Christmas Wish

For three hundred and thirty-five days of the year my Ma’s house smelt of cats. It smelt of old lady blue-rinse and cigarettes. It was drab and grey with curtains and wallpaper that all merged into one hideous blur of brown seventies style flowers. The nets at the windows were always drawn and the barely any light was admitted. The floorboards creaked, the wind howled and everything swayed just a millimetre and tipping my nervous disposition into worrying the house would fall.

It was all just so old like Ma and I hated it. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Ma dearly but her house…it was almost like an unspoken mutual agreement between the house and I: I did not like it, it did not like me. The matter was settled and we stuck to it wordlessly. That sounds ridiculous, I can hear you now, “but it’s a house!” I know it is a house I am not thick, I just don’t like the house and it tends to respond. If anything breaks it is usually in my presence and my presence that has caused it when people come to investigate.

However! And this however is the thirty-one days of the year that Ma’s house is my favourite house in the world. Come December 1st Ma’s house undergoes a radical transformation from old folks home to the most wonderful Santa’s grotto you eyes would ever come to rest upon.

Gone is the smell of cats, blue-rinse and cigarettes. Gone are the nets and the curtains. In December the house smells of Christmas cookies; she will remove her nets and curtains and adorn the windows with heavy green drapes and decorations. The wallpaper would be hidden by the biggest tree you ever did see, a tree that outside of the house would be considered ‘too big’ and her grumpy next door neighbour would tell her, “That will never fit in your house Norah.” But she would make it fit and it would look wonderful.

Underneath it she would stash all the beautiful gifts she had bought for her family, each wrapped in different paper and with different ribbons and different labels. And ever since I was a little girl it had been my favourite place in the world to spend Christmas; from the outside it was any normal home, a typical built-in-the-fifties Californian home. Inside you could be in Lapland, all snug as a bug in a rug whilst outside snow fell. It didn’t really, but a part of me wished in vain on the Christmas star we’d have a white Christmas every single year. I had never seen a white Christmas with my own two eyes; I don’t count the television or photographs.

This year was no different. Though I guess with the few additional wishes it was different. I had this kind of tradition; after the Christmas Eve meal cooked by all my aunts at my Ma’s I would go outside as soon as I could see the stars and I would be joined by the boy from next door. Next door as in the other side to the grumpy man who insists my Ma’s tree won’t fit in her house. The boy was not grumpy but in fact the total opposite. His name was Brian or as he had introduced to me when we were five, “Brian Haner Junior. But not my Dad, he’s old. I’m just five.”

I remember having stood in the yard pulling at the edge of my special Christmas dress and dragging my rag doll ‘Annie’ with the other hand before replying, “I’m Amelia. I’m just five too.”

He was already waiting outside, sitting on the curb when I made my escape this time. A cigarette was hanging casually from between his lips as he tossed small stones across the road at the other curb and a beer can was next to him on the sidewalk. It was almost as if this year Brian had grown up; he was no longer the awkward teenage boy with a body out of proportion but he had filled out and he fit together. All of a sudden his height was balanced out by his broad shoulders and those cheekbones were finally complimented by the rest of his manly looking face.

“You’re early, Haner,” I smirked, plopping down beside him and pinching from his lips the cigarette.

Brian gave me a lopsided smile, “You’re late Amelia Wilson.”

I handed him back his cigarette and pulled my knees up to my chest, making a tapping motion with my feet, balanced as they were on the very edge of the curb. Brian had his legs stretched out in front of him, but soon pulled them up so to rest his arms upon them.

“Sooo,” I began, searching out the Christmas Star as I gave him a gentle nudge. “Christmas wish for this year?”

“Oh iunno,” he sighed. “Ferrari for my birthday?”

I laughed, “You can’t ask the Christmas Star for a Ferrari, Brian!”

“That’s like saying you can’t ask Santa for toys!”

I thumped Brian’s arm and stole the cigarette again, leaning away and pushing him with my right hand as I tried to suck as much life from the stick as I possibly could. I even resorted to the use of my right leg just to keep him at bay. When it was down to just two’s I handed it back and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re so cute,” I grinned before rubbing my fist into his hair. “Sharing your cigarettes and hoping a star will get you a Ferrari.”

“And you’re just as annoying as when I first met you,” he grumbled, dodging my fist. “What are you going to wish for?”

“Snow!” We both chimed. I turned to look at him with an expression as if to say, ‘what?’ and he laughed lightly.

“You wish for snow every year Amelia,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “Maybe it’s time for a new wish.”

“I need to get my drivers license,” I shrugged. “I need to pass all my subjects this year to put my on the right footing for college in senior year.”

I watched as he lit up a second cigarette and shook his head. He was rather silent for a long time and I didn’t know what it meant in relation to the conversation. I figured it meant nothing and leant my head against his shoulder, waiting for that very moment when the Star would appear and I could make my wish. Snow, drivers license, good grades. Snow, drivers license, good grades.

“You don’t need to use up a wish on something you’ll get anyway,” Brian finally mumbled. “You’re smart enough to get your license and the grades. You know that, I know that and so does your Star.”

“Well you’ll get your Ferrari if you keep playing music as well as you do,” I smiled. “You know that, I know that and so does the Star.”

Brian cast a smile at me and I smiled back. It was the thank-you-you’re-welcome exchange which required no words where we were concerned; we had spent twelve years perfecting it after all. So he smoked and I sat, both of us come to a peaceful silence as we always did waiting for the first glimpse of the star.

By the time it appeared Brian’s cigarette was nearly finished and I was glad. The air had gone slightly nippy and I was ready for bed. I looked up at the sky and smiled, Snow, drivers license, good grades. Please.

“Do you want the last drag?” Brian offered the stub to me as he got up. I climbed up, nodding my head; I took the stub from him and put it to my lips, sucking its last legs from the white paper. If my Ma knew I was doing this she would kill me; she may have a house that perpetually smelt of cigarettes (except for in December) but she didn’t like the idea of her grandchildren tarring up their lungs.

“I’ll replace these,” I smiled, wrapping my other arm across me whilst I continued to finish the stub. “Promise.”

“Amelia?” A cautious voice suddenly shouted from the porch of Ma’s house. “What are yo- is that a cigarette young lady?!”

Quickly I threw the stub to the floor, extinguished it with the toe of my shoe and wafted my smoky breath away from me. It was only Mom; she wouldn’t yell, she was aware of my smoking habits but I was willing to bet Ma was hovering in the hall. Mom had to look good in front of her mother.

“Merry Christmas, Amelia Wilson,” Brian grinned as he stepped backwards towards his front lawn. “I’ll expect those cigarettes back next Christmas.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes, “Till next year, Haner.”

*

By the morning my Dad had acquired me, and very much on the sly as far as Ma was concerned a new packet of cigarettes. I was guessing he had got up early with my uncle Barney and gone for an early morning stroll, always code for ‘we need several smokes before we brace your Ma’s family Christmas dinner.’ which was lucky for some.

I had no chance of sneaking off for a light since I was sharing a bed with my cousin Molly and I was the poor soul squished in against the wall; if I was able to get out however I had to traverse the sleeping bag littered floor just to reach the door. I was stuck until eight am with a packet of cigarettes hidden in the pocket on the inside of my pyjama pants; Dad had returned from his stroll and pushed open the door knowing I was already awake to throw me the cigarettes with a, “Sorry, kid. If there was anything more I could do I would do it.”

So, in the hour I had left before I was able to get out of the bed and disappear for a crafty light, I counted in my mind, how many cigarettes I had actually borrowed from Brian. I figured that whilst I remembered and whilst I had a brand new carton, I may as well replace them now rather than wait one whole year to do so. I would forget if I didn’t.

I think it was three cigarettes. I had ‘borrowed’ several drags from him not to mention the stolen cigarette. I made a note to go get a length of Christmas ribbon from Ma’s sewing box to tie up the cigarettes and I would fashion a label out of some old Christmas card, then drop it in his mail box. Or I could just go knock on his door and hand them over in person?

Probably the more sensible option; someone might see me drop them in and go nick them once I was gone. When I knew it was a few minutes before eight I sat up and clambered over Molly and stepped in between the Twins. I think I stepped on one of them as I heard, when I opened the door and knocked the other on the head, the voice of one muttering, “Hello? I’m sleeping here! Watch the hand!”

I could care less about her hand. I pulled on a pair of ballet flats, balancing a cigarette between my lips already before tiptoeing to the door and yanking it open, then the screen door. It was then that I saw it, barely a moment before my foot kicked it over and skittered it backwards across the porch boards. I dashed after it, hissing to myself, “Shit!” and grabbed it up.

A beautiful snow globe with white-silver glitter swirling and settling on a cute little scene inside whilst posted to the was a post-it note, precariously hanging from the glass. I plucked it off, briefly stopping to read, ‘Greetings from Alaska’ around the base before looking at the note.

It may not be real snow, but you always ask for it. Merry Christmas Amelia Wilson, love Haner.

I smiled.