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Buzhardt,
Christmas and World Spins
Dreaming of a White Christmas
It was the day of Christmas Eve, and Allison and her mother were making a last minute grocery store run before their extended family came over. Their Christmas Eve dinner would not be complete without the hot fudge to go on top of their homemade peppermint ice cream.
Their car was flying down the road, so the snowflakes falling from the sky made soft pattering noises on the windshield. They were so large that they looked like ballerinas wearing big, white tutus spinning wildly through the sky. Tennessee was about to have its first White Christmas in ten years.
Allison was excited about the snow. She wanted to make snow angels, eat snow cream, go sledding, and build a snowman. She was hoping the snow would let her see the footprints from the reindeer on her roof. She had to make sure to leave Santa hot chocolate in a thermos before she went to bed. She knew he would definitely be freezing if it was still snowing as much as it was now.
Allison could not wait for Christmas morning. She thought of all the sugary candy that would fill her stocking and the presents glimmering under the Christmas tree in their shiny wrapping paper. She and her younger brother always woke up at 6 AM, eager to begin unwrapping.
Bing Crosby’s rich voice flowed from the car radio as he sang White Christmas, appropriate for the weather. Allison’s mother sung along softly. It was a good thing she was singing softly, because she could hardly carry a tune. The sound of the snowflakes and the rushing traffic were almost enough to drown out her voice.
Suddenly her mother looked down. “Shoot, I need some gas. Mind if we stop at BP first, hun?”
Allison’s mother whipped into a filling station. The windshield wipers were still squeaking across the windshield, so she turned them and the car off and hoped outside. It was silent except for the monotonous beeping of their car. The cold air rushed into the car through the open door and made Allison shiver in the back seat. The air felt sharp and more penetrating than usual. Allison thought that it must be because of the snow.
Allison saw about five figures standing outside the gas station in thick, worn looking coats. They were all crouched downward eagerly scratching at something in their hands. They looked almost as if they were squirrels, excitedly examining a nut.
Allison’s mother back got into the car and shut the door. She saw her daughter looking at the people scratching.
“That’s so sad,” her mother said as she started the car.
“What’s sad, Mommy?”
“Those people.Using their money to buy lottery tickets. What a waste.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Christmas can be expensive, honey. People can run out of money. They’re hoping to get money from the lottery tickets.”
Allison looked back at the gas station, puzzled.Her mother drove them away from the place that was causing Allison uneasiness. Away from the figures eagerly scratching.Away to the grocery store.
Bing Crosby’s voice filled the silence once again, but her mother was not singing.And even though the car heater was on again, Allison still felt cold.
***
On Christmas morning, Allison looked out the window. There was a thick blanket of snow covering the ground. She couldn’t wait to jump in it. But first, she got to unwrap presents.
Allison ran downstairs and looked around at all the shiny presents under the tree. She spied a narrow rectangular box with her name on it. She knew it couldn’t be anything other than the new American Girl doll she had been begging for. Nothing else came in boxes that size. She knew Santa would get it for her. She wanted to prance around the room in glee.
She looked above their fireplace. Her stocking was bulging and overflowing. She could see her favorite cherry flavored candy canes and a Christmas tree shaped Reese’s sticking out from the top.
She rushed to the kitchen where she had left treats for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. The carrots were gone, and Santa had taken a big bite out of her chocolate chip cookie. Most of the hot chocolate was gone from the thermos, too. He had left her and her brother a long note, too.
Allison scampered back to the living room to open her presents. Her parents sat on the couch smiling at their children’s excitement. She looked at her parent’s stockings hanging next to hers above the fireplace. They weren’t nearly as full as hers. They probably just had a pair of socks or a candy bar in them. And there were hardly any presents under the tree with her parents’ names on them.
She pulled her box out from under the Christmas tree. It was wrapped in silver wrapping paper and had a bright green and red bow on top. It had her name on it, written in big, blocky letters. As she slid her fingers under the wrapping she saw the words, Fashion Doll. Her racing heart sank in her chest. It was not an American Girl Doll. She had to force herself to finish unwrapping the box.
“What’s inside?” asked her father.
Her mother smiled at her. “Oh look, it’s a Fashion Doll,” said her mother. “Santa must have known you wanted a new doll.”
Allison tried to smile and hide her disappointment. “A doll. Just the one I wanted.”
They finished unwrapping presents. All that was left of the morning was a pile of crumpled silver paper and red and green ribbon in the corner.
For the first time in her life, Alison realized that dreams didn’t always come true. Santa wasn’t magic. In fact, maybe there wasn’t even a Santa at all.
The World Spins Madly On
When Kaylie was seven she flew from New York to visit her grandfather in Kentucky for the first time. Her grandfather despised her “Yankee” father insisted on the visit to teach his granddaughter some Southern charm. Kaylie was excited about the visit because her grandfather promised to teach her how to dance.
After dinner, her grandfather set down his drink and selected a record, one that used to be her grandmother’s favorite. As the soothing music filled the living room, Kaylie’s grandfather took her hands. Slowly, he began to spin Kaylie around and around.
“Grandpa, spin me faster, faster,” Kaylie laughed.
Kaylie held her grandfather’s hands as they danced in circles around the sofas. He spun her in circles, and she giggled as her world ran together. The deep maroon walls, tan couch, and plaid curtains blurred together as she spun, faster and faster.
“Spin, spin, while the world spins madly on,” her grandfather sang in his husky voice.
Kaylie loved dancing with him because it made her feel like a ballerina. She felt just like the dancers she would go to see with her father in New York. She could just picture herself on stage with the bright lights and soft tutu spinning circles around everyone.
Kaylie’s pale pink dress flowed outward further and further like a blooming flower.She imagined that she was a record. She circled around, over and over again on repeat.
“You’re almost as good of a dancer as your grandmother was,” he smiled sadly.
The colors kept running together, so Kayle shut her eyes. It wasn’t so much fun anymore. She began to feel nauseous. She started dragging her feet against the carpet, tripping herself, to slow down.
“Spin, spin, while the world spins madly on,” her grandfather sang again.
“Grandpa, stop, stop,” she said. “Stop.I’m dizzy.”
He stopped spinning her, and she wobbled away from him. Her head was spinning. She plopped herself down on the couch and held her head in her hands. She wanted everything to stop moving around her.
Her grandpa staggered to the couch, almost tripping himself. He slung his body onto the couch and wrapped his heavy arm around her shoulders.
“Too much spinning for you, my little dancer?” he asked.
Kaylie shook her head. She spread her fingers apart, so she could look at him.
He bent towards her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. His lips were wet and limp against her smooth cheek. It felt more like a dog slobbering on her than a kiss. It made her wince.
Something wasn’t right with her grandfather. He didn’t smell right. His face was clammy and pale. Paler than the pink of her dress.
“I’m sorry, Kaylie.” His breath was warm and heavy against her skin.It smelled stale and made her skin feel tingly and sticky.
“Spin, spin, while the world spins madly on,” he began to sing again. He slumped against the overstuffed couch.
“Grandpa, are you okay?”
He started to snore, a shallow, throaty snore. He was still sitting up, and his head was tilted all the way back so his nose was pointing towards the ceiling.
The record stopped playing and ended in soft static.
Kaylie turned slowly around the room. She didn’t know what to do. She grabbed a blanket from the couch and draped it over her grandpa’s lap.
“Spin, spin, while the world spins madly on,” she whispered. She turned out the lights.
As she tiptoed to her bedroom upstairs, she decided that she didn’t want to be a ballerina anymore.