No, he can.”
“Okay then, Philip. Finally,” his mother said, giving him a big smile. “You’ve been very patient.”
Philip at last felt some holiday energy as he unwrapped his presents one by one, holding each one up for everyone to see. Emery offered an occasional comment. Philip saved the present from Francis’s parents until last. Inside the box he found a blue sweater and a pair of socks.
“Merry Christmas, Philip,” said Mrs. Felton. Philip went and gave her a kiss.
“Throw a hug this way,” said his father. Philip complied.
“Your turn, Francis,” said Mr. Felton.
Everyone except Francis’s mom and dad knew Francis had already opened his presents, but he went through the process again, merely tossing the paper aside and taking the tops off the boxes, barely looking inside.
“Thanks,” he said and sat back on the floor, leaning against the sofa.
“Hey,” said Mr. Felton. “There are still some presents behind the tree.” He walked over and knelt down. There were four unopened presents. He pulled out the first one and inspected it. “It says ‘To Francis; From Santa.’”
Francis looked confused. “You sure?”
“I’m looking right at it,” said Mr. Felton. “Here, come open it up.”
Francis went and took the present. He sat next to Mr. Felton and pulled the paper off. Inside he found six brand new super hero comic books.
“These are mine?” Francis asked.
“Comic books?” Francis’s mother said, a worried look on her face.
“Had your name on them,” said Mr. Felton. “What’s this one say? Oh. ‘To Francis; From Santa.’”
“Another one?” Francis said, eyes widening. He took it and tore the paper away.
“More candy canes!” he cried. “I like these.”
“My goodness,” said Mr. Felton. “Here’s another one for you.”
Francis dropped the candy canes and ripped the paper from the third present.
“Shrek!” he shouted. “Three Shrek movies. Wow! Who gave me this stuff?”
“It says from Santa. Here’s another one. Oh, looks like it’s the last one. Pretty big, though.” Francis had to get up on his knees to navigate opening this present. As soon as he tore away one chunk of paper, he gave a tiny scream. When all the paper disappeared, a giant box of Star Wars Legos sat in front of him.
“I can play with these. I saw a Star Wars movie on TV. Wow, thanks . . .” Francis didn’t know where to look or whom to thank. “. . . Santa.”
Philip enjoyed the confused look on the faces of Francis’s parents.
Francis scrambled to his feet. “I got a present to give, too. I’ll get it upstairs.”
Francis ran off, and Philip knew his turn was coming. As he waited, he listened to the confused babble of the grownups, two explaining to the other two where the presents came from an
d why the boy should get something to play with on Christmas. As soon as Francis reentered the room, the conversation halted. He carried a nicely wrapped square package topped with a red bow. He walked toward the sofa, and Philip got ready to accept the gift.
Instead, Francis handed the present to Emery. “Merry Christmas.”
Emery took the present but didn’t know what to do with it. “You bought this for me?”
“Yeah,” Francis explained. “That last time in the mall. I didn’t want you to see. Open it.”
Emery pulled the paper away to reveal two more boxes of candy canes.
“You said you like them,” said Francis. “They cost five dollars. It’s all I had.”
“I do like them. And thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Francis’s mother addressed her boy. “Francis, don’t you have something nice for Philip?”
“No.”
His mother smiled uncomfortably. “Francis . . .”
“No! He didn’t let me play with his stuff. He said he didn’t have anything to play with, but he really did. Why should I get him a present? Ellery let me watch his movies, at least. He didn’t do nothing for me.”
“Emery,” said Emery. “My name’s Emery. What’s so hard to remember about Emery?”
“Whatever,” said Francis. He walked to Mr. Felton and Mrs. Felton. “I guess you got this stuff for me. Thanks.”
Philip knew his parents didn’t want to take too much credit in front of Francis’s parents. He got a surprise, though, when Emery interrupted.
“You’re wrong, Francis.”
Francis moved his eyes to Emery.
“It was Philip’s idea to get you this stuff. Remember I asked you what you liked going to, and you said them all? Or the mall. Or whatever you said.”
“Emery,” Philip growled, his voice rising on each syllable.
“Anyway, Philip got you something of everything you liked. Candy canes, comics, movies, and Legos. It was Philip’s idea.”
Francis’s eyes moved slowly to Philip, who managed a half smile.
“You got me these good presents?”
“My dad and me.”
Francis turned and ran up the stairs again.
“I . . . I guess he’s a little overcome,” said Mrs. Felton. “I don’t think he expected anything like this.”
Francis was back in a flash, carrying a big bag. He handed the bag to Philip.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
Philip recognized the bag from the mall. He knew what was in it. A double power, two-way phaser projectile launcher.
“You’re giving this to me?”
Francis nodded.
“Thanks.”
“Let me see it,” said Emery.
Everyone began talking at once, and the gloomy day became a happy one. The grownups talked over dinner. Philip and Emery tried out the double power, two-way phaser projectile launcher. Francis poured over his new comic books.
Finally, Francis’s parents told him to gather up his presents. “Time to go home,” his mother said.
Everyone stood at the front door saying their goodbyes, when Francis made an announcement.
“Everybody listen. I’m coming here next year for Christmas,” he said.
“Well, I don’t know where . . .” his mother began.
Francis swept his arm through the air as if knocking a checker game onto the floor. “I said I’m coming here next year.” He picked up his two bags of gifts and walked out the door.
After a final hurried goodbye, the guests left, and the front door closed.
“I guess he’s coming here next year,” Mr. Felton said with a laugh. “Anyway, I’m glad that’s over. Before you say anything, I know, I know, honey. It became a bit pricey, but it was worth it for Francis’s sake. After all, it’s Christmas. Where are you two guys going?”
Philip and Emery had started up the stairs.
Philip answered. “We’ve got homework to do.”
“For school?” asked Mr. Felton. “Today? Christmas?”
“Emery and I were talking. It won’t take long. We can do it fast.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Felton with a shrug, and he followed his wife into the kitchen.
In Philip’s room Philip said, “This should be easy. What Christmas Means to Me. It’s got to be mushy. Two pages each about giving Francis a happy Christmas. That sounds pretty mushy to me.”
“Maybe we can do four pages together and put both our names.”
Philip shook his head. “Mr. Ware won’t know who did what. I know! Francis did so much stupid stuff, I’ll do the first half of the stuff he did; you do the second half. That way we’ll write different stuff.”
“Yeah, okay. Remember when he climbed to the top of the presents?”
“Ha! Yeah.” Philip made his voice as deep as he could. ‘Come down from there, son.’”
Emery made his voice as high as he could. “I’m not your son, Mr. Wackers.”
The two boys cackled.
Emery kept his voice high. “Lady, would you scort me?”
The boys cackled again.
“We can do it on the computer together,” said Philip. “So easy! This is like another Christmas present from Francis.”
The boys looked at one another and shouted, “Thank you, Francis.”
They got to work, and Philip was right. It didn’t take very long at all.
About the Author
John Paulits is a former elementary school teacher. He has published many children’s novels, thirteen about Philip and Emery, as well as numerous adult novels. Philip and the Miserable Christmas is his sixteenth children’s novel published by Gypsy Shadow. He lives in New York City and spends each summer at the Jersey shore.
WEBSITE: www.johnpaulits.com
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/john.paulits
BLOG: https://johnpaulits.wordpress.com/
OTHER: http://www.manicreaders.com/JohnPaulits/
