A Christmas Story

 A Christmas Story

"When do you think Santa’s coming?”

My brother, Sam, and I were whispering because we weren’t supposed to be up. And we weren’t supposed to be downstairs. Santa had not even been here yet! We really had tried to go to sleep, each in our own rooms separated by a short hallway. As soon as our parents closed our doors and went downstairs, we opened our doors so we could whisper to each other. Eyes closed tight, we both lay stiff and still in our beds, even pretending to snore. We were certain that even pretend snoring would help us go to sleep, or at least make our parents think that we were asleep. All it did was make us giggle.  

“You kids be quiet! Santa can’t come if there’s giggling kids around.” We hugged our toys - well I hugged my stuffed toy -  while we cuddled under our covers, eyes shut tight again, but the giggling wouldn’t stop.

Dad called up the stairs just a bit too loudly. “Your mom and I are just going outside to take Butch for his walk. Then we’ll be in the garage for a few minutes. Now, you kids settle down and get to sleep.”

As soon as we heard that, we both popped up in bed as though someone had released a catch on a spring. Eyes wide open now, fingers in front of pursed lips we tiptoed to the edge of the stairs holding out breath. I had jingle bells on my red Christmas slippers that made too much noise and that my brother thought were dumb.  He always went barefoot, so I took my slippers off and went barefoot too. Just as we reached the top of the stairs, we heard the garage door slam shut.

Sam said “Come on. It’s safe to go downstairs.”

Our bare feet cold, we stepped carefully on the thick carpet at the top of the stairs, and listened to make sure there was no one in the house.

“Sam, aren’t you glad Butch had to go out?”

“Yeah, he would be making too much noise. He doesn’t know how to be quiet like us.”

Satisfied that there was just the two of us, we edged down the stairs, our little hearts beating fast.

“Oh, look at the lights! Aren’t they beautiful?”

“You can’t even see them yet! What are you talking about?”

‘Brothers!’ I thought and then said “Of course you can’t see them but I like how they glow and shine without seeing the actual lights.”  

Out loud, Sam said “Well then, why didn’t you say that.”

“Shhh. We have to be quiet”

“Why? There’s no one here.”

“If we talk loud we won’t hear if anyone comes in! So just be quiet...”

Our conversation carried us down the flight of four stairs to the landing and, rounding the first step after the landing, the Christmas tree came in to full view. It was glorious with all the lights reflecting off of Christmas ornaments and tinsel. The tinsel had been hung absolutely perfectly - one strand draped delicately beside the next. The sparkle and glitter was softened at the top by the lights under the cloud of angel hair. Our Christmas Angel, with the family for as long as my eight year old mind could remember, rode high atop the magical tree, her hand out in welcome, her wings set to fly.

My brother raced ahead of me. “There must have been company!  Look at all the presents now!”  

The amazing eight foot tree stood in a corner. Out from its lower branches was a circle of presents that had not been there when we went to bed. Our stockings, my old brown ones that I had to wear to school every day, were limp and waiting expectantly for Santa.

Then we froze. The back door opened. Before Butch was even in the house, we raced back upstairs, closed the doors to our rooms quietly, and jumped under the covers. I was sure our parents could surely tell that we were asleep but, now that I'm a parent, I'm not so sure.

“Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance

~ each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.”

~ Deborah Whipp