Jim stepped off of the
ship onto American soil for the first time in three years. He subconsciously touched the scar on his
right cheek where a piece of shrapnel had wounded his face, but his skin was
healed now. The former soldier picked up his bags and began his walk. With all
his friends lost to the German forces and every relative dead or living in
mystery, Jim had no idea where to go, or any clue where he could find the widow
of Robert Long.
“Give Megan this for me,” Bob gasped
as he pulled the papers from his pocket. Jim had nodded and held his friend’s
hand as he watched life depart from his Bob’s body.
With no sweetheart of his own to
carry a picture of into battle, Jim held in his memory the girl in the red
dress from the Christmas Eve party of years ago. He wondered what had happened
to the Girl with No Name, as he liked to call her. Did she marry and have
children? Perhaps she still lived in Delaware with her over-protective father.
Jim sighed and continued to walk. A neon sign shined through the frost-covered
window in a greeting.
A piano quivered through
the diner. Red candles glowed on the table and little twigs of holly decorated
each plate. Jim stood in the doorway
overwhelmed by it all. Of course, it was Christmas Day. A hostess in black
welcomed him inside. At a table for one, Jim stared at the menu glassy-eyed as
his mind drifted to other days.
His friends sat around
the table with him still in uniform. They
smiled and held up their glasses to toast the Allied victory. There sat Donald
and George and Robert. Captain Stewart winked and handed Jim a glass. Charles
clapped his hand on the shoulders of his companions, spilling his drink on
their clothes, always the first to get drunk but as usual, easy to forgive.
William smiled to himself, the boy from Kentucky so shy off the battlefield.
Jim lifted his glass to drink with his friends.
A young waitress bounded
up to Jim’s table, shaking him out of his reverie. The wine lingered bittersweet
on his lips.
“We are so honored to
have you here tonight, Sir. Thank you for serving our country. Always proud to
serve one of our boys.” The waitress held
her hand over her heart and smiled. Jim
nodded. The waitress took his order.
“On the house, under one
condition.” She said with a wink as she left the table.
Jim wondered what kind of
price he would have to pay for his dinner.
He liked this waitress; she eased the loneliness in his heart. She returned
with his dinner, and when he had finished, she pulled out a chair, resting her
elbows on the table.
“Tell me a story,” she
commanded.
“A story?”
“A Christmas story,” she
said, “Just a short one, to spread some holiday cheer.”
“I don’t really feel up
to it at the moment.”
“Come on, I’m working! On
Christmas!” She pouted.
The world-weary traveler
smiled.
“Well, I do have one
Christmas Story. It’s my favorite one, actually, about a girl. A Girl with no name.”
He took a deep breath and began. “I met her up in Delaware, 1937. She was wearing red lipstick to match her
pretty dress. December 24th
at a quarter to eleven’s when I finally gained the courage to ask her to dance…”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Alpaca wool draped over
the man’s knees to keep out the December chill. Next to the redwood rocking
chair a red hound rested on the bohemian rug, the wind blowing frost onto the
edges of the mat.
“It’s not too bad. The children will still come.” The man murmured
to himself.
Jim had long finished his
wandering days. In all his travels he never found a relation of any kind, but
he encountered many adventures. In the end, he chose Maryland for his permanent
residence because it provided a contrast to his life. Few things changed here.
The people of the town soon
grew fond of the aged Travelling Man. While some doubted the legitimacy of his
tales, Jim found ready listeners in the children. When he suggested four years
ago to the parents of Jack and June a Christmas Eve story time, the idea was
readily received and over the years, the children would cry if they were not
allowed on Jim’s porch at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve.
But the snow had started
to fall early that night and Jim wondered if anyone would show up to hear his
famous Christmas Story. One day perhaps
when the children had grown, he knew he would have to spend Christmas Eve
alone, but he couldn’t accept his loneliness just yet.
“They’ll come, Red.
You’ll see.”
Yellow headlights flashed
up the driveway and a hoard of young kids piled out of the car, each one
carrying a wrapped present. The driver, Jack and Jane’s father, thrust a hand
out of the window to wave before driving away- he worked night shifts. Jim
anticipated the arrival of Mrs. Jack and Jane fifteen minutes later, rolling
the stroller up the road which sheltered the twins from the snow. Of course,
there was Little Tiffany in her classic pink coat and hat which left only her
nose visible as she walked with her mother up the driveway. Thus swaddled, all
of the children and a few parents arrived at the porch, chatting and giggling.
Jim cleared his throat.
“I met her up in Delaware, 1937. She
was wearing red lipstick to match her pretty dress. December 24th at a quarter to
eleven’s when I finally gained the courage to ask her to dance…” The older children closed their eyes as
they mouthed the words.
“…And even though I never
learned her name, I never forgot the Girl in the Red Dress.” Jim concluded.
A few of them lingered to say thank you before
they left. Some left presents by the tree in the house, and one little boy
patted Red’s old head in farewell. Little Tiffany rushed back to Jim as he rose
from his rocking chair. She held something out.
“What’s this?” He asked as he took it in his hands.
“’To match her pretty
dress,’” The girl quoted with her hands behind her back. She blushed and scampered away. Jim looked down at the present in his
hands. It was a brand new doll with red
lips and a red dress. He smiled and
walked inside the house. He placed the
doll on his mantelpiece next to a photo of himself in uniform, a reminder of
days gone by.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The acrid smell of
alcohol overwhelmed his senses. Everything in the room was white, like the snow
that fell outside that day. Jim breathed
in, but his lungs couldn’t trap enough air to satisfy his body. Christmas Eve should not be spent this way.
“Ma’am,” he asked, “could
you share a little holiday cheer?”
“What was that?” The little
old nurse leaned in to hear Jim’s low voice.
“A Christmas story.” He
wheezed. His lungs burned.
Twenty years had passed
since the last time he told the neighborhood children his favorite Christmas
story. The tradition stopped when Jim developed a wheezing cough which he later
learned was the beginning symptom of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease,
cause by exposure to certain chemicals during the war. But even then he knew
that the children were not as young as they once were, and they began to have
young love of their own. No one was left to care about the Girl with No Name.
No one but Jim, and he was about to die.
The nurse waited for him
to gain catch his breath. He bluebell
eyes were soft like the blanket of snow falling outside.
“I have one story. It’s
my favorite.” She cleared her throat. “I met him up in Delaware in 1937, though
I never got his name; he was a travelling man.
December 24th at a quarter to eleven, I’m so glad he got the
courage to ask me to dance.”
A tear ran down Jim’s
cheek. Concern filled the nurse’s eyes.
“Would you like to hear
something else?” She asked in a low voice.
“No.” Jim choked. “It’s
just… that’s my favorite Christmas story.” Jim smiled and raised his right hand
to stroke the nurse’s face. A cloud of compassion passed over her face. She thinks I’m delusional.
“Scuse me, ma’am, but would
you like to dance? He croaked.
The little nurse’s bluebell
eyes grew wide. Jim closed his eyes.
“I finally found you.” A
calm passed over his body as all the world fell back into place. “But I still
don’t know your name.” He murmured.
The nurse too closed her
eyes. Not diamond ring ever graced her finger because one man already had claim
of her heart. She watched as her friends in the little Delaware town were
married one by one. Then, as they had children and grandchildren. Year after
year, she seemed alone on Christmas Eve. But she was never truly alone, for she
carried the Travelling Man in her heart. The nurse, once upon a time youthful
and red lipped, opened her eyes again. Jim lay there with her hand in his own,
a bucktoothed smile on his glassy face.
