by Chana Keefer
One Friday night, he showed up with pizza and a movie so I agreed to a study break. Truth was, I was completely fried from responsibilities and had slipped into a temporary depression when Sky’s “Changeling” had echoed through the student center that afternoon.
The movie was one of Devin’s favorites, “Hoosiers,” about a small town basketball team winning against all odds. I laughed later when Devin asked why I didn’t get as excited about watching televised sporting events.
“I guess I need to have some emotional connection to the players or it’s not interesting. Like in high school,” I offered, “I knew every player on the field almost as well as I knew my own brothers. Now that was some exciting football.”
“Okay.” He thought a moment. “Next time we watch a game, I’ll supply the emotional garbage.” He acted out the scenario. “See number thirty-four? He has a crippled little brother, Timmy, who watches from his wheelchair at home. See there? Every time he slaps another player on the butt, it’s code for, ‘I love you little Timmy!’” He wiped away a nonexistent tear.
“Now, that would be interesting.” I got off the couch to clean up. Devin followed me into the kitchen with an armload as well and, after setting down the plates, blocked me in the corner of the cabinets where he surprised me with a kiss. He was handsome, he was a good kisser, and I didn’t rebuff him. I feel horrible to admit that, as I kissed him, I imagined he was Sky.
He grinned into my face. “Aw yeah. She’s not a block of ice after all.” Then he pulled me toward him for another round.
I enjoyed kissing Devin, was flattered by his attention and, given his reputation, didn’t think there would be harm in it since it didn’t mean anything, right? To give him credit, he did mind his manners. But, I knew I danced on dangerous ground.
He continued to drop in unexpectedly at my news desk or show up at the apartment with his customary pizza box in hand—his version of doing the cooking. I even cheered him on when he made a careful re-appearance as quarterback late in the season. It was just a couple of plays, but it brought him back to life and returned much of his former social standing. I figured he would “need” me less so I was surprised when he invited me to his team formal at the end of the semester. We actually had a good time and he didn’t touch a drop of alcohol all night.
Afterwards however, following a very pleasant goodnight kiss, he said, “You do realize I’m falling in love with you.”
“Very funny.” I rolled my eyes as I reached into my bag for the apartment key. “You do know I’m immune to your lines.”
Devin wasn’t laughing.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah,” he gave me a deadpan look, “I’m just a dumb jock who’d say anything to get what he wants from a girl, right?”
In the following silence, he moved closer and reached for my hand, “So… now that you realize I’m serious, could you ever… feel the same?”
My hesitation must have spoken volumes. I’d had a taste of what I supposed was real love with Sky and what I felt for Devin was light years from that.
“Devin, I’m sorry. I really like you. I always have fun with you. It’s just…” my words trailed away as I desperately wracked my brain for a way to salvage the moment.
He backed away a step, “There I was trying so hard to be good enough for you. Big joke, huh?”
“No, Devin, you’ve been great… ”
But he turned and trotted to his truck with out another word.
In the coming days, I tried to talk to Devin, but he did a brilliant job of avoiding me. I hated the fact he really had tried to change his ways and had gotten hurt in return. I began to realize what an idiot I’d been by using him to fill a bit of the void Sky left behind. I even wrote a note of apology and asked Shane to pass it along, but never got a response. I hoped the sentiment he had shared didn’t go very deep and would soon be forgotten. The sight of him making out with a shapely blonde at the student center confirmed that hope. I was hurt and relieved at the same time.
The remainder of the semester passed quickly. I was exhausted, but still alive.
I looked forward to the holidays and a much needed break from deadlines and sleep deprivation. Besides, Mom made everything so special, draping greenery and lights and decking out our Christmas tree with ornaments that had been in the family as long as I could remember.
One night, when the others were all in bed, I gave up the attempt at slumber and crept into the family room to flip through channels until I came across Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
The Christmas lights and manger on the mantel put me in a reflective mood as George Bailey went through his trials and triumphs. At the end, when George’s brother Harry proposes the toast, “To my big brother George! The richest man in town!” sloppy tears streamed down my face. I longed to share the moment with someone special, someone who could understand the poetry of the twinkling lights and Christmas hush and soul-searching caused by a fifty-year-old black and white movie. I knew exactly who met the criteria, but allowing my thoughts to turn his way was too painful. I had been able to shove the feelings down during months of craziness, yet here they were, just as fresh and raw as before.
God filled the air, pressing close to my heartache, reopening the wound without anesthesia.
Hold it. Wasn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Why were these feelings as painful as if it had happened yesterday? Besides, Sky was probably thrilled with his leggy supermodel, or a new one, and had forgotten my name.
“Curse you, Jimmy Stewart,” I whispered through the fresh torrent of tears. My curse list grew to include captivating rock stars and picture perfect, Amazon-tall women.
Without realizing it, I had been hugging one of the couch pillows just as I had that night with Sky. I drew back my arm to hurl the pillow across the room… and realized Dad stood in the doorway. I wiped my face. “Stupid movie.”
“Oh good. I was afraid it had something to do with a tall singer.”
My silence echoed around the room.
“I have something for you.” He pulled a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t quite sure when or if to give it to you. Just a minute.” He disappeared down the hall and soon re-emerged with a small package wrapped in Brown paper. “This came for you.”
When I saw the return address of “England,” I yelped and retreated to my room where I placed the package on the bed, afraid to open it. It was small, perhaps five inches square, and addressed by hand. I carefully removed the paper to find a gold-wrapped gift with brown embossed ribbon. One more layer of paper and I stared at a small velvet box. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid.
Nestled against deep blue satin was a necklace with a small glass-bottle charm, barely an inch long. I drew out the thin gold chain. There was no note of any kind among the paper or the satin lining, but there could be no doubt as to the sender. Not even Marti had been told about my “time in a bottle.”
I hung the necklace around my neck and went into the bathroom to study the reflection. My tear-streaked face threatened to spoil the effect, but the necklace gleamed with delicate beauty.
How was I supposed to interpret this? No communication of any kind for over six months and now a gift?
I unclasped the necklace for closer inspection. The tiny vial was shaped like a wine bottle with a real cork in the top. A rolled-up piece of paper was stuck in the neck so I carefully pulled out the cork and drew out the microscopic stationery. A short sprig of hay fluttered to the floor as I unrolled it. There was writing!
Merry Christmas.
Love, Sky
p.s. Here’s a bit of hay I found in my pocket when I left your home.
I dove to retrieve the tiny sliver from the tile floor, rolled it back into the note and returned the note to its bottle. I held the necklace in my hand, deep in thought.
He had used the “L” word. But, perhaps it was in the same context as a letter to grandma, endearing but unromantic. However, after more tha
n six months of nothing, I was overjoyed. I went to sleep with the necklace dangling from my bedside lamp; the last thing I saw before turning out the light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When I woke the next day, the necklace twinkled in the dim light. Christmas Eve. Landon’s family would arrive soon so I hurried to fit in a walk with Sammy before the madness named “Charlie and Naomi” descended on our house. My niece and nephew were adorable, but exhausting.
It hadn’t snowed, but a bitter wind blew from the north. I bundled up and called Sammy who seemed hesitant to leave the warmth of his hay-lined doghouse.
My feet headed toward the old barn, if nothing else to find relief from the biting wind. The sky was solid, slate gray clouds. Maybe we would have a white Christmas? Sammy and I crunched over the frozen ground toward our favorite spot. God, I’d missed this!
Gaining access to the barn was much easier since the sunflower forest was dry and frozen. As usual, Sammy scouted ahead. I appreciated his surveillance, imagining the barn would serve as a perfect shelter for a drifter.
Sammy sounded an alarm. Hesitantly—okay, foolishly—I followed him.
I pictured a bearded desperado or escaped convict, but instead I heard a desperate “mew!”
The “mew” sounded again from the direction of the downstairs storage room. I swung back the creaky door and followed the cries to a hole in the floor. In the dim light, I made out the pointed ears and large eyes of a tiny kitten wedged between broken boards.
I spoke soothingly and tried to reach it but this was difficult to accomplish with Sammy licking my ear and trying to stick his nose into the hole. The kitten was frightened and pulled back, just out of reach. I located a discarded bit of wire from a hay bale and went cat fishing.
After several failed attempts, the wire slipped around kitty’s shoulders and I pulled. It wouldn’t budge. I tried to be as calm as possible though I was becoming frantic. How could I get it out without hurting it? Finally, by lying on my stomach on the dusty floor, I groped down to push the heavy board aside and was able to pull the shivering gray body into the light of day.
It was filthy, scared, and not more than a few weeks old. I unbuttoned my coat and tucked it inside for the journey back to the house. When I peeked in as we crossed the fields, it was fast asleep.
Mom and Dad had put up with me bringing home strays my entire life. Through the years I’d rescued dogs, cats, and even one ill-fated baby raccoon. I snuck in the back door and administered a warm bath in the sink, grateful it had been too cold lately even for fleas.
Mom discovered us as my grateful orphan lapped some breakfast. “Oh goodness. Where’d you get that?”
She knelt to inspect the new arrival who, seeming to understand the importance of this first impression, arched his little back and purred loudly. Good show kitty!
Soon, my guest was a contented, snoozing gray ball wrapped in an old bath towel. His contentment seeped into my tired heart. I’d saved a life… hard to be depressed after that.
The wonderful aroma of mom’s baking filled the house. The smell of homemade Cinnamon rolls clinched it. Christmas had arrived.
Over breakfast, Dad brought up my mysterious package from England. I pulled the necklace out of my turtleneck.
“What is that, a bottle?” asked John, hopping up from his chair for a closer look. “Why’d he send you a bottle on a chain?”
I started a vague reply, but he’d already moved on. “Did I tell you I saw Jake Hargrave at that drum clinic?” John said around a mouthful of cinnamon roll. “When I handed him my bass drum head and asked him to add the phrase ‘godlike hero’ next to his name, he laughed and asked if I happened to have a sister. It was the coolest! I got to sit and talk to him while he signed autographs.”
I wanted so badly to ask if Jake said anything about Sky, but pride held me back.
Soon we were in full Christmas swing with the arrival of Landon’s family and John’s girlfriend. Great Aunt Ruth also came for the day. She was deaf as a post, but refused to remedy the situation with hearing aids. As a rule, she would misinterpret what was said to her, take offense, and spend the rest of the day in a huff in the corner. For a cantankerous old lady, however, she always smelled nice and dressed well, with matching jeweled earrings, necklace, a broach for every outfit, and perfectly manicured hands in the shade of pink she wore on her lips—always. The only thing that slipped in her appearance was her aim with the lipstick. It reminded me of a newspaper cartoon with color stamped outside the lines.
As soon as Aunt Ruth arrived, John proceeded with his latest experiment he was convinced would prevent her usual offense. He pulled a chair next to her for a long conversation. But as planned, he spoke only gibberish. They “talked” for several minutes as John smiled and nodded.
Aunt Ruth had a marvelous time, later announcing to mom, “Jim’s a fine boy.” She pursed her pink lips and added, “But you really should do something about that speech impediment.”
Little Charlie and Naomi, Landon and Kelly’s kids, latched on to me as soon as they burst in the door and we spent much of the day in the floor playing with old Barbie Dolls and other remnants of yesteryear. Later, we played “hide and seek” where I had to keep a hand over Naomi’s little lips to prevent her hopping up to shout, “I wite here!” before Charlie had a chance to seek.
The game got really exciting when John joined in. He knew every nook and cranny that might fit a well-squeezed body. On the last round, Charlie and Naomi, tired of searching without success, abandoned the game in favor of Christmas cookies. As we sipped hot cocoa with marshmallows, we heard a shout from the garage followed by a tremendous crash.
John, covered with dust, ran in from the garage beating at the back of his neck and ripping off his shirt. He had wedged himself behind some forgotten boxes of books, disturbing a mouse family’s cozy nest. Several tiny critters had scurried for dear life... down his shirt.
Later that afternoon, when Kelly was having a hard time getting two-year-old Naomi to settle down for a nap, I pulled out “The Jungle Book.” Naomi squealed and clapped her approval. She snuggled up to me in the guest bedroom as Mowgli sang about “The Bear Necessities.” Finally, her head drooped while the jungle elephants marched. As I studied the fringe of black lashes against the velvety cheek and the unruly dark curls she inherited from her Aunt Esther, my heart melted. It may be an old-fashioned ambition for a modern aspiring reporter, but I longed for children of my own.
Naomi stirred in her sleep, brought a chubby thumb to her mouth, and snuggled over to her favorite sleeping position, tummy down, little hiney poking up. I reached for the remote, turned off the elephants’ “Hut, Two, Three, Four …” and settled beside her.
Lulled by the sound of Naomi’s soft breathing, I too nodded off. Suddenly, I sat on a blanket spread over brilliant green grass. A cool breeze laced with the clean smell of recent rain touched my face. Light footsteps brushed the grass and I turned to see a little boy toddling toward me. His sandy blond hair blew in the breeze as he reached toward me with chubby arms. His steps faltered and he plopped down in the wet grass and began to cry due to his suddenly soggy backside. I moved to assist him but before I could get there, hands reached out and lifted him into the air for a spin, transforming the tears to squeals of delight. The airborne ride ended and the little guy was lowered to me where he wrapped his arms around my neck and I collapsed back on the blanket, blowing raspberries into the warm folds of his neck.
I held him tightly, flushed with contentment, savoring the moment. Someone plopped down beside us on the blanket and I turned toward him with the boy still clutched in my arms. Slowly the face came into focus, tousled dark blonde hair, chiseled angular jaw, piercing gray-blue eyes… I gave a sigh of joy. Then the face became clear and I realized I was staring up into Devin’s grin.
“What?” the dream Devin asked, “You were expecting someone else?” He started laughing. “You certainly set your hopes ‘SKY HIGH’!” He fell back o
nto the blanket with howls of laughter.
I woke with a gasp. Naomi still slept and the gray winter light filtered through the curtains.
Even my dreams mocked me. I slipped out of the bed and tucked the blankets around Naomi then crossed to the rocking chair by the window where I pulled the crocheted afghan off the back to wrap against the chill. As I rocked, I felt for the tiny chain around my neck and unclasped the necklace for another inspection.
He had thought of me. That was good. I opened the tiny note again, frustrated by its brevity. If only I could clutch it tight enough to wring out answers to all my questions.
The rest of the day was a relaxed flurry, hanging out with the family, helping with the kids and alerting Kelly to the fact John was teaching Naomi how to “pull my finger.” As I retired to my room that night to write in my journal, the kitty, whom I’d decided to name “Wally,” fell asleep beside me. He deserved at least one night of complete spoiling.
I woke the next morning to the children’s shrieks as they discovered Santa’s gifts. Naomi ignored the toys and tore into a candy breakfast as Charlie whooped and hollered, racing around the room in his new cowboy gear complete with shiny pistols.
I received some very thoughtful gifts, along with the sensible white granny undies from Aunt Ruth. John, true-to-form, grabbed it out of the box and twirled it around his finger while congratulating Aunt Ruth on her “practicality.”
“It’s the modern version of a chastity belt!” he announced.
That did it. It was time to introduce John’s girlfriend, Sara, to Streakin’ Baby John.
John’s gift to me brought a bit of forgiveness—a copy of Sky’s new compilation CD autographed by Jake Hargrave who wrote, “To the girl who provided the best laugh of our North American Tour.”
