Philip and the Miserable Christmas

by John Paulits

  The doorbell rang. Philip’s eyes widened, and he and Emery stared at one another.

  “He’s here,” Philip whispered. “Open the door more.”

  Emery pushed the bedroom door open wide so they could hear what went on downstairs.

  They heard a mix of voices and then a shout from Philip’s father and a scream. The two boys’ heads spun to one another.

  “Let’s look,” said Philip. He and Emery scuttled to the stairs and started down, Philip in the lead. Near the bottom, Philip saw what had happened. He moved aside, and Emery joined him on the fourth step. Francis stood in the living room, a candy cane in one hand raised above his head. The Christmas tree lay on the living room floor and shards of shiny, silver Christmas balls littered the rug. Philip’s parents and Francis’s parents stood in silent embarrassment.

  Francis shrugged his shoulders and said, “Stupid tree wouldn’t let go of the candy cane. Not my fault.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” gushed Francis’s mother. The two fathers stood by quietly.

  “Accidents happen,” Philip’s mother said, although she didn’t sound like she thought this was an accident. She turned to her husband. “Honey . . .”

  “Yeah, right. I’ll stand the tree . . .”

  “Let me help you,” said Francis’s father. The tree’s trunk was still secure in its base, so in a moment the two men had the tree upright again.

  “My Christmas tree,” Philip muttered from the stairs. A lot of the silver balls lay in pieces. He could see the stems of the balls hanging uselessly on the tree branches. Twinkling lights dangled randomly from the tree. Philip saw his mother reach up and touch his baby ball, still secure in its perch. Philip heard his father say, “No, no. Don’t worry. I didn’t hang all the balls. I have extras. Let’s get the candy canes off the tree, though. Remove temptation.” His father looked at Francis, who bent down to pick up a candy cane from the rug.

  “What?” Francis said when he noticed Mr. Felton’s stare. He lifted his fists, a candy cane in each one. “I’m good.”

  Philip’s mother noticed him watching from the stairs.

  “Oh, Philip. Take Francis up to your room while we take care of this.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” repeated Francis’s mother as another ball fell off the tree and rolled to her feet.

  Philip’s mother ignored her. “Philip!”

  “To my room?” Philip asked.

  “Francis, go with Philip,” ordered Mrs. Felton.

  Francis walked toward the stairs. Philip and Emery stepped aside, and as Francis passed them he said, “Get your own candy canes.”

  The two boys fell in behind Francis.

  “In there,” Philip pointed.

  “I know where.” Francis gave the room a once over. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  “Your stuff. Stuff you play with. You know, toys. Why’s the bookcase backwards? Where’s your stuff?

  “I don’t have any stuff,” said Philip. He glanced at Emery.

  “No,” Emery chipped in. “He don’t have any stuff. Doesn’t have. He never does. Or did.”

  Francis glared at Emery. “Who’s he? He come from another country? He talks funny.”

  “No, he’s my friend Emery. He’s from down the street.”

  “Why’s he talk funny?”

  “He doesn’t, usually.”

  “So what am I supposed to do around here?” Francis asked. “My mother said you’d play with me. Entertain me, she said. How are you going to entertain me if you don’t have no stuff?”

  “Uh, we’ll go places. To the park and playground.”

  “In a snowstorm? You must be crazy. Let’s go over his house. He must have stuff.”

  “No!” Emery shouted. “I got no stuff. None. Don’t have none never. We’re poor.”

  “You sure he’s not from someplace else? He talks funny,” said Francis. “A kid in my class is from Maldopia. He talks funny.”

  “Where? Never mind. No, he’s got two baby sisters,” Philip explained.

  “He talks funny ’cause he’s got two baby sisters?” Francis asked.

  “No, no. The baby sisters broke all his stuff.”

  Francis eyed the room again. “We can play on your computer.”

  “No, we can’t. It’s broke. I broke it. I mean I have to get it fixed.”

  “You’ll have new stuff when you open your presents,” said Emery.

  “No, I won’t,” said Francis.

  “Yes, you will,” Philip argued.

  “I won’t. All my presents are junk. They’re always junk.”

  “You already know what you’re getting?” Philip asked.

  “Pfft. I don’t have to know. I know.”

  “You talk funny,” Emery grumbled.

  Francis glared at him. “I know ’cause my presents are always no good.”

  “You have two bags of presents downstairs. I saw them,” said Philip. “They can’t all be bad.”

  “They can. They are. They’re full of clothes and shoes and underwear. I never get good stuff. Never. We got none of these at my house.” He held up his candy canes.

  “Want me to take the paper off one for you?” Emery asked.

  “What, you think I can’t take my own paper off?”

  “No, well, no. I guess you can.”

  “I guess I can, too.”

  “So you don’t get good stuff, either?” Francis asked, looking at Philip.

  “Nope. Never get good stuff. Must run in the family. I get lots of underwear, same as you.”

  Francis glared. “I didn’t say I got lots of underwear. Who needs lots of underwear?”

  Neither boy answered Francis, so he went on.

  “I saw you didn’t have any presents under your tree,” said Francis thoughtfully. “Maybe you don’t have any stuff. Let’s go over to his house,” Francis repeated. “He’s got to have stuff. Or else I’ll look around and find something we can play with here. You got a little sister. She must have stuff.”

  “Baby stuff.”

  “I want stuff,” Francis shouted. “You’ve got to entertain me. Mom said.”

  “Okay, okay. We’ll go over Emery’s house.”

  “What! We’ll what?” Emery cried.

  “But . . . but . . . uh, Emery has to go and do something for his mother first, and we’ll have to wait half an hour. Let’s go back downstairs.”

  When Francis spun around and headed back toward the stairs, Philip whispered to Emery, “Go home and hide your stuff. Hide everything. Hide it good. I’ll keep him here as long as I can and bring him later.”

  Emery nodded, and he and Philip fell in line behind Francis.

  Chapter Four

  Mr. Felton had put the Christmas tree lights back into place, and a pile of presents was spread out under the tree. Philip’s heart gave a jump, but then he remembered they were Francis’s presents.

  “There are no candy canes on the tree any more, Francis,” his mother reminded him.

  “Where are they?” Francis demanded.

  Francis’s mother pointed to Philip’s mother. “Ask if you want one.”

  Francis glared at his aunt, who quickly looked away.

  Emery found his coat and bolted out the front door without a goodbye.

  Philip looked out of the living room window at the snow still falling hard.

  “We better go, honey,” said Francis’s father.

  Philip’s father said, “Are you sure your plane will take off in this?”

  “Oh, yes,” Francis’s father snapped. “Oh, yes. We found an earlier flight, and they’re . . . they’re very good with runways at the airport. Come on, honey.”

  Francis’s parents quickly gathered their things. Francis’s mother called over her shoulder to her son. “Behave, Francis.” She and her husband stepped briskly out of the door.

  “I hope they don’t trip and break their necks in the rush,” Mr. Felton grumbled.

  “So, Francis,�
�� said Mrs. Felton. “We’re having steak sandwiches for dinner. I hope you like them.”

  “I don’t eat snakes.”

  “Snakes? No, no. Not snakes. Steak. Beef. You’ll like them. Onions and peppers.”

  “I don’t like onions and peppers. I won’t eat them. Or snakes.”

  “We’re not having snakes, Francis. Oh, you’ll eat something, I’m sure. Philip, entertain your cousin.”

  Mr. Felton walked off, saying, “I’ll get the other Christmas balls.”

  Francis frowned at Philip. “See, you have to entertain me.”

  “Mom, we’re going over Emery’s, all right?” Philip knew he hadn’t given Emery much time, but he didn’t want to spend a single minute alone with Francis. He hoped his mother wouldn’t use the terrible weather to ground him at home, but she seemed happy to see him go.

  “Yes, by all means. Go visit Emery. Let me dress both of you warmly.”

  Mrs. Felton fussed with the boys until they were wrapped like mummies, and then held the front door open for them.

  “Hurry up,” she said. “You’re letting in the cold air.”

  Philip and Francis stepped outside into the snowstorm.

  “Everybody seems to be in hurry around here,” said Francis.

  The boys stood still a moment and inspected the weather. The snow fell slightly sideways, and after a few moments their faces were wet, and snow covered their eyelashes.

  “Where’s Elroy live?” Francis asked, trudging down the walk.

  “His name’s not Elroy; it’s Emery. Seven houses down across the street. See the house with the Santa Claus on the lawn?”

  “Hey, I forgot my candy canes. Go get them for me.”

  “What?”

  “In your house. Go get them. On the table next to the sofa. I’ll wait here.”

  “Emery probably has candy canes.”

  “I don’t want probably candy canes. I want for sure candy canes. Go get them. Hurry up. I’m cold.”

  “Aw for Pete’s sake,” Philip cried. “You don’t need them.”

  “Go get them or I’m not going.”

  Philip growled helplessly and turned back. He was covered with snow, so he took off all the clothing his mother had wrapped him in and dropped it in the hallway on the newspaper his mother put out for shoes. He investigated both tables next to the sofa, one on each side, as well as the coffee table in front of the sofa. No candy canes. He looked around and saw the candy canes his father had taken off the tree spread out on the dining room table. He ran and grabbed two of them. Then he hustled back to the hallway and repacked himself in his coat and muffler and gloves and hat. He opened the door and stepped out into the storm. Philip looked up and down the street. Francis had disappeared.

  Where could he be? Not back into the house, for sure. No, he probably didn’t want to stand in the snow, so he went to Emery’s house by himself. Philip lowered his head and set out through the blowing snow. He checked for traffic but not a single car came in sight. He crossed the street, and a moment later rang Emery’s bell. Emery opened the door.

  “Not yet, Philip. I need a few more minutes to hide my stuff.”

  Philip’s stomach dropped. “Isn’t Francis here?”

  “Here? No, why would he be here? Don’t you have him?”

  “No, I left him outside my door. He said he forgot his stupid candy canes and sent me back to get them. When I came out again, he was gone.”

  “You think somebody snatched him?”

  “Ha! If they did, they’ll give him back real fast. No, Emery. Nobody snatched him. There aren’t any cars or people around. He probably started walking and got lost or something. Put your coat on. We have to find him.”

  “Can’t we leave him?”

  “Emery, go and get your coat.”

  A moment later Emery, bundled up the same as Philip, closed the door behind him.

  “Where’ll we look?” Emery asked.

  “I showed Francis your house. Maybe he passed it and kept walking. Let’s look up there.”

  Philip and Emery, squinting through the falling snow, walked to the corner, heads swiveling right and left.

  Philip pointed. “You go left around the block, and I’ll go right. I’ll meet you at the bottom of our street.”

  The boys set out. Philip stopped every few houses to shout out Francis’s name, but in vain.

  “Nothing,” said Philip when he met Emery at the bottom of the block.

  “Me, too,” Emery reported. “You better tell your mother.”

  “I told you Francis was trouble. I don’t want to tell her in person. Let’s go back to your house, and I’ll call her. Where could that . . . that . . .”

  “Knucklehead?”

  “Yeah, knucklehead be?”

  “First you don’t want his presence, now you do want his presence.”

  Philip ignored him. “Let’s go. I’m freezing.”

  Once inside Emery’s house, Emery said, “Put your coat and stuff here on the papers.” Emery’s mother also spread newspaper out for wet shoes. “If we get the whole floor wet . . .”

  Emery and Philip noticed it at the same time. A wet coat, gloves, and hat already lay on the newspaper. They looked at one another. Emery’s mother stepped out of the living room.

  “Oh, there you two are. Your friend’s here waiting for you. Where’d you get to?”

  Philip and Emery didn’t answer. Instead, they walked to the living room, and there lay Francis on his stomach reading a comic book, a plate of cookies beside him, Emery’s other comic books spread out within easy reach.

  “What are you doing here?” Philip cried.

  “Hey, they’re my comic books,” said Emery.

  Emery’s mother interrupted. “Emery, be polite. Francis is your guest.”

  “Pest, you mean,” Emery muttered.

  “He’s been waiting patiently for you two. What kept you?” asked Mrs. Wyatt.

  “We were looking for him,” Emery said in exasperation.

  “Well, he’s been right here. I gave him your comic books so he’d have something to do until you got here. Why were they in the closet? I nearly couldn’t find them.”

  Emery moaned.

  Francis looked up from his comic and glared at Emery.

  “You told me to be neat,” said Emery weakly.

  “Well, you boys have fun. This is no day to be outside. Would you like to stay for dinner, Philip?”

  “Yes!” Francis blurted. “What are you having?” He pointed at Philip. “He’s having snake for dinner.”

  “What? Snake?” Mrs. Wyatt wasn’t sure she heard correctly.

  Philip’s hands clenched into fists. “Not snake, Francis. Steak. Steak sandwiches.”

  “Yeah, you say steak. Sounded like snake sandwiches to me. Sure, we’ll stay.” Francis dropped his eyes to his comic book.

  “Wonderful. I’ll make spaghetti and call your mother, Philip.”

  When Emery’s mother disappeared, Philip asked angrily, “Where’d you go? I thought you got kidnapped or something.”

  Without looking up from his comic, Francis said, “I hid.”

  “You hid! Why’d you hide?” Philip asked.

  “I knew you’d get Ellery and look for me. Those two candy canes for me? I wanted to see for myself whether he had any good stuff.” Francis took the two candy canes from Philip and laid them next to two more lying on the floor beside him.

  “Who’s Ellery?” Emery asked.

  “You are,” said Philip. “Emery, Francis. His name is Emery. And you didn’t forget your candy canes, did you?”

  “Whatever. Shhh, I’m trying to read.”

  Philip and Emery looked at one another, and Philip whispered, “At least he’s quiet.”

  “Don’t tear out any pages,” said Emery.

  Francis ignored Emery and read on.

  Philip shrugged. “Let’s read comic books, too,” he said softly. “We can keep an eye on him.” So the boys settled onto floor, cho
se a comic book, and spent a quiet hour until dinner.

  Chapter Five

  After dinner, Francis asked to see more of Emery’s stuff and made certain to ask in front of Emery’s mother.

  “Why don’t you show Francis the movies you have?” Mrs. Wyatt said as she cleared the dinner table and handed the dishes to Mr. Wyatt, who lowered them into soapy water in the sink.

  “Yeah, show me your movies,” Francis said, jutting out his jaw.

  “Didn’t you bring any with you?” Emery asked. “Philip’ll go and get them.”

  “I don’t have stuff like that—movies or games or nothing. I told you. My parents don’t give me fun stuff. They say it’s tribial or something. I don’t even know what tribial means.”

  Emery surrendered. “Okay, okay, come on.” Emery led Francis and Philip to the hall closet. He got down on his knees and crawled inside until only the bottoms of his sneakers stuck out.

  “What’s he doing?” Francis asked, putting his hands on his hips.

  Philip knew Emery had probably hidden his movies way back in the closet, but he couldn’t say so to Francis.

  “He likes to keep his . . . stuff . . . safe,” Philip replied.

  Francis walked over to the closet. He held onto the door frame and leaned inside over Emery. “What are you doing in there? Speed it up.”

  “All right; don’t rush me,” came Emery’s muffled voice, and he started scuffling backwards. He emerged from the closet with two videos. Francis snatched them from his hand. “Pinocchio! I saw part of this one at my other cousin’s house before we had to go home. I liked it.” Francis inspected the other video. “Care Bears? You watch Care Bears? Kindergarten had Care Bears coloring books.”

  Emery grabbed the Care Bears DVD. “Gimme back. When I was little, I watched it. I couldn’t see in the closet. I just grabbed.” Emery tossed the Care Bear DVD back into the closet, and Francis sauntered off into the living room.

  He waited for Emery, and then handed the video to him. “Put it on.”

  With a defeated sigh, Emery obeyed, and the three boys sat back to watch the movie.

  Mrs. Wyatt brought each boy some cookies and juice, and when the movie ended, Francis cried, “Play it again.”

  Emery’s mother was in the room, though. “I’m afraid it’s time for Philip to go home, Francis, and time for boys your age to be in bed. Emery’s dad will walk you home. My, oh my. The snow’s still coming down hard.”