CHRISTMAS MORNING by Kimberley Conger
CHRISTMAS MORNING by Kimberley Conger
(Second Place Winner)
Remember the kind of Christmas mornings you grew up with as a child? The off-limits fir tree sparkling with colored lights and shiny glass balls, and presents, big and small, stuffed around the base of the tree and spilling out onto the hearth, patiently waiting for the family to finish breakfast before tearing into the over-flowing, candy filled stockings hung from the fireplace mantle? Samantha did.
Christmas mornings in the 1960s were a magical day every year; there was always the visit from the grandparents, both paternal and maternal, and a very special gift from Sam’s parents. One year her father refurbished two pairs of old skis; one for her and one for her younger brother, then took them to the mountain for ski lessons. One year the gift to the siblings was a puppy; she was white and fluffy and in a big box with a big red bow on top. Sam and her brother named her Heidi, presumably after the movie that must have been popular then. But the one present she never received for Christmas was a shiny new bicycle.
As long as Samantha could remember Christmas was associated with family, and traditions, and rituals which she continued into her adulthood, and with her husband Michael, four years her junior, whom she married in the summer of 1996. That year would be the couple’s first Christmas together as a newly married couple, and in their recently purchased renovation house project.
And though Samantha and Michael shared a fairy tale outdoor wedding together beneath the blossoms of a blooming magnolia tree, surrounded by friends, family and co-workers, the remainder of that year would turn out to be both financially challenging and bereft with sadness, beginning with the unexpected and sudden death of the couple’s not quite one-year old Labrador puppy, the news of which reached them while they were honeymooning at the coast.
Add to that the adjustment element of being a newly married couple, both members of which had no idea what it meant or how to be married. Samantha worked full-time in the city as an administrative assistant for a Fortune 500 financial firm, while Michael was acclimating to a new job, also full-time, as well as the unfamiliar responsibilities of being a homeowner, which in his case entailed more than the average honey-do tasks.
That particular year was not during a booming financial economic period, and one in which Samantha and Michael lived paycheck to meager paycheck, and looking more and more like the couple’s upcoming first Christmas together might not live up to Samantha’s childhood upbringing of high expectations, and as much as she was ashamed to admit it, the thought brought tears to her normally bright hazel eyes.
And though money would be especially tight and limits on spending stringent, there would be a beautiful tree, a 10-foot noble fir strung with simple white lights and an eclectic assortment of ornaments accumulated over the years as gifts, but some were treasured heirlooms from both Mike’s and Sam’s families. Holiday cheer would be spread throughout the 2-story house in some fashion; candles, nutcrackers, and old-world Santas would stand their rightful places for the season.
There would be no shortage of gifts beneath the tree, all wrapped in a colorful variety of papers and foils, and tied with coordinating fabric ribbon, all shapes and sizes, but the gifts would not be shared between the struggling couple, rather for the moms, and dads, and brothers, and friends, but there would be no skis, or lessons, or puppy, or bicycle.
So it came as no surprise on Christmas Eve, after returning home from a holiday early-release from work, a last-minute wrapping of gifts, and a simple dinner, that Michael disappeared into his basement shop, as was customary for him after dinner and prior to bedtime, his 6-foot frame nearly too tall to descend the century-old staircase, his short red hair scarping the ceiling above his head. Regardless of the fact that it was a holiday eve, Michael maintained status quo when it came to his routine.
Sam couldn’t recall the precise moment she fell asleep that night in the upstairs bedroom, her curly brown hair pulled up into a fountain ponytail, and her tired eyes watching the nights first powdery snowflakes illuminated by the streetlight below, fall outside the southern facing window, but she was fairly certain she fell asleep alone, her husband assumingly still puttering around in his dank basement shop.
Mike wasn’t lying next to her when Samantha woke up early the next morning, Christmas morning, yet she still greeted the day with the wide-eyed excitement of childhood amazement and couldn’t wait to take inventory of each and every ornament hung from the aromatic fir, each one dated and a reminder of past, fond memories. She couldn’t wait to get downstairs.
After a deep stretch or two Samantha pulled on a pair of loose, black yoga pants and covered her tank top with a powder blue zippered sweatshirt before making her way to the stairs on the cool, painted white, wood floor, in bare feet, her little silver toe ring clicking on the hard surface with every step of her left foot.
Before she even made it to the bottom of the stairs Sam could smell the aroma of flavored coffee wafting from the kitchen in the back of the house, indicating that her husband had already risen – that is assuming he had ever gone to bed in the first place.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Samantha noticed that both sets of doors leading into the living room were closed, rendering the Christmas room off limits to her, though Mike had taken the time to see to it that the remainder of holiday cheer was alive and aglow. He was anxiously waiting for her in the cozy, warm kitchen, the room alive with the aromas of coffee and cinnamon rolls, one of Mike’s holiday traditions.
“Merry Christmas, babe,” Mike said, handing Sam a large mug of steaming coffee.
She kissed him sweetly on his lips, feeling the prickly stubble of short red and silver hair that encircled his mouth. “Merry Christmas,” Samantha reciprocated. “I missed you last night… and this morning. Did you ever come to bed?” She really couldn’t be certain that he had.
“Yeah, I did, for a little while but I couldn’t sleep so I got up early and came downstairs.” Mike’s pale blue eyes were wide and piercing as he told his wife and looked like a kid that had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I have a surprise for you!” he admitted.
“What is it?” Samantha innocently asked, and certainly not expecting anything in return.
“Close your eyes, and keep them closed,” Mike commanded, as he opened the set of French doors into the living room, and then led the still closed-eyed Samantha into the room. Not until she was standing square in front of the majestic tree would Michael allow her to open her eyes. “All right, open your eyes.” He was standing right next to her.
When Sam finally opened her bewildered eyes, she could not believe what they saw. “I don’t understand. How could we afford to buy this?”
Mike hadn’t told his beautiful new wife about the side computer jobs he had taken on, above and beyond his full-time computer related job, just so that they could afford it. And the sole purpose of Mike’s buying this particular present was so that Mike could give Sam the Christmas morning from her childhood, because he loved her that much.
Directly in front of the decked out tree stood the most beautiful silver mountain bike, brand new, with a racing seat and attached water bottle, and a huge red bow stuck to the handle bars. With a smile from ear to ear, Sam said, “So that’s what you’ve been up to in the basement the last few nights… you’ve been playing Christmas elf!” She kissed him on the cheek.
“I hope you like it. I love you Sam.” Mike took her in his arms and kissed her soft lips.
And he was certain that she loved the bicycle – it had been her dream since childhood.
Standing hand in hand in front of the tree that first Christmas morning together as a married couple would be one of Samantha’s most treasured holiday memories of her many happy years with Michael yet to come.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
About the Author:
Kim Conger resides in Vancouver, WA with her husband, Chris, and their two rescue dogs, Angus Young and Buddy. When she’s not putting pencil to paper she enjoys swimming, gardening, and creating in the kitchen.
Kim graduated with highest honors from Clark College in 2013, with an Associate in Applied Science degree in the field of Paralegal. While attending school Kim realized her passion for writing and research, and in the next two years would approach her husband, and creative consultant, with her first idea for a novella.
As Kim says about how she writes, when asked, her writing glorifies the underdog in a world where love abounds.
