by JR Wirth
“Chill out big sis,” Harper insisted. “It’s going to be okay. Everything’s cool. These people here”—she stopped and turned, waving to all in the audience, which was plenty—“are all good and wholesome folks.”
“Yeah, this place is hipster cool,” Hayden agreed with a shout of his own. He turned toward me and, like a wand, pointed his Skylanders toy at me. “So, big sis, I suggest you do as little sis says, and take a chill pill.”
I didn’t think the situation could get any worse. But there I was, frozen in stunned disbelief, being scolded by two toddlers, who not more than a day ago, couldn’t even put a sentence together.
Nonetheless, I kept my eye on Harper as she looked around. I also watched the man and woman in the sleigh, expecting them to protest about what was happening. But instead, they smiled brightly. It was as though they were cheering on their child graduating from college. Or that they were anticipating this happy reunion.
The scene was such that it made me ill. I felt as though I’d throw up, and bent over. But not wanting to mess up my cute, new outfit, I stopped myself. I burped instead, then turned my attention back to Harper.
“Hey, where’s my little bub monster?” Harper asked. “I hoped he’d make it to this party as well.”
The question shocked Isaiah back to life. Driven by his brother’s absence, he was finally able to move from his stance. Frantically, he looked around for Bubba. “Oh no,” Isaiah whispered. “Where’d he go now?”
Hayden and Arhi looked at each other, bumped fists and laughed. “Man,” Arhi said, and shook her head. She then straightened her dress, and glanced at her shiny, black shoes, tapping her heels three times. “They just don’t have a clue, do they?”
“Nope, they sure don’t,” Hayden said, again, not sounding anything like the three-year-old boy I knew. He briefly flew his Skylanders toy through the air, and then glanced back at Arhi. “If they hang out here for a little while longer, maybe then they’ll get a grip.”
“Yeah.” Arhi snickered. “And maybe a really cool tattoo.”
The young ones shared a laugh, while they celebrated with high-fives all around.
I, on the other hand, scratched my head in puzzlement. There’s no way these kids are from my family, I thought. They’re acting like they’re older than me. “How is that even possible?” I whispered, and shrugged.
At that point, I didn’t really know what to think, or how to react. But I’m pretty sure I could’ve used a psychiatrist, or, at least, a good psychotherapist, like Grandpa.
Hayden noticed my confused concern. “If you want to find Bubba,” he said, with a chuckle pointing his toy toward the village. “Just check the chocolate cake store down the block.”
“Hey, I could go for some chocolate myself,” Harper said. “Let’s go.”
Before Isaiah or I could react, Hayden, Arhi and Harper ran down the street. With Hayden in blue, Arhi in green and Harper in red, they looked like Christmas tree bulbs, dancing in the wind. The sight was hypnotizing.
I suddenly realized they were almost out of sight. “Hurry,” I yelled to Isaiah, and grabbed his arm as I ran past.
When we caught up with the younger children, they were all sitting next to Bubba, eating chocolate cake and drinking farm fresh milk.
“Wow,” I breathed. “We really need to get the heck out of this place.”
“Come and sit,” Harper instructed with a wave, then looked down and fastened a loosened snap on her outfit. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
Isaiah and I sat and were immediately given cake and milk. Despite my fear of eating anything at all in this seemingly evil town, my hunger got the best of me and I tasted the offerings.
“Hmm…This is the best-tasting cake and milk I’ve ever had,” I said in wonder, then looked at the surroundings. With Christmas decorations all around the shop, including personalized, homemade stockings above the fireplace, I had to admit that the town was probably not as evil as Isaiah and I thought. To further the Christmas experience, the smell of sugar cookies and hot cocoa crept from every corner of the shop, while presents seemed to gather in front of our eyes.
Even though I was surrounded by the spirit of Christmas, I paused and sadly sighed. “But I still want to go home!” The emotions of the fantastical journey finally wore me down, and I started to cry.
With puckered lips, Harper shook her little head. “Oh man,” she growled. “There she goes. Poor Hailey, she just can’t enjoy the moment here.”
The younger children looked at each other and giggled.
Isaiah put his hand on my back. “It’s going to be okay, Hailey,” he reassured me.
Seeing me in my current state, Harper gave in. “Okay,” she said, with a sigh. “I’ll explain everything.” Then, while loosening her mini, braided pigtails, she took a deep breath and gently blew it out. “Once we do this though, there’s no going back. Do you understand?”
Everyone looked around the table, and then ended with their gazes on me, as I tried to hold back my tears. They nodded and said, “We understand.”
I guess they felt sorry for me after all.
Harper grimaced. “Okay, here we go. First of all, I want you all to know that this has been the best adventure of my young life, and that I love you all. You are all so nice to me. Even when I’m tired and cranky, or have a droopy diaper, you seem to tolerate me. Thank you. Although, Hailey, I must admit, you are a little quick to get frustrated with me from time to time. But I understand. As the oldest, more is expected of you.” Harper smiled appreciatively.
I had no response, so I shrugged. She was right.
“A Merry Christmas, however, is not about the presents, guys,” Harper continued. “It never was. It’s about love, forgiveness, and giving. And most importantly, it’s about the birth of Christ Jesus.”
Harper smiled mischievously, then looked over her shoulder and pointed with her thumb. “If we hurry we can see baby Jesus in the manger, right over there. I just saw him, and wished him a happy birthday. It’s a pretty amazing sight.”
“No!” I yelled. I saw the shocked faces of the others and paused. “What I mean is, yes, I want to meet Jesus, but just not right now. Please, let’s go home.”
Harper shrugged her tiny shoulders, then used both hands to shakeout her pigtails and toss her thin, baby hair. “Okay, then. To finish my thought, I want you all to get along and love each other. You all have enough stuff already, including video games galore, warm houses to live in, and plenty of food. Isaiah, what more than designer shirts, an iPhone, and a girlfriend do you need? And Hailey, you have everything you need too. And I’m pretty sure you’ll be getting a phone of your own in a couple of years. Bubba and Arhi, when do you not get exactly what you want? Think about it. And, finally, to my big brother, Hayden, I’ll just say Skylanders, enough said.” She paused, seeming to let the words sink in. “Do you know how many kids would love to be in your shoes?” she continued. “Isaiah, just to have one of your designer T-shirts, a less fortunate kid might run ten miles through a blazing desert.”
Harper then took a big bite of her cake and wiped her hands. “Our Savior,” she said with her mouth half-full. “Was born in a cold stable, surrounded by animals and all their piles of poop.” Harper pinched her nose and scrunched her face. “And that smell, whoa, you think mine is bad? Wait until you get a sniff of that stuff!” She shook her head and shivered. “Anyway, we are…” Harper paused, smiled and winked at me. “Absolutely, blessed beyond imagination. Hold onto that.”
We all sat still. I thought about what she’d said. Even the little ones, who seemed to know what was going on all along, seemed captivated by Harper’s words. When I realized that she was right I began to tear up, as I suspect the others did too.
When she saw that she had gotten her point across, Harper smiled victoriously, then climb
ed from the booster seat to the table, and stretched out her tiny arms. “Remember, love and care for each other. And please look out for me when I can’t talk to you anymore.” She looked around and, making eye contact with each of us, said, “I love you guys.”
No words were said, only sniffs and moans could be heard.
After a few emotional moments, Harper sighed. “Okay, come here you guys. Give me a hug.”
We put our arms around each other and hugged, making a circle around Harper.
“Closer,” Harper instructed. “Touch heads.”
We moved even closer, resting our heads gently on Harper’s tiny head, just above her hairline.
“Happy birthday, Jesus,” Harper whispered. Then, with all her might, she jumped straight up, slamming our heads backwards.
Poof! We were back in Grandpa’s garage room.
To the wonder of the adults in the home, we all huddled together, hugging and crying.
Then one of us cried, “I love you guys.”
Suddenly, and without warning, Harper cut one loose, laying a smelly doogie in her diaper.
“Oh man!” Hayden shouted, and we all moved back.
Harper, still in the middle, chuckled and, clearly, said, “Queasy stomach…”
To this day, before every Christmas, we all gather and put the tree together. In amazement, we chuckle at the bent branch where Arhi landed, and when Bubba bravely scaled the tall structure to save his sister, and of course, Christmas. Then we place the lights on the tree, as close to the original grouping as possible.
We take turns putting together the little town beneath the Christmas tree, including the train, the magical bridge to nowhere, and the stone and brick buildings. Isaiah is in charge of commanding the action, maintaining his place as the leader of a small platoon of Christmas soldiers. With or without his direction, however, we place the figurines exactly where we saw them, including the prophetic, one-legged teenager and the sledding couple, who now, apparently, have a child of their own. Also in the collection are the top hat couple and the merry carolers, as well as the other nineteenth century characters we passed.
Then we place the angel on the tree. Though significantly smaller than she was that evening, she still smiles down upon us. It’s at that point we say a little thank you prayer for the angels that guided us that evening, and every day since.
Finally, Harper places the manger not too far away from the town, exactly where she found it, and in silence we all wonder about that night, and how a miracle caused an infant to become the wisest person on Earth. Harper’s place in this family will forever be held in the highest esteem.
We then contently eat sugar cookies while drinking hot cocoa, as we watch the passing train and remember the moment in time when Hayden was the happy conductor of an endless locomotive.
We never did figure out what ‘Merry Little Christmas’ meant. But I’m thinking it was either to help us realize how small we really are, by putting us in that little town, or, that we should embrace the meaning of Christmas with little emphasis on the receiving, and greater concern for the love and giving to others. And of course we are to remember Jesus, all the while counting our blessings.
Sometimes we put our heads together and, for a moment, try to go back. Perhaps sometimes is an understatement, since, in reality, we do it every year, at least twice. Obviously we haven’t made it yet.
All of our recalling and merriment, moreover, occurs while a blazing fire rages in the brick fireplace that sits next to the artificial Christmas tree—the tree that can never be replaced.
Okay, remember when I said I’d tell the truth? I was just kidding. Fingers crossed, I lied. It is a heartwarming Christmas story after all. We learned the meaning and the joy of Christmas, as well as the love for others, particularly family. So, now, with a mischievous smile on my face, I, Hailey Jade Phillips-Wirth, narrator extraordinaire, am going to skip away. And I’m pretty sure Grandpa won’t mind that I lied this time; after all, he’s the one who wrote this tale!
Good Friday: Dreams and Nightmares
Twisted Family Holiday Series Story 2
JR Wirth
Chapter One
Daniel Johnson sat in one of the six high-back leather chairs that lined the large, storefront picture window. Head in hand, he tried to remain inconspicuous. Emotionally conflicted, he anxiously awaited another chance to glance at the captivating mystery woman whose recent arrival brightened the town’s scenery. Simultaneously, he was troubled by a set of reoccurring dreams he’d experienced. Both dreams occurred over the past week the most recent just the night before.
He looked down at his clasped hands. “They’re so real though,” he whispered. “Anxiety- driven, I suppose.” He grinned and shook his head. “Not important.” He looked up and, again, searched the town for the beautiful, mystery woman.
Johnson had many names: “Daddy” to his two adult daughters and “Mr. J to their friends and acquaintances. He was “brother” and “friend” to the church congregation, and “Johnson” to everyone else who knew him. Only his late mother and his deceased wife called him Daniel and it had been some time since that happened. A widower of five-plus years, this was the first woman, since the death of his wife, who captured Johnson’s imagination.
He looked around the quaint town searching for a sign of the woman who, over the past week, he had seen a handful of times—two of which were this morning. Not knowing who she was, or where she came from, Johnson named her Mary, since it was the end of Lent and Good Friday was just days away. Even in death, Jesus was surrounded by a gathering of devout Mary’s, he thought. It seemed like a fitting name for an enchanting stranger who appeared during this most-holy time of the year.
She’s got to be around still, Johnson thought. Somewhere. He looked at the ground in front of his bookstore—Stella’s. Named after his late wife, Stella’s was short for: Stella’s Treehouse of Knowledge and Java. Johnson surveyed the sidewalk, inspecting the piles of snow in varying heights. “Hmm.” He shrugged and sighed. “Like the minutes between visions of Mary,” he whispered. “The snow melts ever so slowly.”
Johnson looked back at the rows of books, stacked ceiling to floor, and snickered. “Maybe I can be a writer too,” he whispered. “Or, I could be a poet perhaps? That did seem a little poetic if I say so myself.” He took a look at the coffee bar and breathed in the aroma of fresh brewed Sulawesi, the day’s special and a favorite of Johnson’s.
He smiled. “Smells good, Jimmy,” he said to the young man behind the counter. “Is it ready, yet?”
“Thank you, sir,” Jimmy replied, with one of his usual, polite salutations. “It’s almost done.” Jimmy was the cook and the coffee brew-master, though he insisted on being called a barista. He was also the boyfriend of Johnson’s youngest daughter, Hanna. And, according to Jimmy, they would soon be engaged. He had already asked Johnson for Hanna’s hand in marriage.
“Hey, Jimmy, can you toast me up one of those wheat bagels to go with a cup of your café extraordinaire?”
Jimmy smiled. “Coming right up, sir,” he replied, and quickly slid along the polished floor, to the chrome refrigerator.
“And quit calling me sir!” Johnson shouted. “It makes me sound like an old man. Like when the little ones call me Grandpa.”
Jimmy smiled again. “Yes sir.”
“Do I look old?” Johnson asked with a shake of his head and wipe of his face.
“Yes, I mean, no sir, not a sole, a bit I mean…” Jimmy stammered his reply. “I mean, not a bit.”
Johnson grunted, and turned back toward the picture window. “Jimmy’s too damn nice to tell me the truth anyways,” he said, believing it was a whispered comment. Johnson then shook his head thinking, It is refreshing though. Compared to most young people these days, he’s a prince.
“
Is your coffee for here, or is it to go?” Jimmy asked.
“To go Jimmy,” Johnson said and walked back to the counter to collect his cup. He leaned against the counter and looked down. “And he’s always so damn happy,” he whispered, continuing his internal dialogue. The comment was a little louder than Johnson wanted, causing him to blush ever-so-slightly.
“Blessed sir.”
“Huh?”
Jimmy cleared his throat. “I’m blessed, sir. I have this fantastic job. I have your gorgeous daughter in my life, and just look at this beautiful town.” Jimmy pointed to the picture window. “I am definitely blessed. Who wouldn’t be happy?” Jimmy poured in the half and half then stirred the coffee to a creamy-brown color. “Just how you like it sir; and your bagel will be right up.”
“Hmm.” Johnson took the medium-sized cup and took a sip. “It tastes even better than it smells.” He put the cap on and raised it in the air. “Good job, Jimmy.”
Jimmy smiled in return.
“I’ll see you in a while, Jimmy. Are you going to be okay?”
“Sure thing Mr. J,” Jimmy replied, handing the freshly toasted and buttered bagel to Johnson. Then he slid down the counter to the cash register, where a young girl waited to buy the latest book in a string of paranormal-romance novels. “I think we should give this young lady the buy two, get the third half-off special. What do you think Mr. Johnson?”
The girl looked at Johnson and gave a huge anticipatorily-appreciative smile.
Johnson’s heart sank when he realized he could make the young customer’s day and week. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Jimmy.”
The girl grabbed her bag and, smiling ear-to-ear, said, “I think I can afford a medium mocha then. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Jimmy replied. He turned toward Johnson and concealed his mouth, whispering, “I’ll pay the difference.”