December 23, 2014

The Sort of Person Everyone Speaks Well of

Mrs. Dashwood: "You're a very wicked pair. Colonel Brandon will be sadly missed."

Willoughby: "Why,when's he the sort of person everyone speaks well of, and no one remembers to talk to?"



Oh, the rants I could go on! This quote has haunted me for years.

But now, I'm okay with being the sort of person everyone speaks well of. You know, it seems my whole family is respected, admired, and not invited to things very much. People will come to us for advice and they trust our judgement, but it seems that in general we're not deemed very fun company.

Which of course is ridiculous. I mean, we make Star Wars cookies and eat dinner on our rooftop. Come on, now.

In the past, it bothered me that we were Colonel Brandon's, but I don't mind now because I actually have friends who enjoy hanging out with me. I'm fun. I'm funny. And people actually like me.


Cheers.

December 15, 2014

Short Story


I wrote this short story a while ago, but I dusted it off a bit and gave it a good paint job for this holiday season. Enjoy :)

His Favorite Christmas Story
            Her two bluebell eyes peeped out from underneath a crimson hat, a crown upon her curled brunette hair. Her lipstick matched the red of her satin dress which wrapped around her ivory shoulders. Catching the eye of the young man in the corner, she blushed and tucked a curl behind her ear.
             Jim swallowed to contain his toothy smile. The delicate creature in the corner was lovely beyond all imagining. “Just like a princess,” he thought to himself, biting his lip to prevent the ruination of his handsome face by his bucktoothed grin. The musicians started up a waltz and he swallowed hard, but when those bluebell eyes looked back, Jim found himself staring at his glass of punch once more.
            Curiosity won out, and Jim looked up. The girl’s eyes widened and she snapped back to her attentive stare at the dance floor. Despite his best efforts, Jim couldn’t hide his buckteeth.
            The clock ticked on to a quarter to eleven.  Jim slammed his glass on the table.
            That’s it. Squaring his shoulders, Jim marched forward.  Several heads turned toward him in surprise as he made his way to where the girl sat.  Sweat dripped down the back of his neck and his hands grew warm inside of his pockets. 
            “’Scuse me, ma’am,” Jim’s voice quavered against his will, “but would you like to dance?”
            The girl in red peeped her face out from under her hat and nodded, a timid smile curling her red lips.
            “Oh. Well, good.” Jim cleared his throat and wiped his hand on his pant leg as inconspicuously as possible, aware that he hadn’t put enough thought into his appearance that night. He held out his hand and the girl took it.
            As they twirled round the dance floor, Jim felt a strange pride having secured her as a partner. The red satin shimmered in the candlelight as her eyes shined from underneath her hat. Jim talked most, about his life of travel once he had come of age after the death of his parents.  The girl blushed.
            “Do you like Delaware?” She asked.
            “Delaware? I love it. I think it’s a jolly place. Why do you ask?”
            The girl blushed and averted her gaze.  Panic rose in his chest.
            “If I’ve offended you, Miss—“
            “Certainly not!” Her eyes flashed, and her cheeks followed with a blush. “It’s just, I’ve lived in Delaware all my life.  The town hall always has a Christmas party on Christmas Eve, but I’ve never seen you here before.”
            “Oh.” Relief washed over him. “See, I came here in search of relatives, an aunt and uncle.  I never get any letters, wanted to see if they were still around.  Turns out, they’ve moved.  Just my luck.”
            The girl nodded and looked at the ground.
            When the dance was over, Jim escorted the girl off of the dance floor.  He smiled at her, and she smiled back with a blush. 
            “So, who are your—,” Jim began, when a large man with a dark mustache appeared next to him with a scowl that could ice a cup of cocoa.
            “Come on, it’s time to go home.” The man said as he hooked his arm around the girl’s waist.
            “Papa, wait, I—“
            The man’s eyes flamed. The girl’s head drooped and she scampered away with the big man, one glance of those bluebell eyes and she was gone.
Jim stood in shock.  He hadn’t even learned her name.

           
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.