Jeffery’s Wish

    He climbed up in Santa's lap with a giggle. Jeffery may be only six, but he sure isn't shy.

Poor, Santa, didn't know what hit him.

"I want a superhero for Christmas, Santa. Do you know which one I want?"

"No little boy I don't. What is your name?

"My name is Jeffery Simon. I'm so excited. The superhero I want is five feet eleven inches tall"

    "That's a big superhero Jeffery. Are you sure you want one that tall?"

    "Oh yes, Santa, you see he is very brave. He protects me. You are the only one that can get him for me, Santa. I asked my grandma about it. She told me to ask you. You see my mom died when I was born. I must have been the reason. Grandma said that I wasn't the reason. But anyway, I never knew her. So, grandma has been raising me till my superhero comes.

Santa's eyes got big with confusion.

"Does this superhero have a name Jeffery?"

"Oh yes, Santa, he’s, my daddy. He's in Af, Afghan.”

"Afghanistan?"

    "Yes, that place. It's a long way from here. He's fighting bad people. I haven't seen daddy in a year. Do you think you can get my superhero for me, Santa?"

A tear trickles down Santa's cheek. He wiped it quickly.

"I don't know if I can, Jeffery. Santa will try."

    "That's good enough for me, Santa. I believe you can do it. Thank you for that"

Jeffery jumps down from Santa's lap and runs to his grandma. She hugs him tightly and takes his hand, and they head to the car for home.

######

On Christmas Eve....

"Jeffery, come help grandma hang the stockings."

Jeffery stops his drawing at the table and walks to the den where grandma has hung two stockings over the fireplace.

    "Where's Daddy's stocking grandma? You forgot his stocking. You know the blue one." Tears start to well up in his eyes, and they start spilling down his cheeks.

"Wait, Jeffery, please don't be upset. Here it is in this box. Let me wipe those tears. There that's better."

She picks up the stocking and hands it to Jeffery. Then she lifts him up to reach the mantle. He gently hangs it on the hook.

    "Thank you, Grandma; I'm sorry I got mad. It's just daddy's not here. And if his

stocking is hanging here; I can look at it and pray for him to come home. He's my superhero you know, Grandma."

    "Yes, Jeffery he is a superhero. I pray for his safe return every day. Let's go to the town square tonight and join the caroler's. What do you say?"

"I don't know, Grandma, I want to be alone for a while. Do you mind?"

"No, I will make some cookies. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Will you be, okay?"

    "Yes, Grandma, I will be fine. I hope Santa can get what I want for Christmas this year. I do want my superhero, Daddy, to come home. But if he can't right now, I understand. But Grandma,

I do ask God to keep him safe till he can."

    "Hey! That's it. Maybe if I go to church service tonight and pray, God will hear me and help Daddy. Grandma, can we go to Christmas eve service tonight?"

"I don't see why not, Jeffery. I'll stop what I'm doing and get ready. Change your clothes. I'll be ready shortly."

Okay, Grandma right away. I hope God will hear me tonight. I will pray hard. I

better hurry."

    "Jeffery, are you ready? I'm going to start the car, come along."

"I'm coming, Grandma, just give me a couple of minutes."

As grandma opens the door, she sees a man in uniform walking toward her.

"Hello, Madam, I have a telegram for you. Sign here please."

"What a telegram. Who would be sending me a telegram? What's wrong? It's my son, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry madam."

Grandma holds the envelope tightly in her hand. “Oh, dear Lord, I need your strength. Please help me to be strong."

She opens the envelope and reads the message....

"I am sorry to inform you that Captain Simon is 'missing in action'. There was a mortar attack on his command of soldiers. Several were killed. Captain Simon was not found among the dead. We will continue to look for him. Regrets, Major

Paul."

"Oh no, please, Lord find him and keep him safe. Jeffery, I've got to hide this letter, so Jeffery won't find out. I'll put it in my purse."

 Jeffery comes up behind her...

"Okay, Grandma, I'm ready to go. I've got to pray hard and hope God hears me."

 "We both will, Jeffery."

"What's wrong, Grandma? Why are you crying?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Jeffery, I have some of the flour in my eye, let's go."

They soon arrive at the church....

    "Oh, Grandma, listen to the beautiful songs." 'Hark the herald angels sing'....

"Let's go in Jeffery."

"Let's sit right here Grandma. We can see well in this spot, and God can see us sitting here."

The Minister speaks...

"My dear people let's have a testimony or two before we pray. Who will be first?"

"I will, came a voice from the back of the church. I want to thank God for giving me a wonderful husband and a healthy baby boy."

  "Grandma, what does testimony mean?"

"Jeffery, it's thanking and telling what God has done in your life." "Oh okay, please sir! I want to testify. I don't know if I'm doing this right."

Jeffery stands to his feet...

    I want to thank God for my, Grandma who has been taking care of me. She is the greatest Grandma in the world. You see my Daddy is in a faraway place fighting to keep us free. I want to ask God to hear my prayer. My daddy is in danger, and I want to ask God to bring him home safely. I would really like him to come home for Christmas. I know everything is possible with God. So, I'm asking him now if he pleases to allow my Daddy to come home. I hope he hears me?"

"What is your name son?"

"My name is Jeffery Simon sir."

"Jeffery, God heard your prayer tonight," he said as he wiped a tear away. Remember God knows what is best for us."

The minister continued with the service. When he dismissed the service Jeffery and his grandma headed home....

In the car...

"Grandma, I feel better now. God heard me."

"Yes, Jeffery, he heard you."

"Grandma, I think when we get home; I'm going to go to bed."

"But why, Jeffery, it's only seven pm?"

Jeffery lowered his head... "I want to allow God to have time to answer my prayer."

"Oh, all right, Jeffery, here we are, let's go in. I think I'll finish my baking."

"I'll see you in the morning Grandma, I love you." He hugs and kisses her.

Grandma sits in her chair in the den....

    "Oh, God, please help me to find the right words to tell Jeffery about his father, when he sees his father hasn't come home. I can't keep this from him any longer Dear Lord."

She goes to Jeffery's room and peeks in...

    "Hi, God, It's me again. I just want to thank you for tonight. I learned how to testify. Thank you for that. The Christmas songs were great. I saw so many happy people. God, I know my Daddy is in your hands. I just wanted to tell you that I love my Daddy very much, and he needs me God, like I need him. So, since he is in your hands, no matter what happens I thank you for being there for him, I love you God. Goodnight."

######

Next morning....

  "Jeffery, its Christmas. See what Santa brought you."

He jumps out of bed and scampers to the den....

"Is he here, Grandma? Is Daddy here?"

"No, Jeffery, your Daddy isn't here. I've got something I need to tell you."

"No, Grandma, I'm going to wait for Daddy to open my presents."

"Please, Jeffery come sit by me. I need to talk to you."

"What is it, Grandma? I know Daddy is coming today. I just know it."

 "Jeffery, please come here."

"Okay, Grandma, I'm listening."

He sits in front of her on the floor looking up at her with wondering eyes.

  "Jeffery, I received a telegram last night before we left for church."

"What's a telegram, Grandma?"

"Well, it's a message in a letter."

"From whom Grandma?"

"It was from Major Paul. He oversees the soldiers where your Daddy is stationed."

"What did it say, Grandma? Daddy is going to be late, isn't he?"

"Jeffery, you know how your Daddy has been fighting to keep us safe?"

"Yes"

"Well, there was a battle going on with his troops and the enemy. A lot of the men were hurt."

"Did they die Grandma?"

 "Yes, some of them did. It was an awful battle. And when it was over, they could find all the men except for your Daddy. He was never found. They call that 'missing in action' Jeffery."

    Grandma, no! Daddy is okay. I prayed hard last night. I know God heard me. Daddy is on his way home right now. You'll see Grandma."

"Jeffery, please listen, Daddy is somewhere. They are still looking for him."

"Oh, Grandma, I don't believe that. He will come home." Tears streaming down his face, he runs to his room sobbing.

He finally cried himself to sleep.

In the meantime, Grandma receives a phone call....

    "Hello, yes this is Ms. Simon. Yes, I have a son named Jefferson Simon. What! Did you find him? Is he alive? O blessed Lord, thank you. Yes, I can come to the army hospital. I'm on my way."

"He wants to see me alone. He doesn't want to see his son yet. Okay, I'm leaving now."

She calls a neighbor to stay with Jeffery and leaves after telling her the situation. #####

As she arrives at the army hospital...

    "Excuse me, I 'm here to see my son. His name is Captain Jefferson Simon. Will you tell me what room he's in?

    "Oh yes, Ms. Simon, we have been expecting you. He's in room 2525.

Just take the elevator to the second floor."

"Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, madam."

As she enters her son's room....

 "Jeff, Oh Jeff, they told me you were missing in action in a telegram. I thought you were dead.

I'm so thankful that you are alive."

    "I'm okay, Mama. I only lost my right leg below the knee. I will be good as new when I heal, and they make me a prosthetic leg."

"Tell me how you and Jeffery are doing? "

    "I'm fine; Jeff, but Jeffery is terribly upset. I had to tell him about you being missing. He thinks you're still coming home. He hasn't given up on your return. He cried himself to sleep this morning he refused to believe that he wouldn't see you again. I left him sleeping. Ms. Dew our neighbor is with him."

    "I want to see him, Mama. I've asked the doctor to let me go out for a few hours. They told me I could. I want to see my son. I miss him so much. There was a time there when I thought I wouldn't see you and Jeffery again. Then something happened while I was laying there on the ground. I heard a child's voice. It said, 'I need him, God, and he needs me'. I thought I was hallucinating. It sounded like Jeffery, Mama."

"That's incredible Jeff. That's what Jeffery prayed last night!"

    "It is? I 've got to see my son."

"They are going to transport me home in about 30 minutes." "All right, I'll go home and wait for you to arrive. See you there."

She hugs him and heads home....

Shortly arriving home, she keeps watch out the window and on Jeffery as he sleeps.

As the ambulance arrives, she meets them at the door.

    "Thank the Lord, you have arrived. Let's get you in the house."

 "Where's Ms. Dew, Mama?"

"I thanked her for staying and told her we would be all right. So, she went home. She said she would come back later."

The two ambulance men ease Jeff in a wheelchair and pick it up and carry him inside the door.

    "I can make it now, thank you so much."

"We'll be back in a few hours Captain Simon. See you then said one of the men."

They closed the door behind them. Jeff turns toward his mother...

"Where is Jeffery?"

"He's in his room asleep, Jeff."

"Okay, Mama, just open his door for me. I want to be alone with him for a few minutes." "All right, Jeff, the door is open."

"Thanks, Mama."

He wheels to the bed and gently touches his son's face.

    "Jeffery, its Daddy. Wake up, I'm home, Jeffery." Jeffery stirs and rubs his swollen red eyes.

"Daddy? Is that really you or am I dreaming?"

"It's really me, you're not dreaming."

Jeffery jumps up and hugs and kisses his Daddy sobbing.

"Oh, Daddy, you have come home just like I prayed you would. I love you so much Daddy."

"But grandma said there was a battle, and the army couldn't find you."

    "They found me after the telegram was sent. I am good Jeffery. I wanted to come home to let you know I'm all right. I just lost my right leg. But the army doctor is going to make me another one, and then I can walk again."

"I'm so sorry you lost a leg, Daddy."

    "Jeffery, I heard your voice praying as I was laying on the ground before they found me. I heard you say I needed you and that you needed me."

"Yes, Daddy, I told God that you needed me, and I needed you. I love you, Daddy. I thank God for answering my prayer. Now we will have a wonderful Christmas because God answered my prayer."During my four years at college, I was in a fraternity. Delta Chi. Best group of goofballs I’ve ever known. We didn’t just party and watch sports. We actually had a somewhat positive impact on the community. There were committees made up of a few guys who oversaw whatever focus that particular committee had. Mine was Philanthropy.

When I ran the Philanthropy committee, I got in touch with the community public library, which just happened to be right across the street from our small campus. One afternoon a week, and sometimes on Saturday mornings, some of the guys would volunteer an hour to read to little kids.

It is quite a sight to see a group of nineteen year olds whose sole focus is to chase girls all of the sudden melt into caring young men while they read to kids who are absolutely delighted by their mere presence. They pretended to be bored by it, but I had over a dozen guys signing up for the duty by our third week.

We ended up starting a second group on Saturday mornings. The kids in the community really came out for it, and now it’s a continuous project even though I graduated years ago.

I became a high school English teacher, which is fulfilling in itself, but I quickly started to miss reading to the kids. So, I started up a new program at my hometown’s public library on Tuesday afternoons.

The library staff was very helpful, and we decorated a usually vacant room to appeal to kids. There were colorful posters all over the walls depicting scenes in famous children’s books. Lots of popular characters throughout children’s fiction. We even had huge stuffed animals they could sit in (or on) that were characters they would recognize.

My first Tuesday afternoon was a disappointment. One kid showed up. Just one. He was five. I started with what I thought was a safe choice in Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat. This kid rolled his eyes and said, “Boring.” A five year old kid rolling his eyes at me. So, I asked him what he preferred, and he mentioned the Frog and Toad series.

I read all three books the library had while his mother sat at the back of the room, smiling like a hostage making the best of the situation. Clearly this kid had ultra-refined tastes, and his mother had not been able to satiate them yet.

The next week, four more kids showed up, but not the eye-roller. They liked the Dr. Seuss options, and I chalked it up to a success. Signs of progress.

It went on like this for another month. More kids started showing up, and by my third month, I regularly had twenty kids. Many return customers, but always a few new faces.

Then, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I received a whole new audience. They arrived in a bus from the St. Mary’s Assisted Living facility, a few miles on the edge of town. Fifteen older folks on their weekly outing to the library.

It turns out, they usually have their library outings on Wednesdays, but with Thanksgiving that week, they had to make an adjustment. They meandered around the library, and the kids seemed somewhat distracted as they milled about on the other side of our room’s windows.

About halfway through A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, a sweet rosy-cheeked woman stuck her head through the doorway with a huge grin. She eyed all the kids and seemed overjoyed at how they all gathered for story time.

Quietly, she said, “Is it ok if I join you?”

I have to admit, I was a little caught off guard, but I said, “Of course.”

All the kids were sitting on the floor, and I realized that wouldn’t do for our new member.

So, I pointed at the line of orange chairs pushed to the wall and said, “James, can you help our new friend here, Mrs.—?”

James popped up and ran to chairs, dragging one behind the group of kids sitting on the carpet. The woman clasped her hands in front of her chest with such appreciation and said, “Millie. You can call me Millie.”

After she sat down, I resumed the story. By the end, four more from her group had joined us.

Over the next three weeks, our room was filled with at least twenty kids, and now fifteen to twenty retirees from St. Mary’s. They had changed the day of their weekly excursion to the library to coincide with my reading hour.

Feeling bad that they had to listen to kids’ stories, I came up with an idea. After story time was over on a Tuesday in December, I approached the group from St. Mary’s. I had gotten to know several of them, along with all the kids. One man in particular was always so kind to me. Frank. He thanked me every week as if I had done some huge favor for him.

Frank was a sturdy man, as if he still had the muscles he had built through his decades as a carpenter. He had wispy white hair, always neatly combed. And he always wore a look of anticipated happiness, if that makes any sense. Like he was waiting for something to light him up. And it usually did. He was delighted by the smallest things. Which made him a friendly man. Soft spoken.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. I was wondering something though. Would you like to have an hour every week when I read more—grown up stories, just for you? I mean, separate from the kids’ hour. Of course, you are always welcome to come to the children’s hour on Tuesdays, but if you would like to hear some others, maybe even novels, I would love to add another hour. Maybe on Thursdays. Or any day that works for you.”

They all murmured in surprise. Frank put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We’ve already imposed on you enough. You don’t have to do that. We are content with coming on Tuesdays.”

I said, “Oh no, it’s not an imposition at all. I love doing it. Actually, I was hoping you would want me to read something just for you all. We could start a novel and read it over the course of several weeks, like a series. Anything.”

They talked among themselves and quickly agreed. Making sure I really wanted to. Of course I did. They pay attention with the same innocence and alacrity as the children. I can’t even begin to describe how happy it makes me that so many people, young and old, show up to story hour.

So, I added an hour on Saturday mornings for the St. Mary’s group. The room filled up at the inaugural meeting, and ballooned from there. The week before Christmas, I asked my new friends how they would feel if I came to their facility on Christmas night to read A Christmas Carol. They loved the idea immediately, and so it was set.

When I got to St. Mary’s, I saw they had adorned their recreation room with wonderful Christmas decorations. They spent the week with colored construction paper, streamers, big balls of cotton, and lots of glue, making them. The joyful parallel to the kids was amazing. Their enthusiasm was contagious.

That night, in a darkened room lit only by a few candles and the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree, I read them the story. A Christmas Carol. It was the single greatest time I had reading to anyone either at the library or here. They loved it. We drank punch, had a lot of sugary treats, and made a party of it.

At the end of the night, I sat down at one of the circular tables with the red and green paper thrown across it with Frank. We talked for over an hour. I found out he was 92 years old, a retired carpenter, and a Korean War veteran. After telling him more about myself, he got to me in a way I had not expected.

Frank was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me with a slight quiver in his lips.

He said, “What you’re doing for us, I hope you know it’s really something special. But for me, it even more so. You see, my wife, Beverly, passed away two years ago. She and I actually came here back in 2018. My eyes are shot, I can barely walk without all of my joints screaming, and we don’t have any other family to speak of. Beverly was a librarian. Her eyes were still good, great actually. But she had MS. She used to read to me every night. I’d fall asleep with my head in her lap, her hand on my face or in my hair. And I’d listen to her sweet voice read me to sleep.”

I actually felt my eyes tear up a little thinking about Frank and Beverly, falling asleep every night together here in this place. They never had any kids, no siblings to speak of. It was just them. They had each other, and as long as they did, they were perfect.

Frank continued, “Having you read to us, it makes me think of my wife. And being in that library, it makes me feel closer to her again. She was the most gentle woman in the whole world. My angel. I knew she was too good for me the moment I met her, but I never had the heart to tell her so I married her before she could figure it out.”

I laughed at this as a tear spilled down my cheek. Frank’s eyes were wet too, but he chuckled. I reached out to grab his hand. I don’t know why I did it, but I could see the love in this man’s eyes. He missed his dear Beverly so much. And in some way, I brought a little bit of her back to him.

We talked a little longer, but it was getting late, and I was sure Frank wanted to sleep soon.

“So, what plans do you have for tomorrow? You guys got a big party here, or maybe some friends coming to visit?”

Frank shook his head and said, “Nah, no party. This place is like a ghost town on Christmas Day. No, I’ll wake up early and catch the morning mass. My old church streams it now online. After that, I’ll have the run of the place. Some staff will be here, but almost none of the residents will. Their families come and pick them up. It’s nice. They know I love ham, so one of them will probably have a ham for me. You know, the one out of the can. With all the fixins.”

I sat back and shook my head, saying, “No. Not tomorrow.”

He wore a confused look and said, “Huh?”

“Sorry. What I meant was, I would like you to come to my family’s house tomorrow. We always have a huge dinner. My fiancé will be there, you can finally meet her. She knows all about you. Heck, my whole family knows you. It’d be great if they could finally put a face to the name and stories.”

He put his hands up and said, “No, I couldn’t. That’s your family, I’m not going to—”

“I insist. Please. Everyone wants to meet you, especially my fiancé. You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Frank pressed his lips together, thinking for a moment.

Then, I added, “We always have a ham. A glazed ham. With pineapple. And tons of sides. You’ll be so stuffed. Come on, Frank. What do you say?”

Finally, he relented. I could see how excited he was, but he said, “Are you sure I’m not imposing? I don’t want to you to bring an unexpected guest.”

Grinning, I said, “I’m positive. They’re going to be so happy you came. I’ll swing by around 2, ok? No need to dress up. I wear jeans.”

When I arrived the next day just before 2pm with my fiancé, Kim, Frank was waiting in the lobby wearing a navy blue suit with a red tie. For a second, I thought he looked like a politician.

At my parents’ house, I introduced him around, and my mother actually hugged him. He wore a silly grin the entire afternoon and evening. He regaled us with stories of the war and tales from his many adventures with Beverly when they travelled around the world. He spoke of her with such a sweet fondness, it was almost heart breaking if it weren’t for the joyful stories he told.

On the way home, Kim insisted he sit in the front seat. At first, I figured she was just making it easier for him and his achy joints on a cold December night. But she ended up falling asleep on the back seat. I was glad though. I could see the contentment on his face as we passed under the street lights.

Frank folded his hands in his lap and looked down at one point. Quietly, he said, “Thank you for inviting me to be with your family tonight. It’s the happiest I’ve felt since I lost my Beverly. You have a wonderful family. They’re all such kind and lovely people. Thank you for that.”

I glanced over at him and said, “Hey Frank, they’re not my family. They are yours too if you’ll have us.”

He didn’t respond, but he did put his thumb and forefinger to his eyes as if to wipe away impending tears.

That was last Christmas. And Frank has spent every single holiday, birthday, and random day with me and my family since. I still read to all of my friends at St. Mary’s, but I have to admit that my favorite listener is Frank. ---discussion of drugs and sex, cursing---

The short, fat man in the red velvet suit with white fur trim put the marijuana cigarette up to his huge white beard. “How much longer until we are done with this Christmas shit?”

The snow falling behind the large neon signs for the shopping mall reflected reds, blues, greens and purples, showering the three people standing in the alley with sparkling confetti of colored lights.  The ripe, sweet smell of restaurant trash from the dumpster next to them in the alley mingled with the smell of the burning weed.  Two scantily dressed women stomped their red boots in the black-streaked snow to stay warm.  The man’s short stubby fingers passed it to the shorter of the two women, Sugarplum Mary, dressed in a short green velvet dress, tight against her plump body and candy-cane-striped leggings.  

“Five.” She inhaled, and then released five perfect smoke rings. “But then we got the holiday party tonight at seven at the Hilton, Nick.” Sugar said.

“Damn- that’s tonite? Dentists.” Nick spat.  “I do not want to go.  Pepper, could we skip it?”  

The taller woman,  Pepper Minstix, took a puff on the joint and passed it back to Nick.

“Those dentists pay the bills.”

Wearing the same green velvet dress, it hugged tight to her lean body.  Her long curly orange hair framed a pixie face with hard, black eyes.  

“Tomorrow being Christmas, we are booked all day, but then we get a break until the middle of January.” Pepper looked at her phone, the case, glittered in gold and diamonds.

“It was a good year Nick.” Pepper said, adjusting her tight dress. “Best we’ve had since we made the switch to this corporate work.  I miss the parties, but I prefer keeping my clothes on.”  She winked suggestively at him. “Got to give credit to Sugar, her idea to do these holiday events has worked out real good.  Especially, since, you got the look- “ she glanced quickly at the man’s belly pushing out the thick black leather belt holding the red suit jacket together.” -and it pays more than the magic gigs do.”  

“No comments on my beard!” Nick fluffed his beard up and out, making it even bigger.  I prefer to do magic, but-”

“-The mall manager said you’re the best Santa they have had in years.” Pepper said. “The kids love your sleight of hand tricks.”

The Great Magician Nicollo Medici made the joint disappear under his black leather boot.  Looking out from under his red cap, his eyes twinkled above red rosy cheeks and a button nose, his small mouth was curved in a snarl.

“Give me a damn spritz Sugar, and let's finish this up.”

Sugarplum pulled a perfume bottle out of her elf bag and sprayed all of them down. A cloud of sickly sweet marshmallow scent floated around them as they walked back through the propped open door.

Santa’s Workshop in the center of the crowded mall had a small elf house, many dangling snowflakes and a red sofa. The line of men waiting for pictures with the Elves was almost as long as the line for Santa.

“That Santa has a real beard, I pulled on it!” A boy said, as he waited for his friend after speaking with Santa.

“And he pulled a candy cane out of my ear!” The other boy said, his eyes big. “And did you see what he did with the handkerchief? He wiped off the root beer I spilled on him and then it just disappeared! He might be real-  Oh there is a Cinnabon-let’s go get some cinnamon rolls!”

The line moved slowly through the mall, the kids kept coming, a quick conversation, a smile for the mom’s phone cameras, and then they were off.

“….I want a… football…  Quest Pro virtual headset…Purrble robot... iwatch, …iphone 14… …macbook air… leo messi jersey… Steph Curry jersey…Tua Tagovailoa jersey…Jenna Baby doll…american girl doll…mountain bike…puppy…kitten…pony….elephant… ‘an official Red Ryder, carbine action, 200-shot, range model air rifle, with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time…”

 Nick stood up during a break between kids, walked around his sofa couch, stretched and looked down at the line that stretched deep into the mall, past the phone accessory booth.  He saw a boy taller than the rest getting closer, he was bobbing his head, moving strangely.

“Sugar, Let's end it soon.” Nick said. “I’m getting a strange vibe from that tall kid. It is after five, let’s call it.”

Sugar whispered to Pepper, who started talking to the line.  In between two screaming kids the tall boy walked up. His mother spoke to Pepper, quietly, urgently, her hands gesturing at the boy.

Nick was up helping Sugar collect their bags, when he saw the tall boy sitting on the sofa.

“That is no boy, he is 20 something!” Nick said under his breath.  Good looking with long dark hair, his posture was slightly tilted, his head moved slowly while his hands fidgeted quickly in his lap.

Pepper walked up to Nick and began whispering in his ear.

“His name is Sam, and he came to the mall today just to see you. His mom said he has brain cancer, and it is growing worse. Come on Nick, for me?”

“You’re a damn soft touch. We’re going to be late for the dentists.”  Nick said softly.

Nick looked up to the mom standing nearby. Brown mouse colored hair turning gray, middle height, baggy sweater and jeans.   Nick’s practiced eye knew she was pretty once, before she stopped taking care of herself and started taking care of her son. She was squeezing her hands together, tight.

Nick adjusted his hat and sat back down on the couch. Sitting down they were both about the same size, the boy’s long thin legs stretched out in front,  the arms of his jacket seemed empty, flat and deflated, his thin delicate hands endlessly moving, and twisting.  

“So son, what's your name?”

The boy breathed something unintelligible.

“What?” Nick asked.  The kid spoke in a whisper, and off to the side, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at Nick.

 “Sam!” Sam said, louder, agitated.

“Sam, got it. OK Sam, what do you want for Christmas?”

“I want sex.”  Sam said loud and clear.

“Sex? What do you mean sex!” This request threw Nick and he broke character, slapping his knee. “You are supposed to ask for shit you don't need, like a video game or a football, or,” he looked carefully at the skinny boy, “a car or something?”

“I don’t need anything.  I’m 22 years old and I live with my mom and I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I want sex!”

“Sam, sex is not something you just get. Santa can’t bring you sex…” Nick leaned close. “Don't you know any girls, you could ask out on a date- you're a good looking kid, and…”

“I have a surgery on my brain in January.  I would like to have sex before then. I have a 66% chance of significant complications.” Sam’s eyes were wide, guileless.

“Significant complications…” Nick said, leaning back. “But this is not the kind of thing Santa does…”

“I believe in you Santa!” Sam said, pleading.

Nick called over Pepper and Sugar and whispered to them.  Sugar looked up sharply at Sam and laughed. But then Nick put his hand on her arm and she looked back down. Pepper leaned over to Nick and whispered in his ear. He looked back at her, questioning, then nodded his head slowly.  He moved back to Sam.

“Ok Sam, you came to the right Santa, and the Elves agreed to see if we can come through with a Christmas Miracle. But we can not do it now.” Nick waved his hand and then the two Elves went off to pack up their set.

“We got to pick you up later- we have a gig at seven, but it should be over by nine or so, you live around here?"

"Yes, I live over off Cedar lane-"

“-Pepper will get it. We'll pick you up, say 10.” Nick interrupted.  “Tell your Mom we’re… going to look at Holiday lights. Got it?”

Nick smiled and waved at the Mom.  “And just so I know what we are dealing with here, does everything uh, work down there?”  Nick nodded to Sam’s lap.

“Oh yes!” Sam gave a big smile.  “But sometime it gets so hard it hurts, so I have to-”

“-I don’t want to know!” Nick threw up his hands.

*****************

Sam sat on the couch at his house and looked at his watch for the hundredth time. “It is only 11, they'll be here Mom, Santa promised!”

“It seems late to go look at Holiday lights-”  Sam’s Mom moved over to the front window and glanced out the side of the curtain. She saw a long red Cadillac with a white rag top and chrome wire rims pull up to the curb.

Wearing a black tuxedo, Nick got out of the car, and then a voice called out, arguing.

“OK, OK!”  

Nick grabbed a Santa hat from the car and put it on as he walked to the door.

Sam opened the door before he got to the porch.

“That is your car?” Sam asked

“What the fuck do you think Santa drives?” Nick’s beard was now tightly formed, sharp and pointed at his chin.

“Where is your normal outfit?” Sam hesitated behind the door.

“Santa had to change. I got my cap, don't I?” Nick turned to walk back to the car. “Let’s go, It is Christmas Eve, now or never!”

Nick got behind the wheel, with Sugar in the front seat.  “Sam, these are my Elves, Pepper Minstix and Sugarplum Mary.” Sam got in the back with Pepper. The red Cadillac peeled out, back wheels smoking.

“What are we doing Nick- is this a good idea?” Sugar leaned over to whisper to Nick. “Santa delivering sex to a young man?”

“There is a force at play tonight, bringing something, I don't know what, but there is magic in the air I can feel it.” Nick said quietly, then louder, “Sam, we are going to see if we can find you a friend tonight. It’s Christmas eve so it might be hard to find some of the girls, but I know a few places.  Once we find your friend we can stop by the motel.  OK?”

Pepper has Sam’s hand in hers. “Tell me Sam, why do you need this surgery?”

“The tumor has taken over parts of my brain, some motor functions, and vision. I see things a little bit off, like through a prism or a ball of glass.  Colors, and images get distorted so I can not see clearly. My eyes are fine, but-” Sam looked out the window. “The surgery is to take out the tumor, however I might never see again, or walk…” He stopped talking, his body tensed up.

Pepper began talking fast.  “Oh this is going to be fun. I wonder who will see tonite? Now Sam, what are you looking for in your friend?”

“….I want a… short girl… tall girl…long black hair… dyed blue hair… long legs up to here… short legs… blue eyed…brown eyed… green eyed… dark skin… light skin…smells like rain in a forest… feels like warm bread… dances like a fairy… sings like a bird…. Someone to listen to me…”

“There is SpiceMuffin.” Nick pulled over to speak to a woman on the street. She wore a big jacket over a short skirt.

“Hello Spice, you remember Pepper and SugarPlum- meet my friend Sam.”

“Hello Nicky, nice to meet you Sam, are you looking to party?” Spice leaned into the car window.

A black Dodge charger drove by slowly. “Nick is that…?” Sugar said anxiously.

“That is K-Ram! Spice hop in we go to go!” Nick waited for Spice to get in the back seat and then peeled out, tires spinning on the wet cement.

“K-Ram has the, mistaken, belief that I owe him some money.” Nick said as he gunned the motor. “I do not want to discuss it with him tonite.  We need to get out of here!”

The black Charger drove up behind the speeding Cadillac with a man leaning out the window, several shots echoed into the night.

“Is he shooting at us?” Sam asked.

“He is going on the naughty list for sure!”  Nick swerved across the empty streets and ran through a red light.  The red Cadillac squealed down into an alley then pulled over, lights off.

“OK Sam, no time like the present.” Nick said.

 Spice pulled off her jacket, leaned over and climbed on Sam’s lap. “Let’s start with a kiss.”

Spice gave Sam a peck on the lips, pulled back and then went in for a deep kiss.

Sam screamed a high whiny squeal, pushed Spice off him.  “No, no, no!” He said.

Pepper grabbed Sam and rubbed his head to calm him down.

“Nick, what are you doing with a boy like that- is he family or something?” Spice said, annoyed. “Take him back to his momma.”

Spice opened the door to get out.

“Here’s some money- sorry Spice.” Nick said.

“Sam,” Pepper said, softly, “if you really want to do it, maybe I can…”

“Pepper you don’t have too… “ I mean we just met him and-” Nick said.

“I want to, as a present. Sam, I can be your friend.”  Pepper blinked fast, and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Would you like that?”

“Or I can be your friend,” Sugarplum said, leaning over the seat. “Or even both of us?”

Sam looked at Pepper and then at Sugarplum.

“No, no.” Sam started to cry. “ I mean both of you are so beautiful, it is not that, it’s just-”  

Sam paused. “I guess I do not want sex. I didn’t even know what it was really.  I do not want to just rub body parts with someone, might as well rub elbows or noses-

“Sex is a lot better than rubbing elbows.” Nick added.

“Maybe.”  Sam said.  “But what I wanted was to connect to someone, not just about how I look, or how I think, but just as people. And tonight I did that with you all. We even were in a car chase!” Sam started to laugh, and then cry, he wiped the tears off his face with his hand.  “I am missing that in my life, I have my Mom around and the helpers.  But, I am treated like a kid all the time. Tonight I got to be just me.” Sam looked at the two Elves.

“I guess I wanted someone to talk to who didn't look down on me or tried to baby me. This was the best night of my life.” Sam looked at Nick. “Maybe someday I will find someone to rub genitalia with, but for now I understand better what I want, and I don’t want to have sex with a stranger.  I want to be able to share my view of the world.  Thank you helping me figure that out Santa.”

“Sam, maybe that tumor clarifies what you see, instead of distorting it.” Nick said, “Let us get you home.”

They dropped Sam off at his house early Christmas morning.  A thick mist surrounded the car like the down of a thistle as they drove out of the suburb and hit the freeway back to the City. It sparkled in the headlights refracting and bouncing in new and different ways.My hiding place is my home. That safe-from-the-world cave where I only venture out if I want or need to. Lately, this seems wise. Especially given the risk of infection. Or worse - being exposed to the views of those with which I may disagree.

I was surprised to discover that when I witness the world from a perspective of being anchored inside my own heart - I see only magic unfolding all around me.

This awareness led me to find ways to open up my journey in a way that expands my perspectives.

To compensate for my inner hermit, I have joined social change programs online that help me challenge my current world views. In doing this, I have exposed myself to new perspectives. Here are the two that join me in consciousness this morning;

"There is an inherent violence within the inattention to the humanity of others." Here I remember the George Floyd murder that occurred in just 9+ minutes.

The other refers to the pandemic;

Remembering to view the SOCIAL body as MY body;

"I cannot be well and safe unless "WE" are well and safe."

I need to acknowledge that we need to understand other people's perspectives. Otherwise, we cannot see the "whole" picture. Not unless I can listen to another whose world-view I disagree with will I be able to do my job as a world citizen working to uplift my social culture in a manner that might motivate healing and change.

 I am very, very guilty of this. Recently I informed my right-wing evangelical Christian brother that I was no longer willing to speak with him. If he needs to talk to me, he has to text.

What is true is that the emotional tones in his voice began to repulse me to the degree that I could not tolerate listening to him even "praying" for me. I was not interested in him "saving me." I don't even believe in the existence of a "devil" from whom I need protection and prayer to keep me safe.

I believe that there is no such thing as "right" and "wrong." There is only "what works to help me accomplish my goal, and what doesn't work to help me reach my goal.

If my goal is to increase my own experience of empathy, I may need to examine my inherent biases and prejudices. If my goal is to broaden and expand my capacity for love, I may want to expand the circle of the number of people for whom I truly feel love.

As it turns out - my magic hiding place is within my heart.

What I found hiding in my heart was a capacity to deceive myself when a belief clouds my judgment and interferes with my ability to experience empathy and love for that "other" person.

I have had to generate my introspection by asking myself questions like "does this belief help me be more open to how others are experiencing me?" or "does this feeling help me see this person more clearly, more honestly, or not?"

I also learned that I have a lot of inner conversations that lead me astray. I sometimes still engage in internal dialogues with my brother, roommate, or deceased mother.

I catch myself in full dialog while making up the content. "Mark!" (my brothers' name) I would say, "have you ever considered what happens to women forced to give birth to unwanted babies?" "Do you think this might contribute to drug use, poverty, and lives squandered? Do you think it's time for women's lives to be filled with education and appropriate goals with just a little more support from the greater community?"

Admittedly, I did finally have this conversation with him. Perhaps my inner dialog was helpful. He did stare back at me and then said: "I never thought about that."

My point, right?

I am finally turning this inner speculum on my harbored prejudices and misinterpretations. I am prying open the closed valve of my aorta to a much broader potential for function.

Empathy. Compassion. I now have broader access to a global birth canal whose descending child can believe in its existence. A child born into a world that can handle the differences between cultures, religions, and belief systems. A fully dilated cervix capable of allowing change to emerge into our world systems.

Today Christmas is calling to me. From this universal concept comes a Christmas carol that elucidates our inequality and the broad acceptance of its inevitability. The words of the refrain are this;

"Christmas is coming - the goose is getting fat - please put a penny in an old man's hat. If you haven't got a penny, a he-penny will do. If you haven't got a he-penny, then God bless you."

And here, to my amazement, is the teaching that GOD "Blesses" inequality. Our commercialized evolution of Christmas in America has its anchor in the delivery of gifts, and buying is sacred to the season if you wish to show love to your family and friends.

This Christmas 'magic" is hidden inside our desire to show love. We give more of ourselves to others at Christmas. We endeavor to show more empathy and compassion during the season.

Christians echo that the "reason for the season" lies in a manger. This child has been born as the savior of humanity. And yet - how have these Christians helped to evolve our responses into a more empathetic and compassionate human culture? Blame is often used instead of an explanation. The opportunity is over 2,000 years old. Where are we now? How has this "perspective" helped?

I could take the low road and point to the many thousands of children buried in the church schoolyards of Christian residential schools on reservations across the US and Canada.

Or, I could take the high road that points to my heart as the birthplace of humanity's savior; Compassion. Self-introspection. Empathy. Understanding. Equality and acceptance need to be understood as valuable equally among the many cultures of human beings on earth. The same human beings that occupy our tiny blue planet, floating inconspicuously within the vast darkness of space.

When we view our tiny planet through that darkness - we use the lens of new technology. It makes us suddenly aware of the soft glowing magic emanating from it. Is that soft glow from the radiant magic hiding within the human heart?

Is it simply the glow of the sun radiating out from our oceans?

Or is it a glow that emerges from the planet herself as the inner love for herself that needs to exist to accentuate just how expansive that dark space around us is?

"Peace on earth and mercy mild - God and sinners reconciled. Join us all these nations-wide. Join the triumph of the skies. Hark! The herald angels sing. Glory to the newborn King." Standing over last night's carnage the plump woman shakes her head disapprovingly. As she steps over the tiny bodies of passed out elves she reaches her destination; slumped on one of the couches in the corner of the room is a young man in his early twenties. She walks up to the sleeping man and gives him a solid, anger fueled, thump on the back.

“Chris Jr., what do you think you’re doing getting drunk before the busiest night of the year!” she spouts.

Chris rolls off the couch and awakens with a snort. His hands automatically go to his head and he lets out a low moan.

“I think I’m dying Granny.”

He rolls around on the ground and the woman eyes him with disbelief.

“You’re not getting any sympathy from me, you drunk hoodlum!” the woman spewed as she laid a blanket on him. As he continued to roll on the floor moaning, the woman walked out.

She went to discuss a last minute contingency plan with her jolly husband only to find him in the bathroom. After a series of miscellaneous sounds and a rather odiferous smell she knew something was wrong. “Honey, did you eat all the cookies as a midnight snack again?”

There was silence from the other side of the bathroom door. Then came a response that was barely audible, partly because of the door and partly because of the shame. “I was hungry. Don’t be mad.”

The woman wasn’t mad, she was fuming. Did she have to do everything herself? She was retired for crying out loud: she was going to be dragged from a comfortable night of reading by the fire again.

As she walked out of the house and across to another building she looked like a tea kettle about to boil over. She tromped over to a modest looking building; as she stepped through the door she was greeted by elves. “Mrs.Claus! Mrs.Claus!”

All of the elves clamored around her calves and Mrs.Claus announced “Everybody, it’s time for plan M!”

The senior elves gave a nod and immediately shot off to work. The younger elves tailed the more experienced elves. A younger elf tugged on the shirt of an older elf to get their attention and whispered “What is plan M?”

The older elf laughed, showing smile lines, and said “I thought for sure they explained it in training.” Another senior elf chipped in with “Hah, I bet they didn’t want to ruin the mystique for the youngins.”

“Plan M stands for the Misses; Mrs.Claus is the Santa for this Christmas. Do you remember the fiasco of 2001, when Santa hurt his back hanging Christmas ornaments? Don’t you ever think about how Christmas happened?”

At this, the little elves stared doe eyed at Mrs.Claus with new found respect. Everybody knew the tale of the 2001 fiasco. Mr.Claus had defied all protests not to get up on the ladder when putting ornaments up, possibly in an attempt to fight the concept of age, and had subsequently fallen on his bum. You can guess who was dragged from a comfortable night of reading by the fire. The little elves had found their unsung hero and they were determined to do their best to help her.

Mrs Claus went over to the closet and pulled out a red coat and fake beard. With an experienced hand she slipped them both on. The beard was surprisingly comfortable on her face; after her third time of filling in she decided to splurge on a high quality fake beard made of real hair.

She waddled over to the little elves who were holding up big black boots and she smiled at them and slipped her feet in. She was accustomed to putting them on herself but the little elves were too earnest to refuse. She walked past a beautifully embellished sleigh to a rather shabby sleigh that looked more like a little red wagon. The reindeer were promptly attached to the little sleigh and she hoisted herself up into the seat. Positioning herself she gave a once over to the reindeer, the sleigh, and herself. She’s still got it.

Seeing the little elves staring at her like she was the best thing since sliced bread Mrs.Claus gave a jolly “Ho Ho Ho” and then she and her deer entourage went off into the night.

After 30 minutes of rushing around the Pacific Ocean Mrs.Claus shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘This thing was obviously made for people with more supple bums. I’ve worked for decades and you’d think I could get a comfortable seat.’

Continuing West they  passed Australia, New Zealand, Africa and Asia all the while heaving presents out of the side of the sleigh. The technology had upgraded, the presents would find their own way to people’s fireplaces, and Mrs.Claus was glad for it. She wasn’t sure how she would manage to wedge herself down chimneys anymore and it had been years since she last needed to use her lockpicking skills.

Mrs.Claus had distracted herself from her uncomfortable rear end by enjoying the scenic views but by the time the sleigh was over England she could stand it no longer. She landed the sleigh in a field adjacent to a quaint little village somewhere in the Cotswolds. She peered around and saw an older woman sitting in a rocking chair. They made eye contact and the woman waved Mrs.Claus over.

As if to greet her the woman said “I know a knackered old woman when I see her, besides the one I see in the mirror.” She laughed, “Sit down, old girl.” She motioned to the rocking chair next to her and Mrs.Claus sank into it, joints crying in relief. It was wood but it was malleable through years of loving and it felt like clouds after sitting on that sleigh. The woman had another tea ready like she was expecting company and offered it to Mrs.Claus.

The two women rocked in the chair, sipping their tea, and enjoying the comfortable silence. As Mrs.Claus felt feeling return to her body she stood up and thanked the other woman. The woman handed her some carrots and at Mrs.Claus’ questioning look she shrugged and said “For the deer.”

“Are you used to seeing flying deer in your field?” the bearded woman ventured.

“I see weirder shite on a Tuesday; sometimes I think th’ whole town’s on crack. Have a merry Christmas.”

After getting back into the sleigh the Christmas parade ascended and continued its trek across the rest of Europe, Canada, the United States, Mexico and Central and South America. Mrs.Claus missed Japan the first time, she was rusty, so she doubled back and made sure they got their presents, a little late but it was before the parents woke up and they wouldn’t believe their children saw Santa.

Pulling up to the barn triumphantly, the sleigh devoid of presents, the elves gathered and started clapping. She descends from the sleigh and rushes to the closet. Throwing off the coat and beard she turns and announces “Okay everybody; let’s finish plan M with style!”

The senior elves excitedly start shuffling objects around the space. The younger elves just bounce around with anticipation.

One of the senior elves yells “Hit it!” from the back of the room and suddenly the sound of  a funky base enters the space. The following notes introduce one of the most fantastic dancing songs: ‘Lets Groove’ by Earth, Wind & Fire.

The younger elves squeal and start to twirl around. The senior elves sway, wobble, and snap. Mrs.Claus does a not-so-little victory jig and the reindeer click their hooves. After a few more encore songs Mrs.Claus sashays out of the building. Hiking back to her building she enters her library, there are some perks that come with the job, and she hung up her two favorite signs on the door: ‘Merry Christmas’ and ‘I’m retired and I’m reading a good book. Enter at your own risk.’“I told you, Billy, I’m out of the game. Have been for a long time.” Gustmas Tinseltrolley took a long, slow sip of his hot cocoa as Billy “The Jingle” Bellringer stood in the living room of his cozy log cabin, deep in the Canadian Rockies. He knew the second the broad-shouldered elf had knocked on his door that, at the least, trouble was afoot. At the most? All of Christmas could be on the line.

“The Big Guy needs you, Gus. The kids need you. You were the best gift wrapper the North had since tissue paper was invented. Besides, Claus said that he’s heard the message and negotiations can be continued after the holiday season. The strikers are being unreasonable.” Billy had a habit of speaking with his hands. He was the king of holding a conversation while having a second, smaller conversation going on with his emphatic arm waving or expressive finger wagging. At the moment, his hands were shoved in his pockets, noticeably mute. Gus wondered if it had been a mistake on Santa’s part to send him. Or perhaps– if he was the best Santa had left.

“I ain’t no scab, Billy. If the strike isn’t over, then the Big Man isn’t done listening.” He held his mug gingerly in his gnarled hands, letting the warmth seep into him, strengthen him.

“So what, millions of kids are going to see their naked presents under the tree as soon as they walk up on Christmas morning? No surprises, no sense of tradition, no order? It’ll be chaos, Gus! Chaos!” There was a quaver in his voice that could have been mistaken for passion, but Gus more accurately registered it as fear. When his face remained blank, Billy pressed on. “Have you ever seen a Christmas morning for a family of 7 before? Hm? Well, I have. Without the individual wrapping paper for each kid or a cheery little nametag with holly on it? Things get tossed around, Gus. Even thrown.” His voice turned dark. “You ever see a toy get broken before a little kid gets to play with it even once?” He shook his head, looking nauseous at the thought of it.

Gus grit his teeth. Not even the exiles on the Peninsula of Poorly Thought Through Toys interacted with those lost souls, the broken toys whose hopes had been forever dashed by an overworked delivery man or an overeager family dog.

“I’m just a retired wrapper. I’m past my prime. These old fingers won’t be much use to Nickie.” He sat his mug down and splayed his fingers for Billy to see.

“You?!” He scoffed. “You won the Tannenbaum Tinker award five years in a row! You’ve won 21 Holly Jolly Giftsmas Medals of Honor.”

“22, actually,” Gus murmured. His gaze scanned the garland that lined his living room and his eyes lingered on the silver medals that he’d so carefully placed upon it. They seemed to glint and twinkle in the roaring fire’s light. He sighed heavily, feeling the weight of all those awards and all those years bearing down on him.

“You know, we used to call you The Nutcracker.” Billy took a few steps toward the fire, turning his back on Gus.

“That was a different time.”

“No kidding.” It was Billy’s turn to sigh. “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you’ll rethink your answer, Tinseltrolley. Or else the next time I show up at your door, it might be under less… festive circumstances.” He rested his elbow on the mantle, staring into the fire.

“For what it’s worth, I hope the next time we meet is under different circumstances too.” There was no malice in his voice.

A lengthy beat of silence passed between them. Then, without another word, Billy walked out.

The door slammed shut, shooting a frigid winter breeze through the living room. The cold air swept past the garlands and seeped into the cracks of the hardwood floor. It seemed to leech Christmas spirit from the air. The twinkling lights shuddered, the roaring fire mewed. Gus sighed and didn’t stir for a long while.

Eventually, he removed the emerald and crimson knit blanket that was laying across his lap and set it aside on the couch. He folded it gently, as it was the one he’d received from Berry May Mistle when he’d retired. He was sure he still had the ribbon that was tied around it when she’d laid it in his arms. Double-faced satin. 2.25-inch width. Finished with a bow on top, Flower Style. He inhaled slowly and rose from the couch, bones creaking as he did so.

Gus walked closer to his Christmas tree, his arms held behind him as he surveyed the crystalline ornaments and strands of tinsel that embraced the fir. The bow at the top of the tree was his signature, The 12-strand Turtledove. He thought about the last present he’d ever used that bow on.

~

It was 1994. The previous winter had been harsh, and the Christmas spirit had been more vital than ever. The licensing contract for the Power Rangers™ action figures had gone through at the last minute, and elves were working overtime to try and meet demand.

And he was right there the whole time. He was in the trenches, working beside the toymakers and the gift wrappers. Elves went home with the smell of plastic on them like cologne, he went home to Mrs. Claus with multicolored paint under his nails. It was a different era.

Just before he left for the big trip, he gathered everyone up. With his sleigh behind him and sack stuffed to the brim with dolls, action figures, stuffed animals, and gaming systems, he took a moment to look out over the crowd. He shared his feelings of admiration and promised that the effort shown wouldn’t go unrewarded. He informed the elves that bonus checks would be under their trees tonight and they’d all receive two weeks of vacation with pay. Gus remembered how easily Kringle could make people feel respected, like the work they did made a difference.

Gus would deny it to anyone who asked, but that night, in the crowd, his eyes had been silver with tears as soaring pride overwhelmed him. With one final bellowing laugh, Santa Claus sprang to his sleigh, reins in hand, and promised he’d be back soon for the after-party.

He never returned to the North Pole. We waited at the company party until the early morning light, until even the talking snowmen had gone home to sleep. There was only one gift left under that tree: a gift to Mr. Kringle from his loyal elves. The present that Gus had wrapped so carefully, with a 12-strand Turtledove perched on top, sat under the tree, cold and solemn as a grave. It would never be opened.

 After that, there was a new Santa in town and everything started to change. The Old Mrs. Claus disappeared, her closet still full of red velvet dresses with white faux fur trim. Dasher and Dancer refused to fly for 6 months. The milk and cookie demand dropped for the first time in over a hundred years.

The new Big Man said he didn’t care so much for the “corporate mentality”, despite his background in sales. He said he wanted the team to feel more like a family and told everyone to just call him Nick. He canceled ‘unnecessary’ meetings left and right, and that valuable face-to-face time that so many elves had treasured for years was suddenly gone.

He had blinked in astonishment when he learned that the majority of elfkind didn’t have their own emails. He said the North Pole was falling behind the times. (Firstly, it was only 1996. And secondly, imagine trying to teach a master craftsman of 400 years how to turn on a computer. Frightful.)

Now, Gus hadn’t minded fewer meetings here and there, especially the ones explaining retirement benefits and 401Ks. But that winter, there had been a rise in cases of Sparklelung as the once mandatory glitter safety meetings had been streamlined into pamphlets no one had read and posters that were no bigger than a Christmas Card.

The Big Man had taken several vacations during his first year on the job. He was hardly seen by anyone until Thanksgiving. We were lost for those long summer months, without the direction or authority to begin work on next Christmas’ toys. The new boss had no talent for project management, no passion for the art of scheduling. Weekly scrums were nothing more than a bandage on a gaping wound. All of December had been a crunch, with elves working round the clock to meet the deadline. It was worse than walking on broken ornaments and he’d rather give up candy canes than go through that again. Gus didn’t think a family should make you feel that way.

Gus retired in 1996.

~

He took a deep breath and let the scents of peppermint and pine fill his lungs. He took a long pour of eggnog and threw it back, not even bothering to savor it. Then he washed his glass and put it away. He packed his suitcase full of colorful sweaters and his favorite suspenders. He unplugged the strands of lights around his house diligently, one after another. After dousing the fire and locking the front door, he took one final look inside at the noble tree standing guard in the dark before he turned on his heel and headed North. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be home for Christmas.

~

“They even took away our dental insurance!” Cries of outrage flooded the already too-hot room as the 12 leaders of the Anti-Scrooge Movement had gathered at the request of Gustmas Tinseltrolley. “No dental? For Christmas elves?! We can only take so much disrespect!” Vehement shouts of agreement rang out, and the room devolved into chaotic noise again.

Gus agreed, things were bad. With the current inflation rate, elves were working longer hours for less pay, and most couldn’t keep their stockings filled. The strike had slowed things down, to be sure, but the Big Man had found those few elves who couldn’t afford not to work and production was continuing along, albeit severely delayed. No one truly believed him when he told the strikers that Christmas would still be happening with or without them, but he had refused to hear their demands any longer. Negotiations were off the table and Christmas was coming, fast.

“How much longer can we really keep this up though?” Burl McMistletoe spoke up. His quiet dissent brought the room to an uneasy lull. “Some of us got mouths to feed.” He tightened his grip on the pointy felt hat in his hands.

Gus knew the boy’s father, Bing McMistletoe, and had even worked with him during the Great Clear Tape shortage of 1973. The elf had been a wonder with polystyrene cement and all adhesive-related handiwork. He rose from his chair and walked over to Burl, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You have kids?”

“Just one. Bublé.”

“Good name.”

“He’s a good kid. And he’s a wonder with a glue gun already.”

“You got a picture?” Burl nodded and pulled a photo from his wallet. Bublé was missing several baby teeth and was wearing a hat much too large for him as he grinned at the camera, holding a perfect macaroni nutcracker in one hand and a glue gun in the other. Gus took the picture from Burl and crossed to the front of the room, all eyes on him. He pinned the picture to the corkboard they’d been strategizing on. He took down the other papers, the lists of elves who had joined their cause, copies of the letters of petitions they had sent, and the calendar with December 24th circled in red. He turned around to face the others.

“Anyone else have kids?” A few raised their hands and produced photos that Gus pinned next to Bublé. “Bud, what about that vacation you’ve been saving up for?”

“I’m surprised you remembered, Gus.” A small smile crept across Bud’s face. He produced a postcard of a beach in the Caribbean that he had always dreamed of visiting, and the crinkled cardstock joined the children on the corkboard. Slowly but surely, the others brought pictures of their own or small reminders that they carried of dreams long held. Lou pinned up the lucky guitar pick he kept on a string. Carol printed and posted the listing of her dream home. Max Snowfield even drew a wonky-looking pet reindeer on a spare piece of paper and sheepishly attached it to the board. When everyone added their contribution, they stepped back to admire their work.

“This is what we’re fighting for,” Gus said, his throat tight. “Not just the pay, not just the respect, but the time to spend with our children, on our hobbies, our dreams. Just because we live for hundreds of years doesn’t mean life isn’t still horribly short. We have to see this through, for the dreams they can't take away.” Refocused, Gus rolled up his sleeves and was about to prepare for a long night and refill his hot chocolate when his eyes alighted on the guitar pick on the board. His brow creased in thought.

“Hey Lou, do you have access to a recording studio, by any chance?”

“My brother’s got a little booth at his place, why?”

“I have a very strange idea.” He pulled his budget flip phone from his pocket and scrolled to find a number. “Lou and Carol, you’re with me. Bud, Max, I need you to keep pressing the stable elves. Annabelle, call your buddy on the Sack Pack Squad. We’ll need all the backup we can get.” The other elves exchanged a look as Gus dialed the number and tapped his foot absentmindedly. “Hey Dolly, you remember that favor you owe me? I was wondering if I might cash it in.”

~

The golden, dulcet tones of Dolly Parton’s voice rang out from an MP3 file on the device that Gus placed on Santa’s desk. A country remix of the 12 Days of Christmas began to play, as Dolly vamped to the instrumentals. “Hey y’all, It’s Dolly Parton and I wanted to give a big shout-out to my friend Gus up there at the North Pole! Happy Holidays from your home to mine and may your Christmas be a hoot and a holler!” Santa looked up at Gus from under his bushy white eyebrows.

“What is this?” he questioned as he gestured to the gathering of elves before him. “Don’t you people know I’m busy this time of year?”

“I think you’ll want to listen to this.” Gus crossed his arms as the song entered into the first verse. ‘On the first day of Christmas, Santa kept from me-’

A list of demands delivered in musical form with ultimatums sung by the ethereal ‘9 to 5’ singer herself played for the entire 3 minutes and 52 seconds with no more interruptions from the man in the red suit. Santa sunk further in his chair, his fingers steepling. He steamed like a homemade gingerbread latte, each furious breath wiggling the hairs of his mustache.

“How could you release this so close to Christmas? Do you have ANY idea what this will do to the holiday spirit?!” He pounded his fist on the desk.

“Oh, we haven’t released it yet. And we might never release it, if you sign this agreement right here, right now.” Gus gestured to the stack of paper that Lou slid to Santa. “Dolly sends her love, by the way.”

“Of course she does, she’s a treasure,” Santa muttered as he flicked through the papers, his face turning redder than a cherry.

“You’ll find that if you don’t sign this, this song will trend on Tiktok faster than the ‘It’s Corn’ kid.” Gus went on. “And you might have a hard time saddling the reindeer this year, I’m afraid the stable crew decided to join our little strike. Be sure to keep those pens clean, I hear Blitzen had a couple of extra treats before the crew walked out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Do I need to play the song again?” Gus stared down the blue-eyed man and resisted the urge to grin.

~

Burl McMistletoe held his glass of eggnog high as he addressed the crowd of elves, their faces glowing with mirth. "All my life, I’ll never forget the year that Christmas was saved not by reindeer with red noses, not by voices singing loud for all to hear, but by the power of collective bargaining and Dolly Parton!” A raucous cheer went up, the clamor shaking the ornaments on the tree.

Gus’ face was beginning to grow sore after all the smiling he had done that evening. He walked away from the bustle of celebrating elves, in need of a moment of cool air. He stood on the doorstep, shutting it behind him quietly. Fluffy snow was falling softly, and Gus felt the whisper of flakes on his cheek like the embrace of an old friend. Gus stood outside long enough for snow to collect on his shoulders.

Minutes later, he saw the familiar broad silhouette of Billy Bellringer standing across the street. He raised his glass of eggnog to him. Billy raised his hand in greeting. Eventually, he even smiled. Then he shook his head and walked away, leaving footsteps in the fresh snow.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Billy.”It’s hard to place exactly how I feel during Christmas. It’s like there’s jazz music generically coming out of an open doorway that casts stark yellow light onto a pitch black street at night while the snow falls in dense waves. It’s something like that. I lived in an apartment in some city you’ve heard of for a year and that was enough so I moved to the suburbs like an American and in that American home there’s a girl in her underwear falling asleep in my recliner. I didn’t cum so we just talked til 2 and we’re somewhat drunk and she fell asleep first so I’m just sitting here watching the snow fall and realizing it’s Christmas.

“Thank you for that,” I tell her or myself I guess since she’s asleep. She’s very pretty, in a not overwhelming way. Some days I think having sex is just my body reminding me I’m not happy, but other times I don’t really fuss over all that stuff and sort of just do it and it’s pretty good.

She approached me first earlier that afternoon: “Hey! Are you from Mr. Somename’s class? Aero 210?”

“Oh yeah! Are you… Angela, right?” And I was right! And that was more or less it. She had blonde hair and a unique nose that made her face memorable and she was pretty as I said. We went on a date and talking was pretty easy I guess.

“So why are you here for Christmas? Is home too far away or…” She rummaged through our shared basket of fries for the crispy ones (“They’re my favorite, I dunno”).

“No, I was planning on spending Christmas with some friends. They invited me to their place and it was easier than going home. Flights are expensive, y’know.” Because everyone knows.

“Oh yeah for sure,” she spoke with her hands too, “I was just… I had to get tickets for my ride home too and it was like $some moderately expensive amount.”

The window was speckled with frost, like candy. I remembered the lollipops I got when I was kid from the dentist. I think it was in order to ensure we came back next year. This is when I rose up and dropped my phone on the ground because I had to go to the bathroom.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said unnecessarily. She smiled and said, “Okay.”

It’s like being in love or something, when you walk to your place or her place and she’s wearing leggings that show off her legs and a sweater and wool knitted beanie that make it seem disarming but you know it’s probably okay to have sex with her because she’s touching your arm and it’s very, very lovely. She has red cheeks and it’s like she’s your girlfriend but you don’t quite have one of those, sir.

I took her to my place since it was geographically closer to the place we went out to dinner at. She put her jacket on the couch and sort of walked in a rectangle or diamond around the room and looked at my walls that had things on them like pictures and a flag and such. I had my hands in my pockets and laughed when she pointed out me and my friends on top of a cliff.

“We were cliff jumping; they’re not actually pushing me off, but it looks like it, I guess,” I say because it looks like that. It’s hard to say anything that isn’t brutally obvious when you really, really want to bang a girl.

We put something on Netflix on when we decide this charade doesn’t particularly need to continue anymore. I look at her face as she rests it on my chest and she breathes softly and her hands are obscured by the sleeves of her sweater and it’s like I’m in love but I’m not and it’s hard, I guess, so we might as well move on.

I take off her sweater and shirt first and it progresses from there and I reach dexterously behind me (the only smooth move I am able to pull that night) to pull a condom out of the table next to my couch. I think it’s sleazy to have them there, but it’s realistic and that’s why we have nuclear bombs so I don’t particularly think I’m in the wrong there. So we do it and it’s pretty good.

No, it’s the second time that’s the problem and we look at each other while we’re only wearing our underwear in a way to ask “I guess we should go again because there are 24 hours in a day and how few of them we have used?” So we go again and it’s not as hard, which makes it difficult.

I more or less quit after 20 minutes and she’s kind about it, thankfully. We finish the movie or TV show we were watching and it’s not terrible. I think that’s the worst part, to be honest. If there was a horrible moment I think it would be bearable in a way that makes it easy to justify how much you really hate yourself.

But I just hate myself because I’m here with a naked pretty girl and I can’t do too well. And that’s not all that much of a problem since I did okay the first time, right? But it is. So I sit here cuddling this woman and she gets up and goes to the bathroom when the movie’s over and when she comes back she curls up in the recliner next to my couch and falls asleep in a few minutes after we talk about nothing for a bit.

Now we’re to the point where I thank her. I have a blanket thrown over the back of my couch and I pick it up and throw it over her in a move of chivalry and she wakes up abruptly and moves without a word to the couch to fall asleep in a bit and I assume she’s going to leave before I wake up, so I call it all for the night and think about fighting my inner demons sometime tomorrow when it’s more convenient and I don’t have to wake up tomorrow and think about Christmas and how I don’t have a fucking clue whose gifts I should be expecting and whose gifts I should be sending.

It’s all very confusing being alive but I move on and somehow it hasn’t hurt me so far. I went to bed and fell asleep after staring at my phone for an hour and a half and when I woke up the next morning she was gone. There’s no sign of snow, not even the scent that some might be on the way. Sitting in my bedroom’s window seat, I look down at all the last-minute shoppers, hurrying back home with their final gifts and forgotten food items. It’s so mild, an unseasonal 15 degrees, that some haven’t even bothered to sling on a coat, just dashed out to pick up the cranberry sauce in joggers and a t-shirt.

This year I wasn’t hoping for snow anyway; I wasn’t expecting Christmas full stop. For all I care, it can stay in the store or up in the loft, spiders making homes in the tinsel. No Christmas cards have come, only ones of condolences; Santa replaced by an angel, weeping with head bowed. I’ve shut myself up here, away from the sight of them decking the halls with woe. I know I should help with the final Christmas preparations; Aunty Anne will arrive at any moment and there’s plenty I could do. But the truth is, I just can’t face seeing Mum’s red eyes and Dad’s face fixed to a permanent blank anymore. There’s no frost outside but it’s settled here, surely enough. My tongue is frozen. Whenever I speak, my words seem to cut like ice and everything I do at the moment seems to go wrong.

Aunty Anne’s tiny yellow Mini pulls up outside our house, an improbable flash of summer colour on this drab and dreary day. I can’t help but remember last year, when we’d sat scrunched up in the front, knees under our chin, with the Christmas tree sticking out of the open boot, the top branches jostling for room with our arms and elbows. The car had been full of the tree, the prickly needles tickling us to fits of laughter; passers-by had smiled, even calling out Merry Christmas as we drove by. Back home, we’d decorated the tree together, Granny dozing in the comfy chair with the blanket on her knees. She’d woken when we’d switched on the lights and I sang her favourite carol “Once in Royal David’s City” in the twinkling fairy lights. I knew I’d missed some of the notes, but she said it was like hearing an angel sing.

I blink the memory away and wave to Aunty Anne smiling up at me. I watch her take out her large battered leather suitcase, realising that I’m not even slightly curious what is in there for me. Normally I’d be taking the steps two at a time, eager to find out; now I only force myself downstairs so no more memories can slip into my mind, reminding me of how much can change in a few short weeks.

Aunty Anne’s hug feels like my old warm blanket, the one I cuddle up in every night; she pulls me to her and I could just lose myself in her familiar smell- woodland pine and paint- and those enveloping arms. I wish she lived closer, could visit more often, so I could disappear into those understanding arms.

“How’s my Lizzie?” she asks with a smile that seems just a little frayed around the edges.

“Oh, you know,” I mumble, as Mum comes into the lounge for a hug and Dad takes her bag. “Glad school’s finished for a bit.”

“I bet. The summer holiday is longer but Christmas brings presents.”

I nod, ignoring the case she’s gesturing at; there are no surprises - anywhere, let alone in that bag- that could shake me out of the numbness that has stung me to silence this last month. Aunty Anne carries on valiantly:

“I’m glad you could get the tree. I don’t think I’d be up for the sprint to the garden centre- the M25 was grid locked. I knew it would be at this time of day, but I couldn’t get away any sooner; I never thought it would take so long to sort through her drawers and cupboards…” She trails off and Mum makes a small gulping noise before asking whether she’d like a cup of tea.

“Or something a bit stronger, bring a bit of Christmas spirit to the place?” Dad’s half-hearted joke falls flat with Mum, but Aunty Anne laughs bravely.

“No, no, just a tea- thanks John. Perhaps later!”

Dad goes out to fill the kettle while Mum and Aunty Anne sit on the sofa. I look at the empty chair in the corner and my knees feel like they might give way under me. I sit on the floor, leaning up against the sofa. While they talk, I press my nails into the palm, hoping the pain will distract from the roar of the words: funeral, service, book of condolences. I hum under my breath, trying not to hear: taking Mum’s things to the charity shop. If I try hard enough, surely I can block them out, just like I do the jingly jangly Christmas songs.

I fix my eyes on the tree, standing bare but proud in the room’s other corner. Dad had gone to fetch it a few weeks ago when we all knew what was about to happen. He had just grabbed his coat and keys, muttering about how, if nothing else, there would be a tree in the house this Christmas. It sat in our garden after he brought it back, lopsided and forgotten in a bucket of water, while we bent under the strain of Granny’s final days. I must have been holed up in my room, the day he dried it off and brought it in. The thought makes me squirm: Dad struggling alone under the weight of the tree, wrestling to trim the branches to fit into the stand, while I’d hidden away, shouldering my cross of grief.

It might be unadorned, but the tree is beautiful nevertheless. The fresh smell of pine perfumes the room and brings the forest into our home. I’ve always been in such a rush to get the lights and decorations on, to get Christmas well and truly underway, that I realise I’ve never noticed the beauty of the undressed tree: a simple thing of wonder, needing no glitz and glam, no change at all. It strikes me for the first time how achingly alive it is, the needles such a glossy green. It is defiant, blazing life, in our little house.

“Would you like to see what I’ve brought Lizzie?” Aunty Anne’s question prods me back into the here and now. I must look absolutely blank because she flicks the clasps on her leather suitcase and pulls out an old Christmas biscuit tin; I’d know the design of the horse-drawn carriage in the snow anywhere: Granny’s Christmas decorations.

 “They were one of the first things I found when I started sorting through things. She must have got them out from the cupboard under the stairs. It’s like she had them ready to give to us. Well to give to you Lizzie; she knew how much you loved decorating her tree.”

Aunty Anne’s soft brown eyes look at me kindly, but I cast mine down to the rose patterns on the carpet, tracing the petals with my fingers. They seem to be floating in pools of rippling water. I hear the scrape of the lid being removed and Aunty Anne strokes my hair, tied back days ago in a messy ponytail, as she lowers the tin down to me.

I keep my head bent and peer in. Nestled inside the soft tissue paper are Granny’s handmade Christmas decorations; the ones she had been given by her mother, when she started a family of her own. As I slowly lift the Christmas angel with her hand- stitched dress, I hear Mum start as if the angel had flapped her wings, and I look up.

“My Grandmother’s old angel from the top of the tree! Can I hold her for a moment Lizzie?” I pass it over reluctantly.

“You probably don’t remember your great grandmother; she was amazing with a needle. Such a steady hand and a careful eye. She could keep a watch on me- knee high, trying to steal the Christmas sweets from the top drawer- and still sew this row of careful stitches. I wish I’d inherited her talent; I can hardly sew on a button let alone make a dress like this.” And Mum smiles, for the first time in weeks, as she touches the hem of the angel’s dress, with its little row of kiss stitches.

With a clinking of china on the tea tray, Dad is back in the room. George bundles in after him, all mud, sweat and smiles. The wind from the football pitch has scrubbed his face red and thrown him over a few times by the look of the grass stains on his white training shorts and earth-caked knees.

“Hi Aunty Anne!” He calls out cheerfully from the doorway, cramming huge chunks of a chocolate Santa into his mouth. I return to the box of goodies on my lap as Aunty chats to him, pleased that she is the one on the receiving end of all that blustery energy. I gently lift up the folds of tissue paper and see what I’ve been hoping for: the glass bell. Granny let me hang it up every Christmas, trusting me with its delicate hand-blown form, even when I hardly trusted myself. And then I would ring it, ever so gently, watching it sway lightly on the branch; the tiny bell with its delicate blue snowflake pattern, chiming across the whole expanse of the room, filling me with its pure sound.

“I think that’s a lovely idea, don’t you agree Lizzie?” Mum’s question summons me back to the present.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Aunty Anne suggested that each of us takes one of the decorations, as a keepsake. I’d love the angel- if that’s ok. Why don’t you and George choose one each?”

I have no time to reply. George throws his half-eaten Santa onto the coffee table and grabs the tin off my lap. I yelp in annoyance and quickly try to pull it back, desperate to stop him from choosing the bell. But he won’t let go and suddenly, in the middle of the tug of war, he releases the tin with an angry “Well have it then!” and the speed of release takes me by surprise. The tin is falling from my hand. The decorations are tumbling out and rolling together on the floor. There is a sickening noise of splintering glass and then it is over.

I don’t dare look as Mum runs sobbing from the room, cursing us both. George is shouting about how it’s all my fault and why do I get the first choice of everything anyway? The words collide in my head and my thoughts feel like shards, slicing me into pieces. Dad looks at me like I’m the world’s most unfortunate child. Only Aunty Anne can blink back her tears, saying “It’s a shame, but we can buy a new one.” Her face suggests otherwise. I scoop up the two halves of the bell. I don’t care if they cut me; perhaps I even deserve it, and flee to my room.

 I fling the towel, dumped on my bed, over the mirror on my dressing table; I don’t want to see my white drawn face, the dark eyes and even darker rings under them. I certainly don’t need to look in the mirror to see whose fault this all is. Carefully I lay the bell’s two pieces on the table. I pull the curtains to and lie down under my blanket, pulling it right up over my head. Other creatures are sleeping, deep in the earth; I curl myself up in a hedgehog ball and wish I could sleep likewise. Not for an hour or an evening, that wouldn’t help. I wish I could fold all this prickly pain up, sleep and only wake when it has melted like winter’s snow.

Someone must hear me as I do sleep, starting awake to the noise of a single loud chime: the bell that lies broken on the table. Slowly I open my eyes as the bell chimes twice, thrice and then is still. The bedroom is dark except for a thousand pinpricks of light, glimmering at the end of my bed. My heart lurches towards them, like I’m metal and they are the strongest magnet in all the galaxy. They take on human form; they shimmer into the form of my darling Granny.

I squirm out of the covers and peer into the swirling mass and see her long white hair, unbound from the bun which she had always worn to hold it in place; it flows down her back- a cataract of light. I know it sounds like the stuff dreams are made of, but I can see the faintest curve of two mighty wings, arching from her back.

“Granny, it is you- isn’t it?” I manage to whisper.

“Darling Lizzie.” And her voice is my lifeline; cast into all the fears and doubts and despair I have been drowning in these last weeks, it hauls me out.

“Granny, I broke your bell.”

“I know my love.”

“Mum won’t ever forgive me. I won’t ever forgive myself.”

“Lizzie, Lizzie, there’s nothing to forgive. Accidents happen. The bell was made of glass and glass can break.”

 “But I wanted to keep it forever; to ring it every Christmas and remember all those holidays we had together.”

“I know you did my darling.”

“And you must have wanted it too. You left the box out for Aunty Anne to find. You meant for me to have the bell and treasure it forever.”

I feel the trace of a touch as the shimmering hand takes mine and her light pours through my skin with the strength of all the stars.

“No, my darling, I didn’t. I wanted you to have the decorations- yes. I packed them and thought of all our beloved times together. I wished for you to have them, but to treasure forever and ever? To worry over, fretting that something might happen; feeling so terrible when an accident like this one did? No. I wouldn’t have wished that for the world.”

And with each word, I feel it lighten. Like snow caught by the wind and borne aloft; I feel the dark of my despair loosen, until it drifts, whirling apart.

“My sweet Lizzie, the bell is broken- yes. But here,” she presses her hand to my heart, “and here, “the other brushes my brow, “here it can never break; your memory and your heart holds it safe. I know it seems like everything is changing, but some things, like our love, will always stay the same."

I lie my head in Granny’s lap and feel like I’m in a snow-globe. Someone has shaken this world and we two hover, momentarily, in our own beautiful flurry of snowflakes and light. Everything is changing, for my soul stirs. My head pillowed by her soft radiance, I drift into sleep once more.

The light of the North Star, through a chink in my curtain, wakes me for a second time. The swirling mass of light, Granny, is gone; but when I walk to the window and draw the curtains fully back, Polaris is like all her pinpricks of brilliance concentrated into one unwavering beam. “Thank you, Granny,” I whisper to the star, then quietly make my way to the cupboard in the corridor just outside my room. I take out the box as silently as possible. Perhaps Santa is delivering his presents at this very moment, perhaps not; what I do know is this: I have my own gift to give. I return to my room and set to work.

Bells ring out for Christmas day in many of the carols I love the most. Sweet sing the bells; chimes all seem to say, throw cares away. I know it is easier to discard troubles and woe in song than it is in life, but as I walk into the lounge on Christmas morning where my family are gathered, I feel like my cares are, for now, lightened. We share our Merry Christmases in front of the tree, quietly beautiful in all its natural finery. Mum holds onto Dad’s arm, reaching up to put her grandmother’s angel on top of the tree: Gloria, glory on high. Slowly I unfurl my fingers and there, nestling in my palm, is the little bell- whole once more. Aunty Anne picks it up, and if she can make out the fine line, the scar from the break, her shining eyes do not betray her.

“Cool!” says George. “Like a miracle!” And his smile smooths the last shard of my pain.

“Here's your bell Lizzie,” says Aunty Anne, holding it out to me.

I take the little bell and hang it on the tree. I hardly dare to, but I do; reaching out with just a fingertip. It chimes: once, twice, three times, ringing out as clear and true as it does in my memory. I draw my family to me and we join in our own five-pointed hug: a star on earth this Christmas.It was a cloudy, cool afternoon in November and Sean stood outside looking up at the remnants of the basketball hoop in his backyard. As memories flooded back to him, he wiped away a single tear that rolled down his cheek and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He wanted this year to be different and decided that he would find a way to make this Christmas special. A few hours earlier he had seen his mom at the kitchen table paying bills. His baby sister, Abby, had walked in carrying a magazine with a picture of an almost life size doll that she really wanted for Christmas. The little girl was bubbling with excitement. She had said that she hoped Santa would bring it for her. Sean had also seen his mother’s eyebrows raise as she looked at the ad and had read the price tag.

The next day at school, Sean stood in the locker room after basketball practice. He looked around the empty room with towels strewn about. He sat down on a bench thinking and then began to pray. “Lord,” he began. “You’ve brought me through a lot and I am so thankful, “ he said. “I know that my family and I don’t need anything, but I’d like your help. I miss my friends.  I feel like I pushed them all away. Will you help me fix that? Please also give me wisdom and direction on how to help my mom and make my sister’s Christmas dreams come true, Amen.” he said.  Sean didn't see Jacob when he walked in or notice that he stood there praying in silent agreement, because his eyes were closed. Jacob had overheard the entire prayer and realized that Sean needed a way to bring back the Christmas magic to his house. He said a prayer himself asking for guidance and a way to reconnect Sean with all their friends. He was touched by Sean’s desire to help his mom and wanting that doll for his little sister. He quietly stepped into one of the shower stalls so as not to disturb Sean. Then he thanked the Lord for listening and quickly slipped out the side door.

When Jacob got home from school that day, his mom and dad, Deborah and James, were in the kitchen. James was seated at the table, glancing between the newspaper and looking up at his wife as she asked him to taste what she was cooking. He smiled broadly and she looked pleased and continued stirring the pot on the stove. They both looked up as their son entered the room. Deborah saw something in her son’s eyes and asked, “What’s wrong Jacob?” as he put his bag on the floor and came to give her a hug. He shrugged his shoulders and slumped into a nearby chair. James asked, “What’s on your mind son?” Jacob told them about Sean. He explained that even though they were still best friends, he hadn’t seen him much since Sean’s dad died last year. He had tried but didn't know what to say. Sean seemed lost in his own world most of the time and barely said a word. But today was different. Jacob told his parents that he’d overheard Sean praying. Sean had said that he missed his friends and that he was sorry for pushing them away. He had prayed for a way to reconnect and also revive the spirit of Christmas in his house. Sean also wanted to be able to help his mom get his little sister a doll that she was crazy about. Deborah looked at her son, smiled and said, “And you’d like to help Sean?” “Yes mom, but I have no idea how. What could I do?” Jacob asked.  James put his arm around his son’s shoulder and said, “I have a feeling we can come up with something if we all work together.” Jacob smiled and hugged his dad.

The next morning, Jacob stood by his bedroom window, which faced Sean’s backyard. As he looked out at the dilapidated basketball hoop, an idea came to him. He and the guys used to hang out at Sean’s house all the time and play ball. If he could get them all together again, it might cheer Sean up. He decided to ask his dad to fix Sean’s backboard and hoop.  Jacob also talked to his parents about wanting to organize a yard work business for the holidays. After a promise to stay on top of his grades and chores, he got the all clear to proceed.

That afternoon, Jacob walked outside and across to Sean’s house. He knocked and waited. Sean came to the door and looked happy to see him. He invited Jacob in, and over snacks, Jacob explained his business idea. “We could offer to rake and gather the leaves for our neighbors,” Jacob said.  “All of our neighbors have yards and after collecting 8 or 9 bags by early morning, their yards are blanketed again a few hours later. It’s never ending this time of year. With you as my partner, we could get a lot done and could split the profits. We could make some fliers and go door to door offering our services. We could offer multiple shifts, or just clear on a particular day for a flat fee. What do you think?” he asked. A huge, crooked smile crossed Sean’s face. “Sounds like a great plan. Let’s do it.” he said. They got to work designing the fliers and planned to start talking to the neighbors on Saturday.

After Jacob left, Sean smiled to himself. Jacob had been his best friend since grade school and they had remained close. This idea could be an answer to his prayer. He felt like things might be changing for the better. Sean reflected on happier times. Remembering the laughter that used to fill his house when his friends were over. He used to invite friends over a lot. That last basketball game in the backyard was amazing. His dad had joined in on the fun and had slam dunked the ball and broke the backboard. It was incredible. Just like at a professional game, the crowd went wild. Not long after that, his dad had been diagnosed with cancer. His dad had always lived a clean lifestyle and worked out daily. He had volunteered with the fire department for many years, in addition to his job as a banker. But in less than a year, he was gone. Sean tried to be strong for his mother and sister. His mother had returned to work to support the family. They never got the chance to fix the backboard. Playing basketball had not been the same since. Sean would often stand outside with his basketball, looking up at the aluminum frame that had housed the old board. He missed his friends but hadn’t invited anyone over to play. Sean thought about how he could change that. “Maybe after I get the doll, I could save up to get a portable basketball hoop and invite everyone over for a game,” he thought to himself.

Early that Saturday, Jacob and Sean started knocking on doors. Their neighbors enthusiastically accepted their services immediately. They were also eager to encourage and help young entrepreneurs. As they gathered leaves, Sean told Jacob about the doll that Abby wanted. He said that he had not seen his sister that excited in a long time. He also wondered what he could get his mom. She had always insisted that they didn’t need to get her anything, so he and his father would scour the mall trying to find something special. She was always so appreciative of whatever they brought, before she had even unwrapped it. Then. Jacob said, I’m going to buy the new Play Station 5. Then I’ll invite all of our friends over. They keep asking about you and you won’t invite anyone over. That stops now.” he said as he looked his friend in the eye. Sean said, “oh yeah, okay” with a smirk. They went from house to house and worked until sundown stuffing leaves into bags and tossing them to the curb. They had a real rhythm going. At the end of the day they were exhausted but happy with their progress.

They kept this up for the next few weeks. In their down time, Jacob spent hours searching every store he could think of that might have a PS5, but they were all sold out. His mom had made phone calls and his dad searched online. They all found stores that claimed they had inventory. But when Jacob arrived, he was told that the game system had flown off the shelves within minutes of being stocked. Jacob knew that the gaming system would be in high demand, but he hadn’t expected this. He began to realize that coming up with a gift idea was the easy part — but getting his hands on it was another thing entirely. Even online merchants were on backorder and Jacob was starting to think he might just have to wait until after Christmas.

Meanwhile, Jacob’s dad got to work on repairing the basketball hoop. He’d arranged to stop by Sean’s house while the boys were out, to survey the damage. He found himself reminiscing about playing ball with his dad when he was young and also about teaching Jacob to play. He realized that this was going to be a big job and he knew just who to recruit for reinforcement. He pulled out his cell and called up a few of his fraternity brothers who were more than happy to lend a hand for what promised to be a big, but fun, diy project. One of the men, Mike, pulled up a short while later. He had brought along some cherrywood he had in his garage stacked in the back of his pickup. James and Mike talked and reminisced over college days while they waited for others to arrive. The doorbell rang and to James’ surprise, not only had his other friends arrived, but some of the neighbors were on the porch.  While Sean and Jacob had been hard at work, some of their neighbors had inquired about what led to their business venture. They were inspired by their dreams. They had stopped by to find out how else they could help. As soon as they heard about “operation courtside”, they were all on board. One of the men thought that the cherrywood could work, but said, “if we really want to make an impression, we should use polycarbonate. It’s transparent like glass, but a durable alternative. It’s also easy to saw and drill through. I have some left over from another project. I’ll be right back,” said Eric. When James, Mike and the other neighbors saw the polycarbonate, they agreed that this was a much better upgrade from the original plan to use wood. Just then, James’ friend, Aaron arrived. He had driven to multiple stores before he had located a replacement hoop and net. He had found one at a sporting goods store and had arrived just before closing. He regaled the men with his search as he explained that one store even tried to sell him a hoop without the net. He had remained silent, with an eyebrow raised and just looked at the man. He had agreed that, yes, one could play without a net, but said that they were not trying to recreate the playground of their youth. He had explained that this was a special gift, but the store clerk had appeared clueless. James smiled as he saw the plan coming together as everyone was working together hammering, sawing, painting and drilling. What he had originally thought would be done by three men was now in the hands of over a dozen. James had originally planned to work over the course of a few weekends to keep the surprise a secret until Christmas eve. With the additional help, he realized that this project might easily be completed much sooner.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, Deborah asked Jacob to help her run some errands. It was early and she didn’t want to go shopping alone. Jacob was happy to assist his Mom and they headed out. They arrived at the mall and were waiting in line to snag some Black Friday deals. Deborah looked around and noticed that a few new stores had recently opened. Some were offering limited stock merchandise at deep discount as doorbusters. She and Jacob were fourth in line at one store as they waited for the doors to open and they felt pretty good about their chances of getting some great deals. Deborah also noticed that increased security was in place in anticipation of the crowds. There were new barricades, plexiglass barriers and armed guards positioned in towers overhead. A lot of changes had been implemented to protect customers after recent mayhem. The store owners and the city council had decided to be proactive and take measures to try to keep their town safe during the holiday season.

Finally, the doors opened and the line began to move. Jacob casually walked through the turnstile when it was his turn.  Immediately, alarms sounded and lights flashed. Confetti and balloons dropped from overhead. All to his surprise. Both he and his mom looked at each other puzzled until a camera man and the CEO of the mall stepped forward carrying a microphone and announced that Jacob was the mall’s 1,000,000th customer. The man pointed to a display a short distance away that advertised the prize for the winner - a timed store sweep. He explained that Jacob would win as much as he could fit in his cart and cross the finish line from the store of his choice. Jacob couldn’t stop smiling. He looked around. Across from them was a sign in a department store window that read, “Playstation 5, in stock.” Below that was a picture of a woman wearing a sparkling necklace and hugging her daughter as she held the doll that Abby was so crazy about. Jacob knew immediately where he was headed as he stood smiling for photographs while his mom smiled back at him.

After his sprint through the store, their car was packed to the brim. They had to reorganize some things to fit everything. His mom was amazed that Jacob was able to locate so many items in so little time and cheered as she saw him speeding across the finish line with the overflowing shopping cart. When they arrived home, Deborah backed the car into the garage. James' eyes grew wide as he looked at the back window of the SUV and waited to hear about their day. Jacob climbed out of the car and told his dad about winning the mall promotion. He was rattling off everything that he saw and grabbed and bragged about how those basketball drills that he had hated had paid off today as he had sped through the store with ease. James laughed and congratulated his son. Then he walked him over to take a look in Sean’s back yard. Jacob thought it looked amazing. Jacob knew that Sean was visiting his grandparents. He, his mom and his sister would be back in a few weeks, on Christmas morning.

Sean and his sister had a great time visiting their grandparents. They had opened gifts that morning over breakfast. They had taken family pictures in their matching pajamas. Everyone was upbeat and cheerful. Even Abby managed to be happy despite not getting the doll. She was disappointed, but she was still happy with her other toys. That afternoon, they drove home. Sean and Abby fell asleep along the way and didn’t even realize that the car had stopped and that they were home. Sean woke up and carried Abby from the car. Just as he reached the door he saw Deborah talking to his mom. He saw them smiling. He saw her hand his mom a huge box. He brought Abby inside and placed her on the couch. Then he inquisitively approached his mom in the kitchen. Before he could say a word, Ruth said, “the box is for your sister. Apparently, Santa left it at the wrong house,” she laughed. Sean laughed too. Then she said, I hear that he left something for you out back. Sean looked at his mom and then ran outside. His jaw fell open as he looked and saw the new backboard. There was a new shiny basketball hoop with a bright white net. The court had been freshly painted and they were new outdoor lights. Then he turned as he heard voices behind him. He saw Jacob and some of the guys from school headed his way. He just smiled from ear to ear. Jacob decided to wait and tell Sean about the PS5 later.

Later, Abby started to wake up from her nap and was surprised to find herself on the couch. The room was dimly lit and the only light came from the flashing lights on the Christmas tree. She watched the lights for a moment and the train running on the track underneath. She looked up at the filled stockings hung up and then noticed something that wasn’t there before.  There was one single, tall, gift wrapped box leaning against the mantle. Abby walked over to inspect it. She saw a card that read, “For Abby, love Santa”. She immediately began tearing open the fancy wrapping paper and suddenly squealed with delight. It was the doll she had asked for and it looked just like her. Her mother and brother just smiled as they sat at the bottom of the stairs watching in the darkness.I clock in at 9:53 and drop into a wobbly chair in the break room (I’m not getting paid for those extra seven minutes anyway), barely suppressing a shudder at the reality of what my life will be for the next eight hours; a sales shift on a weekend during the holiday season (no such thing as "pre" anymore). The large table in the center of the room is adorned with a seasonally appropriate plastic tablecloth, but the snowman and reindeer seem to mock me, smiling and prancing about, knowing they will be safe back here all day.

I check the schedule, not quite ready to brave the salesfloor. My favourite manager is in today, so are Jeremy and Drea. Drea and I are reading the same book right now and it’s always fun talking with Jeremy about horror movies. Peter’s in, too. We don’t usually work together but he’s funny in a dry, sarcastic, quick wit kinda way that I will appreciate in the latter half of the day. It’s a good group to keep the spirits up. A few others will swap in later, relieving us from our posts so we may shuffle back home and recuperate in quiet darkness. At least, that’s what I plan on doing.

By 9:57 I am standing at the registers. Someone turned on the music over the loudspeakers, and a jingly holiday tune drifts through the aisles, a soft prelude to the oncoming cacophony of early Christmas shoppers. I can already see them shuffling outside the locked doors, pale faces nearly mashed against frosty glass, eager to burn some hard-earned cash on the pre-pre-pre-Boxing Day sales. It’s mid-November and the roads are already icy, but that didn’t stop these deal-hungry customers from braving the early Canadian winter.

My eyes bounce around the department store, catching on all the festive displays. There are plastic pine trees wrapped in lights and heavy with ornaments, a Christmas village complete with bank and ice rink, snowflakes and stars hang from the ceiling. Part of me recalls the joy I have for the holidays, for the bits of sparkle that are added to everyday life.

That is until over the walkie I hear someone say they’re unlocking the front doors. The lurking crowd seems to have doubled already. Any moment now they will descend upon the store, flooding the aisles and snatching products from the shelves to smuggle home. I take a deep breath, summon my chipper-est customer service aura, politely pitched voice and all, and prepare for the hoards.

Minutes later, the first customer approaches my till. He is utterly average looking, and I will forget his face long before the day is up. He silently drops his items on the counter, and as I scan them through, I begin to recite the words drilled into me from my very first shift.

“Hi there! Are you a part of our rewards pro—”

“No.” Short and dismissive. This guy came prepared, early in and knew exactly what he was getting, cash already in hand, the goal to get in and out as quick as possible. I relent on the upsells, not willing to go down bloody in this battle.

“Okay! Did you need a bag—”

“No.” He thrusts a handful of green bills at me. I take them, clacking away at the magic buttons of my register, and the drawer pops open to a chorus of mechanical clanks.

“Here’s your change! Have a nice d—”

And he’s already walking away.

The next four customers in line are cashed out about as smoothly as the first, albeit occasionally with a touch more small talk, though none of it is worth remembering. The digital clock in the corner of my screen reads “10:14 AM”.

I sigh. Barely a dent made in the day, and my lunch isn’t till noon. There is no reprieve on the horizon. The store is still filling with customers. They browse and ponder prices and bump into each other. I know many of them are here to get their Christmas presents early, and I can’t fault them for that (despite how badly I want to).

To pass the brief lulls, and maintain any sort of mental presence, I like to try and guess which of them will ask for gift receipts before they end up at my till. I’ve discovered there are three types. Like that young man heading over to dishware is one of the first. He’s got the confidence of a boyfriend who knows he can’t go wrong with a cute dog pun mug and a nice bag of loose-leaf tea. He’ll probably even remember to get a card. He won’t need a gift receipt and he knows it. These types are the assured long-term partners, the all-knowing best friends.

But that woman, drifting back and forth between the scarves and candles, she’ll ask for one. She’s grabbing something for a new friend or a family member she sees only a few times a year. She’ll pick out something nice, a quality item, but she isn’t totally sure it’ll be the recipient’s style. Still a considerate move, in my opinion. There’ll be no hard feelings if it’s returned or exchanged for something else.

Then there’s the third type who comes into a place like this, a nice department store with a near paralyzing amount of choice; gift card people. I hold nothing against them. In many cases it is the safest, smartest choice. I had one pass through my till a few customers ago, a grandfather. He certainly wasn’t skimping out on the grandkids, picking up five gift cards at a hundred bucks each, but he just can’t keep up with the trends these days, how swift they move. Fair enough.

The swarm of customers is unrelenting for the rest of the morning, and I am unable to continue my private game. When I finally get the chance to check the time, there are only three minutes until my lunch. Nearly there.

I call out for the next customer in line and a moment later a stuffed penguin pops up at the edge of my counter. It slides across the shiny surface and two small hands appear on the ledge, and the top of young boy’s face peers up at me, a green bobble hat resting loosely on his head.

I smile at him from behind my mask. His mother is standing close but at a respectful distance for this little shopper who can clearly handle this transaction all on his own.

I scan the toy through and tell my young customer his total. He backs away from the counter and pulls out a tiny, dinosaur dotted wallet. His mother leans over and together they count out the exact change in loonies and toonies and quarters. He lifts them onto the counter and when I scoop them into my palm, they are slightly sticky.

Little hands crest of the edge of the counter once more and I slide the penguin back.

“And here’s your little penguin friend,” I say.

“He’s not for me,” he says, voice high and with just the slightest lisp. “He’s for my brother for Christmas.”

I smile wide behind my mask. “That’s so sweet! I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Yeah, he will,” he says.

The boy trots away, his mother trailing behind. She and I share a knowing look, both smiling at the surety of this kid and his gift-giving skills. No gift receipt required for this little man.

Like fresh logs on a fading fire, a bit of warmth is rekindled in me as I watch them go. His mother pulls his hat down over his ears and when she takes his hand he pulls it back up again, penguin swinging in his grip. Occasionally there are customers worth remembering.

My pocket is buzzing, alerting me that my lunch break starts now. I slip away from the registers as Drea arrives to take my place and I hunker down in the breakroom with a muffin and thirty minutes of quiet.

They pass much too quickly, and already I am back out on the salesfloor, now patrolling the aisles to assist customers in need. That quiet joy from that sweet kid with the penguin fades as fast as fresh snow on asphalt.

I tidy displays, point a customer in the direction they need to go for pajamas/stationary/snow globes, I check the time.

Tidy displays, direct a customer, check the time.

Tidy, direct, time.

These tasks are Sisyphean.

I feel a madness creeping in, but occasionally sensory stimuli will jolt apart the monotony in the form of Christmas music. I’m not afraid to admit that I am in fact a fan of the genre. However, I do have my limits. A classic carol will play, sung by 1950s crooners and I’ll tap along to the jazzy tune. But only fifteen minutes later, it’ll be the indie-pop version, strung out by a singer-songwriter duo on acoustic guitar (sometimes with a lyric change in attempts to “better suit” modern audiences). Not long enough after that, it’s the instrumental piano version. I swear these corporate approved holiday playlists are only an hour and half long and consist only of variations of the same five songs.

I check the time and see I still have a full hour until my next and final break (that’s at least three “Baby, It’s Cold Outsides”, two “Santa Clause is Coming to Towns”, and four “Jingle Bells”). A child is wailing over in the kid’s department and all I can think is I get it, kid. I, too, am overwhelmed and tired and would like to be at home taking a nap right now. We’ll make through today though, I promise. I do not envy Jeremy and Peter, currently posted in the department, trapped between chattering dolls and firetrucks with working sirens and children strung out on hot chocolate and candy canes.

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to find a graying, bearded man much too close to my face. I jerk back but he doesn’t seem to notice. He asks me to show him where the wrapping paper is, and I oblige. He’s older and a little chatty, and when I show him the foiled paper and shiny bows, he asks my opinion on the quality and styles. I don’t truly register the words that escape my mouth, but he seems pleased with my answer, smiling and grabbing a bundle that comes with three styles of paper and six ribbons.

After I direct him to the checkout line he says, “Merry Christmas!” but he has this smug look on his face that sends a dreadful chill down my spine and adds, “Op! But I guess we’re not allowed to say that anymore, huh? It’s ‘Happy Holidays’ now, right?”

I can only blink at this man as he walks away carrying his Christmas themed wrapping papers, shuffling past the Christmas tree covered in tiny Santa hat ornaments, next to a display of red and green striped Christmas stockings, all the while “Holly Jolly Christmas” (the Michael Bublé version) plays in the background.

Yeah. Sure. Whatever. I forgot to mention a rarer fourth type of shopper earlier; the people who think they don’t need a gift receipt, but absolutely, positively, most-certainly do. Like this last gentleman, the cocky, arrogant, believe-they-know-best types who will end up buying something simply to passive-aggressively communicate with the recipient (like an aunt who buys a sweater two sizes too small for her niece “because it’s a goal to strive for!”). That man reeked of the fourth type.

The rest of the day continues like any other during the holidays. I maneuver my way though the swarms, survive encounters with harried parents desperate for the hot new toys of the season, and answer the phone to assist elderly people with navigating our website.

It takes me a moment to register the buzzing in my pocket again. Break time, finally. It’s only fifteen minutes, but it’s fifteen minutes off my feet and away from the sounds and smells of the season, and it’s fifteen minutes closer to when I can clock out.

When I enter the break room, Drea has already claimed the seat furthest from the fridge which has been emanating a unique, indescribable, unfindable funk all week. Our breaks overlap only for a few minutes, but it’s so refreshing to have a real conversation with another human being, no customer service etiquette expected. We swap fresh war stories we survived just this morning, and she updates me on her Christmas shopping.

“So that’s my parents and friends covered,” she says, counting off on her fingers. “Just need to pick up something for my boyfriend, but I already know what’s he getting.”

Definitely not a gift receipt person.

We gush for another minute about the latest chapter of our book, but all too soon she is up and headed back to the floor. I pull out my phone to mindlessly scroll for the last ten minutes of my break. There’s a little green notification on my home screen, a text from dad saying he’ll be ten minutes late picking me up tonight. I can’t stop my forehead from falling onto the face of a snowman, wrinkling his cheery pebble grin, or the groan that rises from the depths of my chest. Despite all the good, and especially because of all the bad, I just want to be at home, tucked into my favourite chair, cupping a warm drink, a 90s Christmas movie playing on my TV.

Soon, so soon. I’m back on the floor and in the home stretch. Nearly there. Keep it up, we’re almost at the end.

The minutes crawl by and the critical mass of customers seems to be dwindling at last. I can finally take a breath between the borderline frenzied interactions, but I know this sense of peace can’t last forever. And there he is, shuffling his way over, some random stocking-stuffer in hand.

He asks me some question about the price, the sale, the expiration date, the whatever, and I respond with something helpful and accurate.

But this encounter is far from over.

He’s looking at me, an echo of that look that “happy holidays” guy had in his eyes. He scoffs. “They still making you wear those masks? Don’t they know…” and he goes on and on, chirping away about this, that, and another thing.

When he’s done with his little speech what I want to say is, what I yearn to say is, “No, not anymore. I just feel more comfortable with it on right now, especially as I work in a place where I interact with dozens and dozens of people a day, multiple times a week, many of whom seem to take great pleasure in venturing out into the world, into public, crowded spaces, and open mouth coughing like badly trained toddlers, projecting spittle as if they were a world renowned opera singer giving their final show their greatest performance yet, determined to gift every inch of audience in this glorious stage that is the candle aisle a healthy dose of the majesty that is their DNA.”

And though I cannot say this, I have figured out that the most effective way to disarm these department store warriors is with apathy, utter disengagement from the noble battle they foresaw.

So instead, I give a dry, “Haha, yup,” followed by a “anything else I can help with today?” that is as gray and cold as an early winter’s morning.

It works. He mutters a no and shuffles along on his way.

The time tick, tick, ticks away, and finally, I am done. Clocked out, coat on, ready and raring to go.

But I still have ten minutes to wait out, not enough time to check out any other stores in this mall, but too long to wait outside, so I must wander these aisles once more. Yet, with the unshadowed gaze of a customer, in my wandering I happen upon it, like magic, the perfect gift. All shiny and new, an elegant blend of pop culture charm and practical usefulness. With a happiness that borders on giddy, I hold it close and carry it to the checkout line.

Peter greets me from behind his register with no faux customer service kindness. Exquisite.

He efficiently scans my precious cargo, clacks away, and asks me the question of the hour, “Did you need a gift receipt?”

“Nah.” I smile. “I know he’ll love it.”

With a branded bag sagging from my fingertips, I step outside for the first time in eight hours into darkness. The night arrives swiftly in these winter months, but I like looking at the stars. It is snowing, and the tiny flakes glitter in the glow of display Christmas lights.

The van waits for me on the curb and I can see my dad’s face lit up by the light of his phone screen. I fold the bag over itself, careful to hide even the shape of the object from him as I climb into the passenger seat. He asks me about my day, and I tell him it was nothing special.

I buckle in, turn the radio on to hear “Last Christmas” playing (one of my favourites), and tuck my dad’s Christmas present into the dash as he drives us home.“This is three dollars, yes?”

   “No ma’am, it only costs two”

   Kat watched the gap between the woman’s two front teeth as she spoke. She was old, middle aged, probably in her late forties, and short. So short, in fact, that Kat felt she needed to crane her neck at an angle just to meet her upturned eyes. Her smile widened with Kat’s reply, short blonde hair barely swaying along to a nod.

   ‘Hairspray’. The woman’s bob let off an overwhelmingly pungent odor. Kat wondered exactly how much she spent on cans of it every month, must have been hundreds.

   She handed Kat two paper bills, along with a small cardboard box that was taped shut with yellow duct tape. Kat pretended to ignore the smudge of red that stained the corner of a singular green note, as well as the woman’s rush to stuff her hands back into the coat of her maroon jacket.

   “It’s getting quite cold out, you know”

   “Yes ma’am”

   She made a swift move for the small green package of menthol cigarettes upon the counter and studied Kat a second more, brown eyes peering into each other, before abruptly turning on the heel of her black stilettos, gap-tooth smile remaining frozen on her elderly face.

   Kat didn’t notice the smell of blood emitting from the woman’s clothing. No, she only smelled hairspray, with a faint trace of peppermint and tobacco.

   Her name was Barbara Stiller, it said so in black sharpie on the bottom of the box. It also wrote, “Date Of Extraction: December 17th”. Five days ago, a bit late for the holiday season, in Kat’s opinion at least.

She tucked the package under her arm and swiped an orange soda from one of the store’s many refrigerators. ‘Not the strangest character to wander in here’ She thought, before walking towards the metal cellar door.

   Kat always hated walking downstairs. The smell of death was so overpowering that she was almost surprised Caesar didn’t force her to wear a gas mask. The steps were old, but stable. Caesar had them sanded every year, something about not wanting her to get splinters, especially since his efforts to make her wear shoes around the store proved futile.

   “C?”, she called out, rotating the box to get a glimpse of the label again, “I got another one right here, someone called Stiller”. There was a pause. It was always too quiet down here, she thought, too dark.

   “Bring it here”. She spun around to see Caesar on his knees in front of a shelf, motioning behind him with one hand while studying a similar package to the one under Kat’s arm in the other. He didn't look up until she stationed herself beside him, dangling the box in front of his rectangular glasses. He shifted his gaze to look up at her, before dropping the box he was grasping to wordlessly take the one in Kat’s possession.

   He turned the box around, inspecting it from every angle. “No stains, huh? Not bad… who’d you say it was from? Miller?”

“Stiller. Barbara Stiller.” She pointed, his gaze following, “It says so on the bottom”. He turned the box upside down, frowning a bit, before realization dawned.

“Ah, that’s right. Boss said we’d have a few new sellers this month. Not surprised, feels’ like there’s always a business spike in December.”

Kat scoffed, let out a huff of laughter before looking at the array of packages sorted into the shelves in front of her. They had received fourteen of them this week, all varying in size and color. Some large, others small. Some spotless, others splotched with scarlet.

“Can you blame them? It’s Christmas season, money’s tight for everyone this month.”

Caesar cast his eyes downward, and any ounce of amusement in Kat’s expression vanished with the blink of his eyes. “There’s enough suffering in this world as is, too many killings in the name of prosperity.” His hands clenched around the box, fingernails scraping into the cardboard. He stared downward at it before dropping it to the cement floor with a thud.

Kat clenched her jaw. She knew Caesar had wanted out for years, maybe even since Boss had brought him in as a child. She had lived in the store her entire life, had no memory of what life was like otherwise, had no reason to dream.

Eventually, Caesar sighed and pulled a pair of orange scissors out of his back pocket. He sliced through the yellow tape with ease, and shook his head slightly before   lifting the flaps.

Kat grimaced and looked away. “What is it?”

   “An index and a pointer”

   Kat felt her insides squeeze. “Age?” She managed, voice soft and hesitant.

   “They’re wrinkled. Elderly, I suppose, probably won't go for much.” Kat tried to mask her relief. Caesar sighed again, before standing up to brush the dust off his brown corduroy slacks. “I’ve got a shipment going out today. Won’t take more than a few hours. Be back before midnight.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Call me if anything happens. Boss says they’re expecting a big one to arrive around nine”

“Nine? We close at seven.” Kat had lived in this store for seventeen years, never once had the boss asked her to work overtime for a package.

“Not sure, boss says it was non-negotiable” Kat raised her eyebrow. Strange. “I’ll see you later tonight, alright? Don’t get into too much trouble”, Caesar said, lips quirked up into a semblance of a smile.

“Alright” Kat handed him the orange soda before turning to walk up the stairs. Caesar went back to loading up the shelves.

The store had three levels. The cellar of course, and then the normal convenience store. But the third level acted as Kat and Caesar’s home, complete with two bedrooms and a bathroom to share. She was watching the nightly news when a knock came from downstairs, three loud raps on the twin glass doors. Outside were three burly men covered head to toe in black cloth, with a bright green symbol embroidered on the right side of their chest. Kat swung the door open and allowed them to pass. She noticed a large black van seemingly filling its gas tank outside.

Once all three had passed through, Kat allowed the door to close. They formed a circle around her, hands folded behind their backs and feet exactly shoulder width apart. The one to her right picked up a bag of chips and looked in her direction.

“This is three dollars, yes?” He didn’t sound old, but he certainly wasn’t her age.

“No, sir, it only costs two,” she whispered.

The men nodded at each other before motioning outside to the black van. Two more figures in the same black clothes slid open the doors and seemed to wheel over the largest package Kat had ever seen. It had black cloth draped over it, and almost seemed to shake? ‘What’s going on here?’ she wondered, slowly becoming apprehensive with every move the cart made towards the store. She stood frozen as the men opened the glass door to wheel the crate through, one of the wheels becoming stuck on a ridge. Kat felt it was a sign.

Once the package was through, the men nodded at Kat and left without a word, the glass shutting with a bang behind them. She was going to leave, go back upstairs and watch the television like nothing had ever happened, a routine she had become accustomed to over the years.

But then she heard something. So quiet she felt it must have been her imagination. She never looked at packages, that was Caesar’s job. She had learned her lesson years ago after stumbling upon him holding a liver. It took her months of sleeping in his room to get over the nightmares of that day.

But then she heard it again. It was muffled, sounded desperate, almost lonely. She thought about calling Caesar, telling him they must have brought the wrong package. They never dealt with live cargo, it had to be a mistake.

Kat’s hand shook as she reached to lift the black cloth. It probably wasn’t what she thought it to be. Caesar had told her she was crazy a few times, he was probably right. She began to withdraw her hand when it sounded again. A high pitched, muffled whine, undeniably real.

She closed her eyes and tore it off the crate, scrunching her nose and gritting her teeth, afraid of what she would see.

Silence. Kat waited for what seemed like hours before slowly opening her eyes.

‘What the hell’ No. No, no, no, no, this couldn’t be right. It didn’t make sense. Kat gasped and began to back away, eyes widening madly. She must look insane.

The child had long brown hair and pale skin. It was a boy, she could tell, but he couldn’t have been older than nine. There was a gash on his right shoulder and silver duct tape that wrapped around his head as a gag. He wore a dark red shirt and gray shorts, skin flushed pink from the cold.

Kat didn’t think, just stared at the crate for a minute before coming to her senses and madly searching for an opening. The silver bars clanged and clashed as her hands frantically, yet clumsily scoped for a gate. The boy stared at her, silent. She found it on the back of the cage. ‘Locked’

The fire extinguisher on the wall to the left of the door seemed begging to be used. She yanked it off and pounded it against the lock, huffing. It eventually broke and she hurriedly opened the door.

The boy made no effort to move. In fact, he seemed to flinch away from Kat’s touch when she reached into the cage to remove the duct tape that wrapped around his head. She noticed the cuffs around his hands and ankles and made a move for the extinguisher once again.

“Don’t move” she whispered, before smashing the chains to pieces. The boy stared at her again, yet remained silent. Kat looked into his eyes. He didn’t look scared, just tired. “I’m going to get you a blanket” she told him, before backing out of the crate to jog up the stairs.

She snatched a small blanket off her bedspread and ran back down the stairs. The crate was empty, and the glass store doors rattled. He was gone.

Outside, a blanket of white encompassed the street. The first snow of the year. A trail of red led down the road, past the gas station. Who knew where it went. Kat didn’t feel she needed to look. She would deal with the consequences later. The woman was right, it was getting colder. Kat wished the boy had accepted her blanket.   What looked like a human was seen flying through the skies of Tuscany. Local vintners battening down for the season witnessed the phenomenon up close as the suspect wantonly scoured through the vineyards before taking off into a steep trajectory. Baffled, they swore it was a prepubescent youth shouting with glee as he yawed through the snowclad fields.

Young Niccolo Sabbatani ran down the narrow steps stripped with a rug that dampened the hardwood reverb. It was Christmas morning, and the sun was barely making its appearance over the eastern horizon. First light sifted through the windows and filled the Italian villette with a pinkish haze. The tree was aglitter with tinsel reflecting the colors of the fairy lights wrapped around it and the bright yellow star atop. Beneath the evergreen splendor was the end of the rainbow for Niccolo’s journey. Side by side with his sister, Julia, he joyfully opened the presents. His parents, roused by the rustling of wrapping paper, snuck downstairs hoping the creaking in the floor wouldn’t betray their presence. Watching their children shout in exhilaration, they turned toward one another and smiled.

Coming upon a box that was lighter than air, Niccolo stopped in his tracks. An awkward silence followed. Staring inquisitively, he shook it, curious as to what could be inside. He even questioned if he grabbed the wrong present in his unbridled excitement. The proof was in the little tag on top that had his name etched in a calligraphic style only the finest of craftsmen could have recreated by hand. He gave a spritely shrug and proceeded to open it. Just as he suspected, the box was empty. He was more confused than frustrated, and it showed in the way he knitted his brow. His parents gave Julia the stink eye as she laughed at Niccolo’s dilemma, but upon denying her role in pranking her younger brother, they asked to see the box. Besides containing a personalized card, there was nothing else to indicate who the sender was. However, in the following moments, their son had already forgotten the whole ordeal when the shredding of paper and shouts started all over.

Later on that morning, Niccolo ran outside to play in the streets after assuring his parents that he would be mindful of the patches of ice still glistening under an early sun. The streets were mostly empty from everyone having the day off and it gave him free range. Giving himself a quick run, he jettisoned himself off the ground and into the icy air. The experience was euphoric as he skittered through patches of wind rippling his hair and scouring his face. Craning down, he overlooked the snowcapped rooflines of his hometown receding into a checkerboard. The last house gave way to fields of greenery dusted with the flurries from the past week. He even spotted a deer scampering through the openings in the trees and what looked like a toy truck crawling along the strata.

Niccolo banked like an airplane, shifting his course and watching the ebbing and flowing of the topography below. The horizon wobbled from his vantage point. Dead ahead at 3 o’clock was a fuzzy dark splotch rapidly approaching that soon resolved into a flock of migrating starlings. Niccolo cackled and picked up speed, playfully scattering the little birds as they whizzed by in a frightful blur. Knowing he was the cause for provocation, he eluded their wrath by divebombing into a yaw and skimmed across a straight shot of trellis posts. They looked like telephone poles flicking by at high speed. A dusty trail of snow sifted through the vineyards and tapered up into the air as he lifted into a near-vertical rebound.

Niccolo never lost speed. He needed no engine to propel himself as he meandered through glades and gaps of cypresses separating property lines, whooping and hollering in holiday mirth. Several villas and farmhouses passed under. Seizing the opportunity, he flew straight for the chimney of a cascine and dispersed a column of smoke as if cutting a ribbon for a new ship. Dog pens full of foxhounds erupted in yelps and barks as Niccolo waved them a friendly visit before bolting back into the wintry skies. At the apex of his steep ascent, he banked into a hairpin turn and, having enough fun for the morning, flew back to his hometown.

Alighting into an alleyway, he peered out into the street and looked both ways. The coast was clear, and he returned home without his family knowing of the strange gift he received. Niccolo skipped in contentment before entering the front door.

A roadside witness reporting of a Kazakhstani youth’s tour de force was condemned for pandering to fringe logic. No one had the ability to lift a motorcycle and toss it aside as if he would styrofoam, especially an eight-year-old!

The cold winds whipped downtown Astana the day after Christmas. Andrei Chugunov was fearless for someone of his developing stature, spitting in the face of overwhelming odds as he walked the streets alone. A casual glance in a passing mirror of a department store showcase made him feel bigger and older with the burly parka he proudly donned. The faux fur collar made him look like a tank, ready to take on anyone who crossed his path. But his show of virility was not without its merit. His family was poor and relatively uneducated, so his father ended up with low-paying menial positions all his life, which put young Andrei on the receiving end of his in-school profile. Just the year before, he took on a senior, but wound up suffering public humiliation when he was dragged through a patch of mud left over from an early morning rainstorm.

That would be the end of that, and he refused to look back at his shortcomings.

He was fond of his parents and siblings, singing carols with them the day before along with a few relatives visiting their humble apartment. Money was scarce this year, and he had to make do with his family’s affection as his only Christmas present no material offering could replace. However, on returning home, Andrei saw a package in the mail that didn’t have a return address. A tiny placard was attached to it, wishing him a Merry Christmas and that his name was worth its weight in gold. It certainly felt that way when he lifted the package a few times. Being independent-minded, he went ahead and unwrapped the gift before telling his folks. The box flopped onto his palm as he held it by the lid. It turned out to be empty, to his bemusement. All the heaviness was owed to the package itself with nothing of tangible value. Someone’s idea of a joke? It might have been something he would have imputed to one of his unsavory classmates, yet he never actively announced his place of residence to anyone. However, it was not an issue to begrudge or bear shame over, and he shrugged it off before heading back inside.

Within the hour, he was back marching along the sidewalk when he heard a deep thunk and the sound of metal grating on a rough surface. He ran to a side street and saw someone pinned under a motorcycle along the gutter. Adrenalin ran faster than his feet. Grabbing the frame, he yanked it away, flinging the entire vessel several yards down the curb. The man was unconscious, though he still had a pulse. Shouts echoed through the narrow thoroughfare and the wailing of a siren grew louder until an ambulance pulled up and bucked to a stop. Minutes ticked by under the blips of the cardiograph, and finally, after deep prayers, the man’s eyes blinked open. Andrei even overheard one of the paramedics assure the patient that he would pull through. The gratitude Andrei bore held no equity of favor to whom he prayed but continued his practice of loyalty and service to his fellow men and women.

No one bothered to ask him anything other than what he saw. He refused to mention his part in saving the man’s life, but he was still wracked by the augmentation of his own physical prowess. In the corner of his sight, a squat portly fellow was peering through the entryway of an apartment complex, staring directly at him. When they made eye contact, the other man, clearly a middle-aged adult, quietly retreated back through the entry. Wondering if his miraculous feat was seen, Andrei glanced in both directions down each end of the street before leaving for home, still thankful another man could live.

He never saw that strange onlooker across the street again.  

“What the hell are we dealing with?” the investigator from Criminal Investigative Command demanded.

“Sir,” the soldier replied with marked hesitancy. “I only know as much as you do under the present documentation of evidence.”

“This happened out of the blue, and right after a fine job of sweeping the enemy!”

“We heard voices in our heads.”

“Voices?” the investigator shot back.

“Yes. And they were telling us…”

There was a momentary pause.

“Telling you what, soldier?”

“They were compelling us to fire upon one another.”

“Yet you were the only lucky one, huh. Did you happen to see anyone suspicious in the vicinity, besides yourself?”

“No one that I could have seen. Except I remember this toddler standing there, beaming me down like a predator.”

Bap! Bap! Bap!

They’re coming!

Karla Montesino heard the racket outside her window. Peering over the sill, she made out several figures donned in military garb storming through the streets of LaPlata. The paramilitary detachments came, and with a vengeance. She knew nothing of power politics and everything that led up to the present conditions. All she knew was that her home was under fire, and that she was told to keep her head down at all costs. But for conflict to happen on Christmas was the worst omen of all. She was terrified, buried in a corner with arms wrapped around her knees. Several hours had passed and her parents never came home. Even though she was only five and too innocent to be dragged through hell, she assumed the worst, and flinched at the idea of being alone when facing down the barrel of a machine gun. However, the strain of the overwhelming circumstances forced her into a state of composure she never experienced before, especially for her age.

She jumped at the eruption of gunfire. Sticking the top of her head back up over the sill, she witnessed several pedestrians who moments ago were up and about now lying prostrate on the ground. The troops were sscattering into position with every shout from their commander. They must be everywhere! She inherently knew there was more than one ground force mobilizing through Argentina, possibly all of South America. Helpless, her only hope lay in remaining hidden, praying she would be lucky enough to wait out the conflict before she was caught.

Her body was fetal, the cold wood floor pressing against her cheek. With the waning sun, she stayed awake, her eyes stolidly open and wincing at every rapping of a carbine. Who fell down this time? She wished she didn’t have to think about it. With the passing hours, the clattering waned, the paramilitary forces moved on like marauding hordes of barbarians. Then there was a lapse of time.

She awakened. Sitting right in front of her eyes was a box that wasn’t there before. It was wrapped in paper with roses dappled over it and topped with a little red bow. Lifting up the tag, she saw that it was addressed to her, and a burst of elation took hold. Grabbing the present, she ran through the house calling for her parents to thank them. The only answer she got was the whistling of the wind through the gaps in the windows. She slowed her pace, her excitement bleeding out like the dead just outside the walls of her home. With tears turning into rivulets over the round contours of her face, she looked down at the present.

Far too burdened with grief, she opened it like she was diffusing a bomb. Looking inside, she saw nothing but a card with a brief message that said, ‘Don’t give up!’ She wondered why anyone would bother wrapping up a card with a couple of words on it. Most of all, who sent it? But she didn’t fret. Instead, she felt a sense of hope well up deep inside her, a sudden leap in maturity that would have come a decade later under normal conditions.

Not long after, it sounded like people were talking to her, but she never saw them in person, and they were certainly not in her house. They could have been the sender of the gift for all she knew. They must have found a way inside. She searched everywhere, but no one was home. Yet, the talking returned, coming in periodic intervals. Curious, she looked out the window again. The only people seen were down the street at the far end of the block, too far away to hear what they were saying, especially when she was behind closed doors. She sat down on the floor, back against the wall with legs splayed out.

Her next move was in question, spurious at her own decisions, but her thoughts were interrupted when the voices inside her head grew louder. She carefully looked out the window, hoping no one would see her. Her intuition proved correct; the troops had returned with two others in cuffs and bags over their heads being dragged out into the public square. Something in her snapped, and she broke out of her fear. Dashing out the front door, she sprinted toward the square just a block up from her house where, to her horror, several bodies were mounted like grizzly cairns. Flies were swarming everywhere, but she was not deterred. The soldiers approached, and she ducked behind a car peppered from bullet holes. They tied both prisoners up to two poles, backed up and cocked their carbines. In an instant, Karla shot out from behind the car. A massive wave of dark emotion was unleashed in a blast of energy that could have come from a star. The soldiers noticed, surprised by the boldness of a girl so young, when soon after they averted their attention at one another and began firing. Riddling themselves with the spray of .30 machine gun fire, they dropped instantly in a pool of their own ichor, joining the others whom they had shot hours before.

Disregarding the repulsive sight of the fallen enemies, Karla bolted up to both prisoners and removed the bags covering their faces. Her heart leaped. Without knowing who would have been another number lying in the dirt, she had serendipitously saved her parents. It was the only Christmas wish she would have asked for!

A beam of light came to a stop in cis-Lunar orbit, waiting for the long evanescent trail behind to catch up with itself. It began shifting in protean displays of expressions looking like a three-dimensional kaleidoscope. There was intelligence to its mode of behavior, a semantic display of visual communication relaying the day's information abroad. From an outside observer, there was little to distinguish between a star-faring craft or some kind of alien entity or being of light…perhaps artificial sentience, or even an angel. Regardless, its message was loud and clear:

To those who are loyal to their kith and kin; to those who would put their welfare beneath that of a stranger; to those whose familial bonds remain unbreakable; to those who seek justice over self-preservation…may you receive the gifts from the heavens to secure the powers thereof. We have appointed you as guardians, to be the new vanguard in the service of mankind and to render his salvation as a prominent species through governance, providence and discernment.

Thus far, three of you have been deemed worthy enough in light of the fallen nature of your co-equals to be chosen as the first line of defense on Earth. As guardians, you are incorruptible of heart and mind and humble enough not to boast of your augmentation, moral assets that are strictly required in advancing our celestial crusade to rescue and elevate civilizations throughout the galaxy, as rare as they come. Without your protection and guidance, your species will doom itself into extinction, thus falling into the cosmic void where the loss of life is a loss for the universe.

Your powers will grow as you mature, and you must assume the mantle of responsibility and peace within you in order to secure the peace around you.  So, for now, I leave you with these parting gifts.  For the record, we programmed the submicroscopics to dissemble from the packages they originally comprised and merge with your biological forms, thus granting you the uplifts.  Use them wisely.  Support others, but not to the point of helplessness.  Work to advance your species, not coddle it into a useless cargo cult.  Become model examples for the young, but never indoctrinate.  Most of all, however, avoid every fleshy temptation that could lead you astray of your mission.  Isolate if you have to, but always have each others' backs, and the backs of all those dwelling on the Earth.

With this message, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a new supernal rotation! Watch for the guiding stars of Prophecy in the times to come!I still remember the day we decorated the house. I was ten and it was two weeks before Christmas. I remember that I felt like a long journey of waiting and despair will finally come to an end. A new year was about to begin, and all of the bad memories will become the past as they never happened. I was looking forward to my presents. I was about to receive not only the gifts but also the strong feeling of being loved and cared for. Since I'm the youngest in the family, all of the family members would give me a gift one way or another. Sometimes it was a cookie or a hug but it was always there. I was the only center of attention and it was feeling good.

My uncles usually would ask me what I want before Christmas and that year I knew what I want. It was the spaceship I saw in the ads. I was dreaming of opening a big gift box, and it was there. The thing about gifts is that they are magical even if you know what you'll get. I never want to go to a toy shop with my dad and buy it. I wanted it to magically appear in our home in a gift box. A gift makes you surprised and catches you off guard. That was what I wanted but that year it came in a way that I wasn't expecting.

It was two weeks before Christmas. Just two weeks. She couldn't wait. My dear mother came to the kitchen to tell my father that it is time. He freaked out for a couple of seconds, and then we went to the hospital. After an hour they told me that I have a sister now. But I didn't want a sister, I wanted a spaceship. The next few days went so fast. No one was caring about me. Everyone was talking about her and I knew that my life is never going to be the same ever again. I wasn't ready to grow up, to be a big brother. But it just happened in an instant.

Christmas came early that year, everyone was calling, visiting, and sending gifts. But all of them were about her. Even my uncles didn't ask me anything about the gift. I accepted that I lost, and she won. I thought I also caused similar attention when I was born but now I was too old.

On the day before Christmas, everyone was in our home. I still remember the people that I love most, talking only about my newborn sister. My family was becoming hers. I want to vanish her like these crazy times never happened. She stole everything I've ever had, my life, and presents and it was feeling like this was never going to change. Thinking about this, I cried to sleep. At night I had a nightmare, shadows were all around me, and I was defenseless and so weak. When I woke up, I run into my parents' bedroom but couldn't wake up my poor parents. They were tired and cuddled like they don't want to wake up for years. But I couldn't control my fear, I was standing near their bed trying not to tremble and cry. In the moments I was attempting to wake up my mother I saw her. She was awake and looking at me with her big eyes in her cradle.

It was another night I was scared a lot and I was alone again. But this time I wasn't all alone, because she was there. A car's shadow came into the bedroom and I was even more scared then she started crying, and I was not the youngest in the room for the first time. A little, fragile newborn baby was possibly scared more than me. I thought that she must be feeling like what I felt in my dream.

I felt like I should comfort her. I should fight with the shadows, and make sure that they don't hurt her like in my dream. I should be the big brother everyone expected me to be. I forgot that I was also scared and probably more than her. I whispered things I want to hear to her as she cries. But trying to comfort her made me feel stronger. I touched her for the first time. After seconds she stop crying but one more thing also happened, I wasn't scared anymore. I felt like I should be strong and fearless to protect her. But more importantly, I realized that she was the one who protect me eventually.

After the following days, something slowly changed inside me, the feeling of loneliness, was replaced by the responsibility of being an older brother. I wanted to care her for at any cost. I don't remember the gifts that I received this year, even anything about that spaceship, all of a sudden they become meaningless to me. I got the best gift I could ever imagine. Thanks to her, I learned a lot about life, love, and what really matters over the years. Loving someone who needs me prepared me for life. Giving my strength made me stronger, and giving my love made me peaceful that no toy or any kind of material will ever can. Even in the hardest times, I learned how much my parents sacrificed for me.

I received the feeling of being loved and cared for over that gift, and it was with me when I got bullied, moved to a new place, or scared for the rest of my life. The best parts in me were revealed with her birth and reflected with her laugh.

We don't choose our real gifts in life, they happen in an instant and don't wait for us to be ready, or for Christmas to come but if we choose to accept them, realize them, and protect them at any cost, they become our everything, and the best gift we can ever get.The line snakes through aisles four, five, and six, with half of the aisles’ contents on the floor. Some parents are haphazardly returning toys their screaming children were trying to sneak into their baskets. Other patrons are wipings shelves clean of wrapping paper and Christmas bags. As for me, a Dollar Tree floor sales associate with five shoplifters caught under my name, I just want to clock out and get my Double Whopper from Burger King.

“Next in line to register three!” As I call the next person, I see an elderly lady with a silvery gray bob cut carrying twenty Jesus candles walking to my register. The guy behind her is carrying two stuffed bears. Why he waited thirty minutes in line for rip-off carnival-level, stuffed animals is beyond me.

I turn my attention back to the candle lady. “Hello, ma’am! How are you doing today?”

She gives me a reluctant thumbs up. “Eh…Good.” I recognize the accent and switch gears.

“Tiene muchas velas.”

She sounds more at ease as she says, “¡Ah, sí! Serán favores de fiesta para mi iglesia.“ I start scanning the same candle repeatedly since they’re all the same type. Being a cashier requires shortcuts.

“Next on register one!” Sadie, our manager, just finished ringing up a couple with two wailing children, devastated and pissed after being denied the knockoff Voltron figurines. Teddy bear guy is next in line, but he lets a family with a cart full of hot pockets, cereal, and Santa hats go ahead of him. What is up with this guy? If he went to Sadie's register, he could be out of here in three minutes.

I keep scanning until I hear, “Ay! Para!” Before I knew it, I had scanned thirty-three candles.

“Oops!” I reconfigure the register. “Lo siento, señora. Voy a arreglarlos.” I start scanning the candles to return the extra thirteen and hear the teddy bear guy chuckling behind her. What’s so funny? Huh? I feel my face turn red and my jaw tightens as I scan.

I hear Eric behind me say, “Next in line to register two,” at a volume that can’t compete with the crowd.

Sadie glances over her shoulder to see who made that mousy announcement. “Speak up, Eric!” She scolds him while scanning a never-ending stream of ham and bacon hot pockets.

“NEXT IN LINE TO REGISTER 2!” Eric puts so much soul into it that he is sweating through his jacked Santa Claus sweater. In the meantime, teddy bear guy motions for a man hauling two full baskets, overflowing with Halloween candy that has been reduced to $0.25 per bag, to go ahead of him. Teddy bear guy gives me a glance and I can see his smile from under his mask that pushes up the bottoms of his eyelids. Trying to look innocent, are you? Well, I bet those pockets are stuffed with lighters or laxative pills that you can’t buy as a minor without your mommy. I’ve encountered plenty of you guys before.

I turn back to the candle lady as I wrap the last candle in newspaper. “Su total es de $22.37.”

“¡Muchas gracias, cariña! ¡Feliz Navidad!”

I wave as she carries the box labeled iced tea filled with newspaper-wrapped candles. “¡Feliz Navidad!” Without looking up from my register, I call, “Próximo cliente-,“ frick, “Uh, next customer to register three, please!”

Teddy bear guy finally decides to check out at my counter. I’m eyeing him up and down as he lays the two bears on my conveyer belt. Why did you skip the other two registers? Is it because Sadie looks like a seasoned floor sales associate that can smell a shoplifter a mile away? Is it because you think I’d go easier on you than Eric since I’m a girl? Keep your sexism out of your thievery, young man!

After I scan the bears, he opens his mouth to divert my attention, saying, “So…”

“Hm?” I look up from my register. Our eyes meet, and he immediately shifts them to the left, a tell-tale sign of a liar.

“You speak Spanish?”

“Yeah.” I stare at his pockets, trying to deduce what could be inside aside from sweaty hands.

“Lemme guess. You’re Puerto Rican?”

“No. I’m white-white. Spanish isn’t my first language.”

“Oh, that’s cool! I’m Colombian…”

He looks like he has more to say, but I have sixty more people in line on Christmas week, lower back pain, and a bone to pick with this guy. “Do you want a bag?”

“No thanks.”

“Your total is-“ He picks up the bears and steps to the side. I freaking knew it! I stop him before he leaves the counter. “Hey!” He whips himself around, and his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets. “Are you going to pay?” I give him the stink eye he seems to fold.

“Shoot! Yeah! Sorry!” Not so slick now, huh? He fumbles in his back pocket, suffocating the two bears under his left arm.

I fold my arms and arch one eyebrow. “You got anything else in there?”

“What? No! It was a mistake! Honest-” He pulls out every pocket in his pants and denim jacket. The only things that fall out are three ketchup packets, a Burger King receipt, and a straw wrapper.

“Okay, I believe you. Your total is “$3.78.” He might not be hiding anything else, but I still caught him before he slipped out the door with two free bears.

“Thanks…” He double-clicks the power button on his phone and pulls down his mask to unlock Apple Pay. He’s growing a bit of a mustache and stubble. His nose is rather large, with a high bridge. He seems to be about 2 inches taller than me while I wear my platform sneakers. His chunky glasses don’t hide his eye bags. His cheeks are a little red, probably from the embarrassment of getting caught red-handed. He’s not bad to look at, just sleep-deprived like me. If he hadn’t attempted to pull a fast one, I’d say he’s cute.

“Would you like your receipt?”

“N-no, thank you…“

“Well then, Merry Christmas, and have a good day!”

“You, too-” He is cut off by the shove of a 4’11” middle schooler sprinting past us.

Eric panics behind me, “You need to pay for that!” Sadie drops the hot pockets mid-scan and turns into a soccer goalie between the little thief and the exit. She is in position to cover the sides of the aisle, but she doesn’t account for the brat sliding between her legs.

He crashes into the candle lady, nearly tripping through the doors, and blurts, “Sorry,” after she falls to the ground with the crunch of glass. As I phone the police, Sadie and teddy bear guy rush over to help her.

Sadie returns with the box of broken Jesus candles to dump into my waste bin. “That child! I understand shoplifting, but shoving into that sweet old grandma like that and leaving her on the floor? Lord knows what I’d do to his sorry behind if he were my son!”

“Ahaha…yeah…” I pick up the two abandoned teddy bears. “Where did the other guy go?”

“Your customer? He helped the lady back and ran after the brat.”

“Oh! That’s good…” I place the bears into my drawer full of blank receipt rolls in case he returns for them.

A crowd forms outside the entrance ten minutes later. I’m scanning thirty chocolate bars and can’t see anything besides the red and blue lights. Police cars should come with seizure warnings. I can make out a familiar pair of chunky glasses and a surgical mask beside an officer restraining the little thief from earlier in a hug as he wriggles around like a cat trying to escape a bath. Teddy bear guy pulls down his mask and takes off his glasses to show the officer his purple and blue eye.

My conscience returns to the register when I hear, “Uh, ma’am?”

“Yes?!“

“I’m pretty sure you passed thirty chocolate bars a while ago.”

“Shoot! Sorry…”

My four-hour shift turns into seven. It’s 10:52 pm and the line only takes up half an aisle as Eric sweeps beside me. “How has Christmas week been for you, Eric?”

“Thrilling. That kid slipped four lighters into his pockets and made a run for it when I caught him.”

“Dang. My customer bolted after him and never came back for his bears.” I pull out the abandoned bears from my drawer.

“Oh yeah! He’s my friend, Theo!” Theo. Theodore. Theodore Roosevelt. Teddy Roosevelt. How fitting.

“Could you give them to him?”

“Actually…” he gives me a coy look. I restrain myself from wrinkling my forehead as I raise my eyebrow. “He works at the Burger King across the parking lot. He might be there now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, and he knows about you, too.”

“Makes sense since I’m there after almost every shift.”

“Wanna return the bears to him yourself after work?”

“Sure!” Eric and I lock up and head over to Burger King, which is also severely understaffed; one girl is manning the drive-through and register, and another guy is frying french fries and assembling burgers as if he were on a game of Chopped with the looming threat of Gordon Ramsey verbally fileting him. That’s teddy bear guy.

“Hey! Theo!” Eric waves at him as he approaches the counter. Theo turns around, which stops Eric and me in our tracks. “Yikes! Did that kid do that to you?”

“Oh, this?” Theo presents the busted side of his face to us as he dispenses Sprite into an extra-large cup. “Yeah. I caught him hiding in the laundromat down the street. He put up a fight, but when you have younger siblings, these punches are nothing.”

He’s taking things lightly and I want to laugh with him, but I don’t think I deserve to laugh right now. Instead, I ask, “Are you okay?”

Theo looks at me, down at the extra-large Sprite, and then at Eric. Eric looks at him, then at me, and then pulls out his phone. “Aw, man! 11:07 pm! Gotta go, guys. Strict Asian parents, y’know?”

“Do you need a ride?” I ask him.

“Nope! My mom’s waiting for me in the parking lot.” Eric leans over the counter and gestures to Theo. “Our vigilante of justice over here might need one, though.”

Theo waves his hands. “What? No! I can take the bus!”

I interject, “I can take you home if you want. I’m going to order anyway.”

Eric puts his arm around me. “See! It works out perfectly! Now, I gotta get going, or my mom will make good on her threat of signing me up to work at Kumon on top of retail.”

After Eric leaves, I order my Double Whopper from Theo’s coworker, Bitha, and sit at the table closest to the register. No one else is here but three twenty-something-year-olds itching for 11:30 pm to come so we can go home.

“One Double Whopper.” The smell calls me over before Theo does. I’m foaming at the mouth, if not drooling. “Here you go, Jessica.”

I take the burger into my hands and look up at him. “How do you know my name?”

He laughs and pulls on his name tag clipped to his black polo.

“Oh, yeah! Duh!” He walks back to the deep fryer and dumps in another batch of fries. I feel stupid. I was trying to pin him as a thief earlier, and now I’m eating the burger he made for me. Well, he’s paid to do this, so maybe there’s no altruism in the Double Whopper.

I devour the burger in five bites as Bitha and Theo close up. Standing for seven hours behind a register with only one ten-minute break made me ravenous. I throw away my wrapper as the two come out in their coats, chatting about something I can’t hear. Bitha looks at me and gives Theo a firm slap on the back. The sound he made makes me think she deflated his lungs. She takes out a ball of keys, barely held together by a keychain, and shuffles them around until she finds the one for the main entrance. “You two go first. I’ll lock up.”

Theo opens the door for me and says, “Thanks, Bitha! See you tomorrow!”

I’m the last to say, “Good night,” as we walk to my car. Theo has his mask on, but I can see his breath spilling from the top, clouding his glasses. When we get in the car, I turn on the engine and set the heater to seventy degrees. I usually drive in the cold to save gas, but I turn it on when I have other people with me.

“I appreciate you doing this for me,” he says while looking straight ahead.

“No problem…I mean, after I talked to you at the store, I owe you an apology and want to make it up to you somehow.”

“It’s okay, really.” He clicks his seat belt. “I understand. Eric tells me about the weekly shoplifting. You were just doing your job. Acting like I was about to pee myself and forgetting to pay painted me in a suspicious light.”

“Pee yourself? Why?” Theo takes off his glasses. His face is turned in my direction with his eyes on something outside the driver’s side window. Maybe that’s why he works in the kitchen while Bitha takes orders. He can’t look people in the eye.

“I don’t know…” He laughs as he uses his uniform to wipe away the condensation on his glasses.

“I still feel bad, but you caught the real guy! That kid has been a notorious shoplifter ever since December rolled around. He’d weave in and out of the store because of the crowds.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” I adjust my mirror and pull up Wayz on my phone. “What did Eric call you? A ‘vigilante of justice?’”

Theo puts his glasses back on, which immediately fog up again as his mask funnels his breath onto his lenses. “Guess that makes me pretty cool, right?”

“Totally! Now, what’s your address?” He lives about ten minutes away, Wayz didn’t account for the downed power lines, which add an extra five minutes to our drive. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind another detour. He tells me about how he wanted to go to culinary school but settled for a bachelor's degree in nutrition which is ironic considering his current job. He tends to gesticulate with his hands to compensate for how his foggy glasses and mask cover up ninety percent of his face. His ears poke out from the hood of his jacket in a lost-puppy-swaddled-in-a-blanket kind of way.

When we arrive at his home, he’s as polite as ever, saying, “Thanks for the ride. It was nice meeting you!”

“You too!” After he is halfway up the steps to his porch, I get out of the car. “Wait!” I follow him carrying the two stuffed bears, one in each hand. “You forgot these.”

“Oh! Thanks!” He takes the bear from my left hand. “You can keep the other one.”

“Huh?” I look at the remaining bear. “Thanks, but why?”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

“But who were they originally for?”

Theo hesitates again, fiddling with his bear’s paws. “This one is for my grandma.” He looks at me and doesn’t look somewhere else after our eyes meet this time. “I bought that one for you.”

“Really?” A cloud of mist escapes my mouth, and my eyebrow arches. I’ve been criticized for looking too judgy when I do that, so I try to soften my expression. “Why?”

“I just…” He leans against his front door while keeping his bear and hand warm in his jacket’s pocket while the other hand scratches the back of his head. “I just wanted to. Sorry, you don’t need to think about it too hard…”

“Well,” I take a step down his stairs, “I really appreciate it.” I reach the ground and turn to walk to my car. “I better get going. Merry Christmas, Theo!”

I continue to walk and see him waving from his porch. “Yeah! You too-!“ He is cut off and nearly falls backward as the door opens behind him. I see a familiar silvery gray bob over Theo’s shoulder.

A sweet old Spanish lady asks, “¿Theo, con quién hablas?”

Theo turns to her as he catches himself using the door frame. “¿Abuela?” It was the candle lady from work!

She points at me as her eyebrows shoot halfway up her forehead. “¿Ella fue la chica de la tienda?”

I turn back around and walk up the porch. “¡Sí, ese fui yo!”

“¿Cómo estás, cariña?”

We talk on the porch until I let out a violent sneeze. The next thing I know, I’m sitting at their dining room table sipping homemade hot chocolate as Theo’s Abuela gushes about her family. His little siblings run around the house even though it’s close to midnight. One of them plops herself on the chair beside me and stares at me unblinkingly. I engage in this unspoken staring contest until she asks, “Theo, is this the girl you and Eric were talking about?”

Theo palms her face to cover her mouth. “¡Sh-shut up!” His sister bites his hand and punches his stomach, leading him to cave over in his seat.

After their Abuela scolds her, she leans over to me and side-eyes Theo. “Tenía razón. Eres tan linda.” His grandma is smoother than he is. Yet, I find myself a little flushed as I face him while caressing the stuffed bear under the table.