---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ ISBN# issue/book “You Won’t See Me” cc&d, v305 (the January 2021 issue) Order the 6"x9" paperback book:

Order this writing in the book What Lies on the Other Side the cc&d Jan.-April 2021 magazine issues collection book		get the 424 page Jan.-April 2021 cc&d magazine 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Regarding Utopia the 2021 poetry, flash fiction, prose, & art collection anthology		get the 396 page poetry, flash fiction, prose, & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

That Christmas Morning

Jason Waddle

    Sarah walked down the driveway. The sound of the gravel under her feet mixed with her father smashing things inside the house she used to live–where they all had once lived. She turned back looking at the house that was no longer home. It seemed to stare back. She thought about that Christmas morning. Happier times were now married to memory. She ruminated about that Christmas morning. When the meaning of life, if there ever was any, had begun its recession. Years ago ...
    December 24, 1981.
    Burning wood from the fireplace added fragrance to the season’s holiday. Each crackle of wood created an ambience of warmth within the home. The family dog was curled up next to the fireplace, asleep. The flickering flame dispersed light unevenly upon the collie’s black and white fur. Twitching its tail at a fire crackle. The Christmas tree was decorated. The Donaldson’s kept this tradition each Christmas Eve. A profusion of pine scent bathed the open space of the living room. The Donaldson’s retired into their rooms for the night. It had been another challenging year for the family. The cancer was back, and Mrs. Donaldson wanted a quick way out–it had spread to her bones. Mr. Donaldson knew his wife’s pain would be far worse with this new development–a development kept from the kids. It was December of 1981. The doctors had run out of medical options for Morana Donaldson. However, anticipation for Christmas morning still made for excited minds and tired bodies.
    Outside, snow fell upon an existing blanket of snow from the night before. Evergreen trees beared the weight of snow collected upon its branches. The moon lit up snow particles for miles. From inside the yellow and white Victorian home one could watch the snow fall, which was falling slow this night. The snow fell at the pace of a slow kiss felt for the first time. Christmas is a time for joy. The home’s chimney worked hard this cold night. The snow fall was late for the small town this year–though no less elegant. The first snow falls always looked magical in Virginia. For one girl, the snow this Christmas seemed to protect the mood of the season: hope.
    Sarah Donaldson lay awake looking out at the night. She watched as snowflakes fell outside her bedroom window. Some settled upon the windowpane. In her mind, she replayed kisses from Mark over the past years which may have equalled every snowflake fallen this Christmas Eve night. Sarah crinkled her toes as she pulled up covers now settled at her chest. Grandmother’s quilt was as warm as her hugs. The snow outside Sarah’s window continued and Sarah fell asleep. In the next room Sarah’s mom and dad should be sleeping in their bed. Not all was silent, or still. For reasons no one new.
    The occasional snort from Mr. Donaldson used to cause Mrs. Donaldson to poke her husband with a slight elbow. The snoring usually stopped. Not tonight. The snoring continued. Down the hall Sarah’s brother Billy tossed. He pondered about which present he would be receiving and agonized over which ones he may not. Throughout the hour a restfulness had eventfully reached his bedroom for he had fallen asleep. The Grandfather clock chimed to 6:00 am. It was early Christmas morning. Sarah, positioned in her bed facing the window view was still asleep.
     At 6:27 am, one of the Donaldsons was already awake. He got out of bed. Billy’s hand hovered over the doorknob. He listened intently to catch any movement outside his bedroom door– nothing. He slowly began to turn the knob. Planting his right foot out the door he made the floor creek once more. The light from under his parent’s door was on. He went back to bed upon hearing his father’s movements. He looked at the clock: 6:35 am. He sighed and went back to bed.
    Sarah rolled over hugging her pillow. Half awake. Mark’s dark eyes were Sarah’s first thought of the day. What would it be like to wake up to him every morning? she pondered. Her romantic thoughts were quickly ruined by the routine alarm sound of her father spitting in the bathroom across the hall. Sarah nose-dived into her pillow. She lifted her head with the strength to yell “Dad” in a voice reserved for annoyance. Mr. Donaldson was a cheery and lighthearted man. No pretense. His physical proportions were as generous as his sense of humour. Her white bedroom door with brass handle turned and opened.
    “Merry Christmas Sweetie.” Mr. Donaldson stepped towards Sarah’s bed. The Reindeer noses on his slippers lit up red while he motioned to kiss his daughter on the forehead. He did not look happy at all. Certainly not like usual.
    “Again, with those silly slippers you wear every Christmas, Dad?”
    “Don’t say that too loud. The big red guy from the North Pole might hear you.”
    Even though Sarah was 19 and Billy was 13, their dad never acquiesced about his projected belief in Santa Claus on them. He wanted them to be kids forever in a sense. He also knew how difficult life was and wanted his children to believe in something good–something that could go beyond life’s harsh realities. Even if it was something silly or stooped in myth.
    Mr. Donaldson kissed Sarah on the head saying, “See you downstairs for breakfast.”
    “Okay, dad.”
    Sarah felt that her dad looked exhausted and weighed down. Mom’s cancer had been controlled from the last series of chemotherapy sessions. The cancer was being isolated. Sarah would be down soon to have coffee with her dad.
    Mr. Donaldson met up with Billy who was about to ignore his father’s presence to dart down the stairs. Billy stopped. Holding the round wooden nob at the top of the railing, and one leg in the air about to touch down on the second step...creak. He then changed position. Maneuvering away from the stairs to his father’s open arms. They hugged one another sincerely. Well, most of the sincerity from the hug was generated from Mr. Donaldson.
    “Hi, son.”
    Mr. Donaldson was no longer wearing his traditional slippers. He shut the door to the master bedroom.
    “Merry Christmas, dad,” Billy said.
    The hallway was dim; except for two of Mr. Donaldson’s slippers. A red flashing illuminated the walls.
    “Great slippers dad. Why not wear um?”
    “Like them?”
    “You kidding! Love um, dad.”
    The sun was rising. Light gleamed through the kitchen windows on the East side of the home. Billy ran down the stairs in eager expectation. As with every Christmas his mind was fixed on himself. This was soon to change in the coming hour.
    “Stay clear of the living room for now, Billy.”
    “Yup!” Billy belted back.
    Reaching the bottom of the stairs and stepping away from the direction of the kitchen, Billy reached the living room. Covering his eyes from the glare of the sun, he peeked around the living room corner. The presents were stacked. Beautiful ribbons adorning the gifts. Some were blue, red, and wrapped in gold. This is what Christmas is all about, Billy rolled around in his mind.
    The dog began to bark as if to rat Billy out.
    “Lie down Sparks, geez.”
    Fresh pine mixed with a woody smell. Mr. Donaldson coming down the stairs was an acute signal for Billy to B-line to the kitchen. Billy made it to the kitchen first.
    “Glass of orange juice, dad?”
     No answer.
    “Mom still sleeping?”
    “I just want some coffee,” was the only reply.
    “Your snoring again?”
    “Okay, lie down Sparks,” commanded Mr. Donaldson with a shout– “NOW!”
    The dog crawled under the kitchen table. Sparks was acting odd. The tail swayed left and right like a conductor’s baton, but his head never let the floor. Eyes just watching. Mr. Donaldson tied his blue house coat up tight, only to have it loosened by his belly as he reached for the grinder. He loved brewing fresh coffee in the morning. Mr. Donaldson and Sarah were the only coffee drinkers in the home. Mom avoided coffee because it made her sleepy. How strange is that? Something about the smell of coffee put comfort in the hearts of the Donaldson’s each morning. Even Billy. Routine makes for comfort where love is felt. Mr. Donaldson sat across from his son. Nothing was said until–
    “Morning all.”
    Sarah had long flowing hair as brown as her eyes. Her frame was athletic and light. For this reason, no one ever detected her descent down the stairs. She had an ebullient personality adorned with a smile warm enough to melt the snow outside. Her boyfriend, Mark Swanson, new the pull of her gaze. He was the lucky one caught up in those brown eyes of hers. Sarah was a good student with a promising career ahead of her in teaching.
    “Morning again, honey. Coffee dear?”
    “Thanks dad.”
    “Morning! Honey, dear,” Billy taunted.
    “Shut up retard.” Sarah said while ruffling Billy’s hair more out of place.
    Mr. Donaldson poured Sarah some coffee in her favourite cup. A cup purchased two years ago on a family vacation to Paris. Mark had come along once for a trip. The family had liked him but felt Sarah could find someone with more depth. Mr. Donaldson’s hands were settled under his head as if to keep it from falling onto the table.
    “I love you kids.”
    Everyone exchanged looks as if someone was guilty of something. But what?
    “We love you to dad. When is mom getting up?” Sarah inquired.
    Sarah wondered what was up. She hadn’t snuck off with the car in over a year. Her peace was becoming eclipsed by her father’s shaky hands. Something’s up.
    Billy motioned to get up from the table to avoid the awkwardness. After all, presents were waiting just one room away.
    “Sit down, son.”
    Mr. Donaldson stood up and leaned forward on his chair. Silence filled the space between them, yet not in them. The kid’s thoughts were traveling...
    “Your mother’s cancer has been back for months as you may know.”
    Sarah felt her stomach drop to the basement floor. This was not a conversation she wanted on Christmas morning. Billy turned and starred out the kitchen patio window. The snow had stopped. Sarah was weeping. Mr. Donaldson shut his eyes as tears continued anyway.
    “How-lo-long were you guys going to h-h-hide this time?” Sarah said in a tremble.
    Sarah and Billy weren’t completely aware of their mother’s worsening condition. Even though Sarah was much older and new better than Billy, she ignored the signs of their mom’s cancer. Denial. It just seemed easier not to deal with it.
    Billy continued his catatonic stare out the window.
    “We hid nothing from you guys. Accept that the cancer had spread. It had spread to the bone. We had known for a while how bad it was getting.” said Mr. Donaldson.
    Sarah looked up at her father and said–
    “Dad, you said you had known. Why?” Sarah forced her hair from her bangs.
    Billy looked up when Sarah interjected. At that moment, fear stopped them from running up stairs to wake their mom. It was hard to separate the grandfather clocks ticking from their heart beats. No one motioned to leave the kitchen. Mr. Donaldson put his arms around his children and pulled them in close and said-
    “Your mother passed away in her sleep.”
    What was left to do? It was already done! The procedure had been carried out by Mr. Donaldson. Illegal, but she only wanted one more Christmas Eve. The pain was going to get a lot worse. It was hard for Billy and Sarah. Worse for Mr. Donaldson’s conscience. He missed his wife. Of course, the truth of Mrs. Donaldson’s death came out with the autopsy. Mr. Donaldson spent ten years in prison thinking about that Christmas night. What he did was out of Morana’s request. He was only trying to love her by ending her pain and honoring her desire to die.
    As the years collected, Billy dropped out of his first semester of college. He began hanging around his friends from high school. The ones who quit learning long before they dropped out of high school. Billy quickly graduated from marijuana to crack. It was easy to find in the eighties. Billy’s girlfriend overdosed the year Sarah started teaching grade 10. He only went once with Sarah to see his father in prison. He could not stand seeing the sight of the murderer of his mother, his dad. Although Billy new deep down that it wasn’t cold-blooded murder. It had been his mother’s wish. Still, Billy never forgave his father. Billy’s inner pain often led him to take it out on himself. He stopped responding to Sarah’s messages to meet with her. He rarely saw her anymore. She didn’t have the money to help him out of his current problems. Billy owed a lot of drug dealers money, and he even stole some drugs from one dealer’s house. In his mind, there was only one thing he could do to ameliorate his problems. He would be away from pain, and no one could come collecting for money owed.
    Sarah had graduated with distinction. For the last few years she had saved up money, in case Billy ever wanted to return to college. The money ended up being used on Billy’s funeral. She never married but went on occasional dates. Nothing serious had formed. She became more introverted now that she was a little older. It had been a few years since she had visited her father in prison. She kept saying to herself that she needed a break. It was an extended break. Still, she maintained the family house. She was a good daughter, but things change. She even became heavier in her proportions. She was ten years older but looked as if she had aged thirty years. During Mrs. Donaldson’s funeral, Sarah felt like life had changed. It had. She also knew more change was coming. This was the last time Sarah had Mark by her side. Mark talked to Sarah twice, but then began ignoring her calls. She soon saw him with Angela Giller. Sarah got used to keeping her hands warm in empty pockets for the rest of that winter. Many years went on and she never came to find out if Billy’s death was entirely drug related. The few times she saw him he had been cutting. He rarely wore t-shirts anymore in those days.
    Mr. Donaldson hung tight to covers at night and replaced depression with whisky in the daytime. It was colder at night. He had lost a lot of weight over the years. Most of his clothes now looked like they swallowed him. He needed some new ones but refused to go far from the house. Ten years was a long time to be away from one’s home. It was empty and would keep this condition. Sarah had long since moved into an apartment downtown. She intended to visit more, but she ended up coming only on holiday occasions-sometimes not. The most painful was Christmas. Mr. Donaldson thought a lot about his wife. He thought much about Billy too, and Sarah. Those days were gone with the promise of never returning. He thought a lot. As time went on the house became just like prison. The mind can become a prison.
    The Donaldson’s home took on the appearance of an abandoned house. Many years passed since that Christmas. Sarah’s dad did not know many sober days throughout them. Sarah tried to come back every Christmas but could not stay long because of his drinking. Sometimes he could still hear Sparks barking. It was just a haunting memory. She payed her respects to her brother with fresh-cut-flowers. He was buried a short drive from the house. Every year Christmas came and went, but its ghosts never left.
    Sarah, after a long pause, turned from the house she once called home . The screaming from her father’s drunken fit shook her out of contemplation. She slid into her car and drove away more closer to the house, than further away. It is impossible to leave the past behind when it feeds on the inner soul. Sarah would be back for the next holiday to repeat the cycle. The tires spit back the gravel.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...