The Christmas Wish
By
John Bird
A winter wind descended from a cold
gray sky and ripped through Michael's clothes, igniting a chill that seemed to
spread outward from the center of his bones. Michael clutched the schoolbooks closer
to his chest as each wave of shivers washed over his body. As he trudged down
the sidewalk, his mind was filled with anticipation.
It had been a very hard year.
So intent was he that he barely noticed the new pain above his
left ear, reacting only when the rock skipped off the sidewalk in front of him.
Michael turned toward the Pearson house in time to see Richard launch another
rock toward him. Instinctively Michael held up the books to block the rock. The
impact of the rock on the frozen fingers of Michael's right hand caused a pain
so intense that Michael cried out as the books tumbled toward the sidewalk,
scattering papers as they hit. As Michael bent down to pick up the rock at his
feet, he could hear Richard's laughter turn to cries for help. Richard was in
full retreat toward the house as Michael cocked his arm to return the rock from
whence it came, but the appearance of Richard's mother at the door loosened
Michael's grip, and the rock fell harmlessly at his feet.
"Leave me alone, Richard",
Michael shouted as he chased the papers scattering on the wind.
"Just stay away from my house, oakie trash", came the reply
as Richard's mother hustled him into the house. As Michael bent to gather the
last of the papers blood drops spattered on the pages. Touching his head where
the rock had hit, Michael felt wetness oozing down the side of his face.
Pressing his hand tightly over the wound, Michael headed home.
*****
As he entered the front door, Michael
was careful not to drip blood on the carpet. The carpet is old and frayed, as
is all the furniture, but Michael knew how hard his mother, Nora, worked to
keep the house clean and the last thing he wanted was to incur her wrath on
Christmas Eve. As he closed the door Michael could hear yelling from upstairs.
Looking up the staircase Michael saw his older brother, James, running down the
stairs with Daniel, the oldest, in pursuit. As Daniel closed on James at the
foot of the stairs, Michael realized too late that he was in their path. As the
three tumbled to the floor, the two older boys turned their attention to
Michael.
"Stupid little jerk",
yelled James as he pummeled Michael's back.
"Stay out of the way",
Daniel's fist found Michael's forehead.
"You boys stop that right
now", as Michael heard his mother's voice he knew rescue was at hand. Soon
the older boys have been pulled off of Michael, who is lifted to his feet by
his sister, Helen.
"It's his fault. He got in the
way", declared Daniel.
"Yeah, well you started it",
James replied as he pointed at Daniel.
"I told you to leave my stuff
alone" Daniel grabbed James by the shirt.
"Enough! Stop it, both of
you!" Their mother's words were punctuated by a sharp slap to Daniel's
cheek. It was then that she noticed the blood on Michael's face.
"Look what you've done. Helen, get me
some iodine and a bandage from the medicine cabinet. Both of
you in here, now." With that Mother took Michael's arm and marched
him into the kitchen, followed by the older boys.
The kitchen was alive with the smells
of baking. Mother pulled Michael over to the sink and began washing the blood
from his face.
"You two should be ashamed of yourselves. I warned you
about rough housing and now look what you've done."
"They didn't do this. Richard Pearson hit me in the head
with a rock." Michael winced as his mother applied the iodine Helen had
brought from the medicine cabinet.
"Richard Pearson did that?" James face lit up,
"That little brat needs to be taught a lesson."
"Don't you worry, Michael", said Daniel as he and
James headed for the door, "We'll take care of that rascal".
"You will do no such thing", Mother voice rising froze
the boys in their tracks, "We don't need any trouble with the neighbors,
least of all the Pearsons."
"Richard Pearson's just a snotty little rich kid",
snarled Daniel, "He thinks he's better'n us just
because his dad owns the department store and his family's got money."
"All the more reason we don't need any trouble, " Mother's voice was calm now.
"That's ok," Michael stated defiantly, "Richard's
gonna be real sorry when Christmas comes and Santa
Claus passes his house."
"Santa Claus?" James bursts
into laughter, "only babies believe in Santa Claus!"
"Don't go saying that stuff around my friends", Daniel
says in a solemn voice, "you're embarrassing enough as it is."
"I believe you two can spend the rest of the afternoon
cleaning your room...and it had better be done before your father gets
home," Mother declared as, on cue, Helen grabbed the two boys by their
shirts and hustled them out of the room.
"Don't pay any attention to those two," his mother's
voiced soothed as she finished bandaging the wound, "It's a sad day when
children don't believe in Santa Claus."
"Do you..." Michael's voice stopped mid-question,
unsure if he wanted to know the answer.
"Do I what, Michael?"
"Do you think we can go downtown now?"
"Michael, it's freezing outside".
"You said you would take me down to Pearson's Department
Store to see Santa."
"I've got all this baking to finish. Maybe
another time."
"It's Christmas Eve...there is no more time. You
promised."
"Let me get my coat," sighed his mother as Helen
entered the kitchen, "Helen, the pies come out of the oven in twenty
minutes, then the cookies go in. I'll be back as soon
as I can."
*****
Michael's father, Art, worked as a truck driver in the sugar
beet fields of the
"Those men, Lewis, what are they
saying?"
"It's Christmas Eve and they miss
they're families back home."
"They'd better get this crop in,
or they'll be back with their families...penniless as the day they crawled out
of that squalor."
"Both the men and machines are
pushed to the limit. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to give them Christmas
off."
"If these men don't want to work,
there's plenty of others that do. Damn wetbacks. Why
can't they speak English?"
"Because if
they did you'd have to pay them more."
Alexis turned to Lewis with an icy
stare.
"You don't like me, do you? I
don't care. None of you like me, because I'm rich. Because I do what it takes
to be a success. Well, long after all of you have gone
to your miserable graves, I'll be known as a great man in this town...because
I'm rich." Suddenly Alexis points to a man standing next to one of the
trucks. "Who's that man?"
"Art Smith."
"I saw that man in town last
night talking to some Wobblies on the street. I won't
have any union troublemakers working for me."
"I'll have a talk with him." Lewis then walked over to
the truck where Smith confronts him.
"The brakes on this truck are almost gone."
"I'll get them fixed when I get a chance."
"You're gonna get somebody
killed."
"Ok, that's enough. And if I were you I would be more
careful about being seen talking to Wobblies."
"They approached me. It was Dave Larsen and some of his
Teamster buddies. I told them I wasn't joining."
"Well, Alexis saw you talking to them and he's looking for
an excuse to fire you. So if you want to keep your job you'll keep your mouth
shut and get this truck moving."
*****
The sidewalk was as cold as before, but Michael didn't seem to
mind. After a few blocks, however, he realizes that his mother seems to be
taking a rather circuitous route downtown.
"It would be quicker if we went that way," Michael
said as he pointed down the street.
"That way leads through Skid Row," his mother replied
as she lead him by the hand across the intersection.
"I go that way all the time and no one ever bothers
me," said Michael as he returned his hand to his coat pocket.
His mother's hand tightened her grip on his as they reached the
curb. Stopping, she turned to face him. "That's not a safe place for a
young boy. There are bad people down there. I want you to promise me that you
will never go down there again."
"Yes, mother." Michael stared at the sidewalk as they
continued along their way.
*****
The tulle fog hung thick along the levee road, a treacherously
thin path bounded by the river on one side and a steep embankment to the fields
below on the other. As he pushed his truck trough the fog Smith stewed over his
confrontation with Lewis. As the truck rounded a curve Smith saw a family of
migrant workers walking straight into his headlights. Smith slammed his foot
down hard on the brake pedal, which went to the floorboard. As the family
scrambled toward the embankment Smith swerved to miss them, plunging the truck
off the road and into the river.
*****
Inside the crowded Department store
holiday shopping had reached a frenzy. As they passed
the dress counter Michael overheard a well-dressed woman shouting at the clerk.
"How can you be sold out. My
daughter has her heart set on that Shirley Temple dress. All her friends are
going to have them and what am I supposed to tell her."
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I'd be happy to give you a rain
check."
"A lot of good a rain check will
do me. You've ruined my Christmas!"
Just then Michael caught sight
of Santa, sitting in his great red chair at the foot of a huge Christmas tree
that stretched up through the mezzanine so that the star on top almost touched
the ceiling. The tree was decked with so many lights and tinsel and ornaments
that Michael's heart raced at the sight of it. At the edge of the mezzanine a
model train circled above their heads on a track, whistling periodically. From
Santa's chair a line of children with their mothers stretched half way across
the store. Most of the children were younger than Michael and nearly all were
better dressed. Michael's mother's grip tightened on his hand.
"This is going to take all afternoon. Are you sure you want
to do this?"
"Please, mom. We came all the way down here. I have to do
this," replied Michael.
After what seemed like several afternoons Michael and his mother
reached the front of the line. As he sat on Santa's lap Michael noticed that
Santa's suit seemed almost as worn and ill fitting as his own clothes.
"And what's your name, young man?" The strange odor
that accompanied these words caused Michael to recoil for a moment.
"Michael."
"And what can Santa do for you?"
"I would like a bicycle, please."
"A bike? That's a
tall order."
"Please...please...I've been really good all year."
"All right, I'll see what I can do. You run along
now."
*****
Art Smith hooked the chain to the bed of the truck and signaled
to Lewis.
"Ok, back her out easy!" Lewis shouted as the tractor
tightened the slack in the chain. As the truck climbed slowly back up the levee
Alexis' car appeared out of the fog. As he got out of the car Alexis picked up
one of the sugar beets, which were strewn all over, and flung it vehemently
into the river. Advancing toward the truck, Alexis demanded, "Who is
responsible for this?"
"They were on the road," Smith pointed at the migrant
family. "The brakes failed. I had no choice."
"You sacrificed your load to save a pack of worthless
wetbacks?" Alexis seethed with rage. "You're fired!"
"Fine...I'll take my pay and leave." A crowd had
gathered around the two men.
"Your wages won't nearly cover the damages. Get the hell
off my land, you commie saboteur, before I have you thrown in jail."
"Why you..." Smith lunged toward Alexis who
instinctively ducked behind Lewis.
"Come on, Art. You don't want to spend Christmas in
jail," Lewis pleaded as he struggled to restrain him. As the other men
grabbed hold Art realized there was nothing to be gained. Pushing them away, he
began the long walk back to town. As he disappeared into the fog Smith heard
Alexis bellow, "Any man who's not back to work in five
seconds can join him."
*****
The tree stood proudly in its place of
honor. The boys hustled around it, placing the homemade wooden ornaments in a
manner that would require rearranging later. Helen was in charge of stringing
the garland of popcorn and tin foil. The smells of dinner floated in from the
kitchen, along with the sounds of banging pots and the oven door being opened
and closed.
"Father's late", said
Michael, "I wonder where he is."
"Probably out shopping,"
responded Daniel.
"He's been shopping all
afternoon?" The anticipation in James' voice was hard to misinterpret.
"The stores downtown are
mobbed," Helen calmly replied. "He'll be home soon."
In their excitement the boys
occasionally bumped into each other, and it wasn't long before James decided
bumping was more fun than hanging ornaments. It didn't take long for Daniel to
decide that bumping wasn't much fun, causing him to shove James forcefully.
James stumbled backward into Michael and the two went tumbling to the floor,
with Daniel pouncing on top.
"What's going on out there," Mother's voice roared
from the kitchen as Helen moved to separate the boys. As Mother emerged from
the kitchen the front door opened and their father moped in.
"You're late." Nora
said as she looked toward him. His clothes were still wet and muddy and he was
shivering, but it was the quiet pain of his expression that caught her eye.
"Is everything all right?"
"There was an accident at work,
but I'm ok." Art struggled to compose himself but could feel the effort failing. "I'll go change," Art said as he
retreated upstairs.
"Yes, let's get you out of those
clothes," Nora answered as she followed him up the stairs.
As Art peeled off the wet shirt he heard the sound of bath water
being drawn across the hall. The door opened and Nora entered, closing the door
behind her.
"So...what happened?"
"The brakes went out on the truck. The truck went into the
river."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, but Alexis fired me."
Nora's eyes spat fire. "That evil man.
It wasn't your fault. On Christmas Eve?"
Tears well up in Art's eyes.
"Nora, he kept my wages. There's no money for presents. How can I face the
children?"
Nora's shoulders slumped. She looked at Art. Tears rolled down
his face as he stood shivering in his underwear. She put her arms around him,
his wet skin pressed against her dress.
"Let me talk to the children. It'll be all right. We must
be strong. We're a family." Nora moved to the door. "There's a hot
bath waiting. Come down when you ready."
*****
That night the family is gathered by the tree, which sparkles as
the candlelight reflects off the tin foil. A fire crackles in the fireplace and
the air is drenched with the aroma of hot cider and cookies. Christmas carols
hum from the radio by the window, to the accompaniment of the children's excited
chatter. Nora quietly turns to Helen.
"Can I talk to you in the kitchen?" Nora leads Helen
out of the room. When they return a few minutes later, Helen is strangely
somber. Nora then summons Daniel to the kitchen, and upon their return summons
James. As James returns he is seething and Nora is visibly upset.
"Michael..."
"I hope Santa brings me a new bike!" blurted Michael,
overcome by the excitement. Suddenly the rage inside James boiled over. As he
pummeled Michael on the floor Daniel joined the fracas.
"That's enough!" Screamed Nora as Art and Helen
separated the boys. "What's wrong with you, it's Christmas Eve! To bed, all of you!" As they head upstairs Helen
escorts Michael to protect him from the others. The parents sit quietly until
the children are upstairs. Finally Art speaks.
"We have to tell him."
"I know. I just can't do it tonight. It'll keep 'til
morning. Let's go to bed."
*****
As the first shafts of light entered
the room Michael woke abruptly. Michael thought to wake his brothers, but
remembering the beating from the night before, thought better of it. Dressing
quickly, Michael slipped out of the room and raced down the stairs. At the
bottom of the stairs he stopped cold and stared disbelieving at the tree, the
space beneath it barren as the night before. A floorboard creaked at the top of
the stairs and Michael looked up to see his father and mother standing there.
"Michael." His mother's soft voice acted as a trigger,
releasing the tears, which welled up in his eyes. Michael bolted to the door,
seeking the solitude of the outside world.
As he stood in the front yard on that
cold Christmas morning, the anguish overcame him and his tears erupted into a
sobbing which shook his body as if it were jelly. Suddenly a sound came
piercing through the frigid December air and sent a chill up Michael's spine.
It was a clear, singular, unmistakable sound...it was the sound of a bicycle
horn. Michael looked toward where the sound came from, and there at the corner
was Richard Pearson riding in circles on a shiny new bike. Disbelief drew
Michael to the corner like a magnet where, upon seeing him, Richard twists the
knife.
"Hey, oakie! Look what Santa brought me for
Christmas!"
Flush with rage, Michael was unsure how
the rock found his hand, but he knew what it was there for. Richard also knew it's purpose and started pedaling full speed back toward his
house. As Richard reached his yard Michael let the rock fly with the force of a
years worth of suppressed hostility. But the blindness of his anger betrayed
Michael's aim, and as the rock sailed over Richard's head and through a window
on the Pearson house, anger turned to panic. The sound of breaking glass
reverberated through the neighborhood, follow by the
sound of footsteps as Michael fled into the cold Christmas morning.
*****
When Michael stopped running he found himself run deep into Skid
Row. The place is quiet and mostly deserted at this hour of the morning, a
dreary collection of fleabag hotels and seedy shops. As Michael walked down the
sidewalk he spied here and there some one sleeping in a doorway. On one corner
some men were loading into one of Alexis' trucks to head out to the fields. The
only other person awake on the street was a wino sitting on a bench and
drinking from a bottle in a paper bag. There is something vaguely familiar
about the wino, and as Michael cautiously approached, the old man beckoned to
him.
"Come here, son. Have a set." Michael remembered his
promise to his mother, but this is a morning of broken promises. With cautious
defiance Michael sat on the bench.
"So, what's a young boy doing in this neighborhood at this
hour when he should be home having Christmas with his family?"
"To hell with Christmas. I hate
Christmas."
"That's some pretty strong language. I don't know that
Santa would approve of such talk."
"To hell with Santa. Santa's a
lie. Just a trick parent's use so their kid's will be good. I was good all
year...getting teased by other kids and pounded by my stupid brothers...all I wanted
was a bike. And what do I get? Nothing! I was good all year for nothing. That
rich soiled brat, Richard Pearson, he gets a bike. Meanest
kid in town. I hate him, and I hate Christmas and I hate Santa Claus,
and I hate my stupid family."
"Sounds like a hard life. So your brothers pick on you all
the time?"
"Some times they're ok. They stick up for me some times.
But now that they're older the think they're tough guy's. They're not so tough.
My sister can lick either one of them."
"You're sister must be pretty mean."
"She's nice most of the time, but she bosses us around a
lot. And mom let's her get away with it."
"That doesn't sound fair. Sounds like your mother's pretty
mean."
"No not really. I mean, she's got a rule for everything,
but she takes good care of us."
"How about your dad? Is he
around?"
"Yeah, except when he has to work. He has to work all the
time, and we don't have very much money. I wish he had a better job."
"Sounds a lot like my family."
"You have a family?"
"Had one...still have one. Just
haven't seen them in a while."
"Why not?"
"Something happened...I got mad...said some things I wished
I hadn't...did some things I wished I hadn't. Afterwards I didn't feel like I
could face them again, so I left."
"What happened?" Michael asked. "What made you so
mad?"
"You know, it's been so long now I don't rightly
remember," mused the wino as he took another pull
of the bottle, "but I'm sure it wasn't something as important as a
bicycle." As he exhaled his breath caused Michael to recoil for a moment.
As he did he recognized the foul odor. He stared closely at the wino's haggard
face with it's bright red nose.
"Well, I guess I better get going," Michael stood to
walk back down the sidewalk.
"Merry Christmas, son."
"Merry Christmas."
*****
As Michael entered the front door of his house his mother is
waiting for him.
"Where have you been?"
"I just went for a walk."
"Your sister and your brothers are out searching the town
for you. Do you know how worried I was."
"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry."
"You father wants to talk to you. Art, Michael's
home."
His father walked downstairs and stood over Michael.
"Do you want to explain what happened with the Pearson's
window?"
"I didn't mean it."
"You didn't mean to throw that rock?"
"I didn't mean to hit the window."
"Well, we're going down to the Pearson's, and you can
explain it to them. And when we get back you will spend the rest of the day in
your room. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Michael answered as he secretly bemoaned
his fate. With that his father pushed Michael out the door.
*****
At the house on the corner Richard's father answers the door.
"Merry Christmas, won't you come in."
"Thank you," Art replied as he escorted Michael
inside. The Pearson's house was decked out for the holidays in grand style.
"Sorry to bother you," Art said, "I believe my
son has something to say to you." Art's hand tightened on Michael's
shoulder.
"I'm very sorry about breaking
your window."
"I'm less concerned about the
window than the intended target." Mr. Pearson turned toward the living
room. "Richard, will you come out here, please." He turned again to
face the Smith's. "A window is easily replaced...but a child is
irreplaceable." Richard entered the foyer through the french
doors. "I'm sure that what ever the provocation, Michael would never want
to cause Richard serious injury."
Michael felt his father's hand once
again tighten on his shoulder.
"I'm very sorry I threw the rock
at you, Richard."
"I also know that there was
provocation. I am told that cut on your head was caused by my son, and I have
seen to his punishment, and we're are both sorry for
that, aren't we, Richard?"
"Yes...I'm sorry"
"Richard, I believe your mother
has left cookies and milk for you and our guest. Would you like to take Michael
to the Kitchen while I talk with Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, sir," groaned Richard
and led Michael down the hallway.
"Can I get you some coffee, or
something?" Mr. Pearson asked as he opened the doors to the living room
and motioned inside.
"No, thank you," replied Art
as he entered the room. "Mr. Pearson, I'll be happy to fix that window. I
don't think I'll be able to buy the glass 'til tomorrow.
"Don't worry about the window. I
ran into Lewis downtown last night and he told me about the accident. He said
you risked your life to save that family and lost your job because it. That's a
tough break."
"Well we've all had our share of
tough breaks the last couple of years."
"That's true, but I'm feeling
like things are starting to turn around. In fact I'm thinking of hiring a new
delivery driver down at the store. Union scale. You
interested in the job?"
"Only if you let me fix the
window," Art said as he extended his hand to shake Pearson's.
*****
Art and Michael enter their house to find Helen setting up a
dartboard in the living room.
"I was passing the Waterfront
Tavern and they were throwing it out," Helen chirped as she hung the board
on the wall.
"That tavern isn't any place you
should be walking by," warned her mother.
"We going to play teams,"
said James, "but we need a fourth. Can Michael play?"
Michael looked at his father.
"Do you think you've learned your lesson?" Art's eyes
stared deep into Michael's.
"Yes, sir," answered Michael as he lowered his eyes.
"Well...it is Christmas," his father grinned.
"Who am I to spoil the fun?" And with that Michael ran to the
dartboard to join in the games and the laughter.
*****
The morning after Christmas Michael and his brothers went
fishing. There, in the weeds by the river, Michael stumbled across the rusting
remains of an old bicycle. The front forks and wheel were hopelessly bent and
the gooseneck was cracked, indicating that the bike had met its demise in a violent
frontal impact. Both drive gears were rusted solid and the rubber tires and
leather seat had long since surrendered to the forces of nature. Michael and
his brothers carried the carcass home, much to the consternation of their
mother, and Michael spent most of his free time that Christmas vacation in the
garage with a jar of naval jelly and a wire brush. On a shelf in the garage
Michael found an old can of bright green paint, which he brushed on the frame
with as steady a hand as he could muster on those cold winter days. Michael
scoured the vacant lots and junk yards for parts...a wheel here, a seat there.
In back of the gas station over on Pacific he picked through a pile of old
tires until he found a mismatched set that were still serviceable. On the day
of his first paycheck from Pearson's, Art presented Michael with a new set of
inner tubes. It wasn't the bike he had wished for, but it was his first bike,
and Michael loved that bike. Then one day Michael parked it out front of the
grocery store, and when he came out it was gone. He searched until dark, but
Michael never saw that bike again.
Michael had many bikes after that, until bikes gave way to cars,
but that first bike was always special. But more special was the gift he
received that Christmas...a gift that outlasted all the bikes and all the cars,
a gift which endured through many Christmas' to come, in good times and bad. It
was the gift of family, of courage, of forgiveness, of love. It was a gift
which he shared with all he knew, as it was meant to be shared. And now I have
shared it with you. Merry Christmas.