Christmas Eve is Special
“Debt dispersion! Financial literacy! Hmmph! Just fancy words for how not to get into debt.”
Hugh sat by his fireplace, warming winter's outside chill away. Reading the Globe and Mail Business Section was always of interest unless he had just come in from shopping. Which he had. “My money has definitely been dispersed and I know my debt has increased. I wonder if that makes me financially literate or completely illiterate. I don’t know if even half of this stuff I bought for the kids will still be in one piece by New Years.”
He sighed, put his head back and closed his eyes. Cat jumped on his lap, crumpling the newspaper, and curled up, purring furiously. They were all each other had most days, but tomorrow the house would be alive and full with noise and laughter. The kitchen would steam with cooking turkey, yams and mashed pototoes. But that was tomorrow when his son and daughter and both of their families arrived for Christmas dinner. He looked so forward to seeing his grandchildren. They were the light of his life. Even though he saw them regularly throughout the year, Christmas Day was an especially fun and fulfilling time.
He picked up the silver framed photograph that sat on the table by his big chair. He so missed his wife. Especially on Christmas Eve. Once their children had moved out and on with their lives, Sarah had insisted that she and Hugh make Christmas Eve a special time.
Hugh heaved himself out of his chair, unceremoniously dumping Cat to the floor. She ignored his abrupt interruption of her nap, and jumped back into the chair as soon as Hugh was up and away. Hugh made his way to the kitchen, made sure all the food was put away and took a chilled bottle of sparkling grape from the bulging refrigerator. Two crystal goblets were waiting on the counter. Hugh eased the deep purple beverage into each glass, picked them up and returned to the living room. Setting his dear, dear Sarah’s picture on the mantel, and a goblet beside it, he held his high in toast to her. The fire crackled and sparked. The very tiniest of tear shone in the corner of his eye. Hugh turned away quickly to the old turntable by the china cabinet.
“You know the kids want me to get rid of this relic? I told them I always needed it for Christmas Eve. They just rolled their eyes.”
Mellow notes from Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra singing Christmas carols filled the empty spaces in the room. Windows black and glittering from street lamps turned on the evening. The living room was lit with soft firelight, the Christmas tree and the reading lamp. Moving Cat aside, Hugh settled back in his chair with his glass, holding Sarah’s picture gently to his chest. Murmuring, ‘I miss you my lovely Sarah.’ Hugh fell asleep to dream of other Christmas Eve dances with Sarah.
The record ended in a round and round hum. Hugh slowly opened his eyes to the reality of his life. The fire had burned out, Cat was scratching at the back door to get let out. Standing and stretching, Hugh placed Sarah’s picture gently back on the mantle and took their glasses back to the kitchen, only one of them empty.
“Come on, Cat. Let’s get you out and back in so we can close up and go to bed.”
All around his feet were expertly wrapped Christmas presents. He donated generously to the volunteer gift wrappers in the mall each year for very selfish reasons. He had always hated wrapping more than one present. Covering the kitchen cupboard were groceries for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Hugh always left his shopping til Christmas Eve which meant that he had been out all day. Cat, his old grey kitty - he didn’t see any reason for fancy names - had been yowling accusingly at the back door when he got home.
Hugh heaved himself out of his chair, unceremoniously dumping Cat to the floor. She ignored his abrupt interruption of her nap, and jumped back into the chair as soon as Hugh was up and away. Hugh made his way to the kitchen, made sure all the food was put away and took a chilled bottle of sparkling grape from the bulging refrigerator. Two crystal goblets were waiting on the counter. Hugh eased the deep purple beverage into each glass, picked them up and returned to the living room. Setting his dear, dear Sarah’s picture on the mantel, and a goblet beside it, he held his high in toast to her. The fire crackled and sparked. The very tiniest of tear shone in the corner of his eye. Hugh turned away quickly to the old turntable by the china cabinet.
“Which one of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing
down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite?
~ Jorge Luis Borges
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