A Lot Like Christmas

by Connie Willis

  Right then Red Riding Hood comes over and hands the kid a candy cane. “What’s the matter, honey?” she says.

  The kid wipes his nose on his sleeve. “I’m cold and I hafta go to the bathroom,” he says, and she says, “You just come with me to Coppelius’s,” and takes hold of his hand and takes him into the store before I can stop her.

  “Hey!” I say, and go after them, but the toy-soldier guys are already shutting the doors behind them, and they go through their whole stiff-armed saluting routine before they open them again and I can get in.

  When I finally do, I wish I hadn’t. The place is a nightmare. There are about a million kids hollering and running around this huge room full of toys and people in costumes demonstrating things. A magician is juggling glow-in-the-dark balls and Raggedy Ann is passing out licorice sticks and a green-faced witch is buzzing the customers with a plane on a string. Around the edges of the room, trains are running on tracks built into the walls, hooting and whistling and blowing steam.

  In the middle of this mess is a round purple tower, at least two stories high. There’s a window at the very top and a mechanical Rapunzel is leaning out of it, combing her blond hair, which hangs all the way down to the bottom of the tower. Underneath Rapunzel’s window there’s a row of little windows that open and close, one after the other, and different things poke out, a baby doll and a white rabbit and a spaceship. All of them do something when their window opens. The doll says “Ma-ma,” the rabbit pulls out a pocket watch and looks at it, shaking his head, the spaceship blasts off.

  A whole bunch of kids are standing around the tower, but Janine’s kid isn’t one of them, and I don’t see him or Red Riding Hood anywhere. Along the back wall there’s a bunch of escalators leading up and down to the other floors, but I don’t see the kid on any of them and I don’t see any signs that say “Bathrooms,” and the lines for the cash registers are too long to ask one of the clerks.

  A chick dressed up like Cinderella is standing in the middle of the aisle, winding up green toy frogs and setting them down on the floor to hop all over and get in everybody’s way.

  “Where are your toilets?” I say, but she doesn’t hear me, and no wonder. Screaming kids and hooting trains and toy guns that go rat-a-tat-tat, and over the whole thing a singsongy tune is playing full blast:

  “I am Dr. Coppelius.

  Welcome to my shop.

  Where we have toys

  For girls and boys,

  And the fun times never stop.”

  It’s sung in a croaky old man’s voice and after the second verse finishes, the first one starts in again, over and over and over.

  “How do you stand that godawful noise?” I shout to Cinderella, but she’s talking to a little kid in a snowsuit and ignores me.

  I look around for somebody else I can ask and just then I catch sight of a red cape at the top of one of the escalators and take off after it.

  I’m about to step on, when an old guy dressed in a long red coat and a gray ponytail wig moves in front of me and blocks my way. “Welcome to Coppelius’s Toyshop,” he says in a phony accent. “I am Dr. Coppelius, the children’s friend.” He does this stupid bow. “Here in Coppelius’s, children are our first concern. How may I assist you?”

  “You can get the hell out of my way,” I say, and shove past him and get on the escalator.

  The red cape has disappeared by now, and the escalator’s jammed with kids. Half of them are hanging over the moving handrail, looking at the stuffed animals along the sides, teddy bears and giraffes and a life-size black velvet panther. It’s got a pink silk tongue and real-looking teeth with a price tag hanging from one of its fangs. “One of a kind,” the price tag says. Four thousand bucks.

  When I get to the top of the escalator, I can’t see Janine’s kid or Red Riding Hood anywhere, but there’s a red-and-gold signpost with arrows pointing off in all directions that say “To Hot Wheels Country” and “To Babyland” and “To the Teddy Bears’ Picnic.” One of them says “To the Restrooms” and points off to the left.

  I go in the direction the sign says, but the place is a maze, with aisles leading off in all directions and kids jamming every aisle. I go through fire engines and chemistry sets and end up in a big room full of Star Wars stuff, blasters and swords that light up and space fighters. But no signposts.

  I ask a gold-colored robot for directions, feeling like an idiot, and he says, “Go down this aisle and turn left. That will bring you to Building Blocks. Turn left at the Tinker Toys and left again. The restrooms are right next to the Lego display.”

  I go down the aisle and turn left, but it doesn’t bring me to Building Blocks. It brings me to the doll department and then the stuffed animals, more giraffes and bunnies and elephants, and every size teddy bear you’ve ever seen.

  Holding on to one of them is a toddler bawling its head off. The kid’s been eating candy, and the tears are running down into the chocolate for a nice sticky mess.

  It’s wailing, “I’m lost,” and as soon as it sees me, it lets go of the teddy bear and heads straight for me with its sticky hands. “I can’t find my mommy,” it says.

  The last thing I need is chocolate all over my pants. “You shoulda stayed with your mommy, then,” I say, “instead of running off,” and head back into the doll department, and old Coppelius must’ve been lying about the panther, because there, right in the middle of the Barbie dolls, is another one, staring at me with its yellow glass eyes.

  I head back through the dollhouses and end up in Tricycles, and this is getting me nowhere. I could wander around this place forever and never find Janine’s kid. And it’s already one o’clock. If I don’t leave by one-thirty, I’ll miss the start of the game. I’d leave right now, but Janine would be steamed and I’d lose any chance I had of getting her in the sack on one of those weekends when her ex has the kid.

  But I’m not going to find him by wandering around like this. I need to go back down to the main room and wait for Red Riding Hood to bring him back.

  I find a down escalator in the sled department and get on it, but when I get off, it’s not the main floor. I’m in Babyland with the baby buggies and yellow rubber ducks and more teddy bears.

  I must not have gone down far enough. “Where’s the escalator?” I say to a chick dressed like Little Bo Peep. She’s kootchy-cooing a baby, and I have to ask her again. “Where’s the down escalator?”

  Bo Peep looks up and frowns. “Down?”

  “Yeah,” I say, getting mad. “Down. An escalator.”

  Still nothing.

  “I want to get the hell out of this place!”

  She makes a move toward the baby, like she’s going to cover its ears or something, and says, “Go down past the playpens and turn left. It’s at the end of Riding Toys.”

  I do what she says, but when I get there, it goes up, not down. I decide to take it anyway and go back up to the tricycles and find the right escalator myself, but Babyland must be in the basement because at the top is the main room.

  The place is even crazier and more crowded than it was before. A clown’s demonstrating bright orange yo-yos, Humpty Dumpty’s winding up toy dinosaurs, and there are so many kids and baby buggies and shopping bags, it takes me fifteen minutes to make it over to Rapunzel’s tower.

  There’s no sign of Red Riding Hood and the kid or Beverly, but I can see the door from here and all the escalators. Dr. Coppelius is standing over at the foot of them, bowing to people and passing out big red suckers.

  The kids around the tower shout and point, and I look up. A puppet with a hooked nose and a pointy hat is leaning out of one of the windows. He’s holding a stick between his puppet hands, and he waves it around. The kids laugh.

  The window shuts and another one opens. The ballerina twirls. The black cat, with teeth as sharp as a panther’s, rears up behind the mouse, and the mouse squeaks, “Help, help!” Rapunzel combs her hair. And over it all, in time to the squeaking and the twirling and the combing
, the song plays over and over:

  “…For girls and boys,

  And the fun times never stop.”

  And after I’ve been standing there five minutes, the whole thing is stuck in my head.

  I look at my watch. It’s one-fifteen. How the hell long does it take to take a kid to the bathroom?

  The first verse finishes and the second one starts in:

  “Come to Dr. Coppelius’s

  Where all is bright and warm…”

  I’m going to go crazy if I have to stand here and listen to this gas much longer, and where the hell is Beverly?

  I look at my watch again. It’s one-thirty. I’m going to give it five more minutes and then take one more look around, and then I’m going to the game, kid or no kid.

  Somebody yanks on my coat. “Well, it’s about time,” I say. “Where the hell have you been?” I look down.

  It’s a kid with dishwater-blond hair and glasses. “When will he come and get her?” she says.

  “Get who?” I say.

  She pushes the glasses up on her nose. “Rapunzel in her tower. When will the prince come and get her down?”

  I stoop down and get real close. “Never,” I say.

  The kid blinks at me through her glasses. “Never?” she says.

  “He got sick of waiting around for her,” I say. “He waited and waited, and finally he got fed up and went off and left her there.”

  “All alone?” she squeaks, just like the mouse.

  “All alone. Forever and ever.”

  “Doesn’t she ever get out of the tower?”

  “She’s not going anywhere, and it serves her right. It’s her own fault.”

  The kid backs away and looks like she’s going to bawl, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me through her glasses and then looks back up at the tower.

  The rabbit checks his watch. A dragon breathes orange tinfoil flames. The baby doll goes, “Ma-ma.” The singsongy tune bellows, “To keep you safe from harm,” and starts over, “I am Dr. Coppelius,” and I shove my way over to where he’s standing at the foot of the escalators.

  “How do I find a lost kid?” I say to Dr. Coppelius.

  “Up this escalator to Painter’s Corner,” he says in his phony accent. “Turn right at the modeling-clay display and go all the way to the end.” He puts his hand on my arm. “And don’t worry. He’s perfectly safe. No child ever comes to harm in Coppelius’s Toyshop.”

  “Yeah, well, I know one who’s going to when I finally find him,” I say, and get on the escalator.

  I thought it was the same one I went up before, but it’s not. There’s no panther, and no signpost at the top, but I can see paints and crayons down one of the halls, and I head that way. Halfway there, the aisle’s blocked with kids and mothers pushing strollers.

  “What the hell’s this?” I say to a guy dressed up like an elf.

  “It’s the line for Santa Claus,” he says. “You’ll have to go around. Halfway down that aisle to the basketballs and turn left.”

  So I go down, but there aren’t any basketballs, there’s a big Atari sign and a bunch of kids playing Pac-Man, and when I turn left, I run into a room full of toy tanks and bazookas. I go back and turn left and run smack into the Santa Claus line again.

  I look at my watch. It’s a quarter past two. The hell with this. I’ve already missed the start of the game, and I’m not going to miss the rest of it. Beverly can try and find the kid, if and when she ever gets here. I’m leaving.

  I squeeze through the line to the nearest escalator and take it down, but I must have gotten up on the third floor somehow, because here’s the Star Wars stuff. I find an escalator and go down it, but when I get to the bottom, I’m back in Babyland and now I have to take the escalator up. But at least I know where it is. I go down past the playpens and over to Riding Toys, and sure enough, there’s the escalator. I start to get on it.

  The panther is standing at the bottom of the escalator, the price tag dangling from his sharp teeth.

  I change my mind and go back through the riding toys and turn left, and now I’m back in Dolls, which can’t be right. I backtrack to the playpens, but now I can’t find them, either. I’m in Puzzles and Games.

  I look around for somebody to ask, but there aren’t any clerks or Mother Gooses around, and no kids, either. They must all be in line to see Santa Claus. I decide to go back to the doll department and get my bearings, and I go up the jigsaw puzzle aisle, but I can’t seem to find a way out, and I am getting kind of worried when I see Dr. Coppelius.

  He walks past the Candyland display and into a door in the wall between Jeopardy! and Sorry! and I catch a glimpse of gray walls and metal stairs. I figure it must be an employee stairway.

  I wait a few minutes so the clown won’t see me and then open the door. It’s an employee stairway, all right. There are stacks of boxes and wooden crates piled against the wall, and on the stairs there’s a big sign headed “Store Policy.” I look up the metal stairway, and it has to lead up to the main floor because I can hear the sound of the song jangling far above:

  “…For girls and boys,

  And the fun times never stop.”

  I shut the door behind me, and start up the stairs. It’s dark with the door shut, and it gets darker as I climb, and narrower, but the song is getting steadily louder. I keep climbing, wondering what kind of stairway this is. It can’t be for bringing up stock because it keeps making all these turns and when I decide I’d better turn around and go back down, somebody’s locked the door at the bottom, so I have to keep climbing up, and it keeps getting narrower and narrower and darker and darker, till I can feel the walls on both sides and the last few steps I practically have to squeeze through, but I can see the door up ahead, there’s light all around the edges, and the song is getting really loud.

  “Come to Dr. Coppelius’s

  Where all is bright and warm…”

  I squeeze up the last few steps and open the door, only it isn’t a door. It’s one of the little windows the mouse and the ballerina and the white rabbit come out of, and I have somehow gotten inside of Rapunzel’s tower. This must be the stairs they use to come fix the mechanical toys when they break down.

  Kids are looking up, and when I open the window, they point and laugh like I was one of the toys. I shut the window and squeeze back down the stairs. I break a piece of wood off one of the crates on the stairs to use to pry the door open, but I must have made a wrong turn somewhere, because I end up back in the same place. I open the door and yell, “Hey! Get me out of here!” but nobody pays any attention.

  I look around, trying to spot Red Riding Hood or the robot or Dr. Coppelius to signal them to come help me, and I see Beverly walking to the front door. She’s got Janine’s kid, and he is wiping his nose on his sleeve and clutching a red sucker. Beverly squats down and wipes his eyes with a Kleenex. She zips up his coat, and they start out the door, which a toy soldier is holding open for them.

  “Wait!” I shout, waving the piece of wood to get their attention, and the kids point and laugh.

  I am going to have to climb out the window and down the side of the tower, hanging on to Rapunzel’s hair. I put my foot up over the windowsill. It’s a tight squeeze to get my leg up onto the sill, but I manage to do it, and when I get out of here, I know a little boy with a sucker who’s going to be really sorry. I hitch my leg over and start to hoist my other foot up over the sill.

  I look down. The panther is sitting at the foot of the tower, crouched and waiting. He licks his velvet chops with his pink silk tongue. His sharp teeth glitter.

  So here I am, stuck in Coppelius’s Toyshop, for what seems like forever, with kids screaming and running around and trains whistling and that stupid song playing over and over and over,

  “I am Dr. Coppelius.

  Welcome to my shop…”

  I take out my watch and look at it. It says five to twelve. I’ve kind of lost track of how long I’ve been stuck here. It can’t be
more than two days, because on Monday Janine or Beverly or one of the chicks at work will notice I’m not there, and they’ll figure out this is the last place anybody saw me. But it seems longer, and I am getting kind of worried.

  Every time the window opens there seem to be different toys, fancy games you play on computers and cars that run by remote control and funny-looking roller skates with only one row of wheels. And the people demonstrating them and handing out candy canes are different, too, mermaids and turtles wearing headbands and a hunchback in a jester’s hat and a purple cape.

  And the last time I looked out, a woman with dishwater-blond hair and glasses was standing under the tower, looking up at me. “When I was little,” she said to the guy she was with, “I hated this place. I was so worried about Rapunzel.”

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I didn’t know she was a toy. I thought she was real, and I thought the prince had just gone off and abandoned her. I thought he’d gotten fed up and gone off and left her there. All alone.”

  She said it to the guy, but she was looking straight at me. “Forever and ever. And it served her right. It was her own fault.”

  But there are lots of people who wear glasses, and even if Janine’s mother died and she had to go to the funeral, she’d still be back at work by Wednesday.

  I look over at the exit. The toy soldiers are still there, saluting, on either side of the door, and in between them Dr. Coppelius smiles and bows. Overhead the song screeches:

  “And there’s no fear

  For I am here

  To keep you safe from harm.”

  And starts in on the first verse again.

  I take out my watch and look at it, and then I shut the window and go look for a way out, but I get confused on the stairs and make a wrong turn and end up in the same place. The little window opens, and I lean out. “Help! Help!” I shout.

  The kids point and laugh.

  Marley was dead: to begin with.

  Dickens’s story A Christmas Carol, however, of which the aforementioned is the first sentence, is alive and well and available in any number of versions. In the books department of Harridge’s, where I work, we have nineteen, including Mickey’s Christmas Carol, The Muppet Christmas Carol, the CuddlyWuddlys’ Christmas Carol, and one with photographs of dogs dressed as Scrooge and Mrs. Cratchit.