A CHRISTMAS ANGEL
Christmas dawns, a day of sunshine and snowflakes, of bright hopes and shining joy. The house is cold; the warm fire of Christmas Eve forgotten. The house is quiet, waiting. Waiting, but not for long. Soon the patter of little footsteps can be heard running, running.
And the voice of a little girl is heard.
“Mommy, mommy, come look what I got. “ Her hair is blonde, her face angelic, a perfect child, straight off a commercial.
Her mother appears with her hair all a mess and a tired look on her face. But she has to smile when she sees the sparkle in her daughter. Who needs Christmas lights when a child is in the room?
“You must have been a very good girl this year for Santa to bring you all this.” A tired comment but the sentiment is sincere.
“Look, I got the Barbie Dreamhouse and a Ken and a car for them to drive and some nice clothes for them to wear. I don’t know what to play with first.”
“What’s in your stocking?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Let me see.”
“Oh look, I got some Jolly Ranchers, and some baby Snickers, and some bubble gum, and some chocolate kisses, my favorite. Oh mommy, mommy, let’s go see if Santa ate the cookies and milk I left him.”
The mother grimaces slightly; she looks as if she has forgotten to do something important. But before she has time to say anything, her daughter if off to the kitchen. She follows the girl slowly, ever so slowly.
When she enters the kitchen, she sees what she has dreaded, disappointment in her daughter’s face. The angel looks up at her with tears in her eyes.
“He didn’t eat them. He didn’t like them.”
“No, I’m sure that wasn’t it. Maybe he had already had too many cookies. You know, I heard that Mrs. Claus was making him go on a diet.”
“You really think so?” A beam of hope glimmers through.
“I’m sure of it. Now how about some cookies for breakfast?” She had to smile at her own indulgence.”
“No, I couldn’t eat Santa’s cookies. Let’s save them for Daddy.”
The mother’s smile fades yet the child persists.
“When’s he coming over?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Just sometime today.”
“I can’t wait to see him, can you?”
“No, I can’t wait.” The mother repeats sarcastically.
But as if she had beckoned for him, the doorbell rings.
“Daddy, daddy.” The angel flits away to answer the call. Again the mother follows reluctantly after her daughter. In the hallway by the front door she sees him, handsome, as the day she met him. She glances at him only briefly, and then she looks away, smoothing down her hair. He has made a mess in the hall with all his packages and scooped up her little angel. He walks toward her.
“Hello, Sheila. Merry Christmas.” He says softly.
“Merry Christmas, Stan.” She answers quietly.
“Look at all the presents Daddy brought. I must have been a very good girl.” The child beams radiantly.
There is an awkward silence before he speaks. And when he does, he speaks to the girl: “Well now, why don’t you open your presents and see wat Daddy brought you?”
“Yes, yes.” The little girl agrees eagerly.
“Why don’t we take them into the living room?” The mother suggests, thinking that then he will be able to see all the gifts she has given her little angel.
“Well, okay.” He agrees. “But I can’t stay long. Lois is waiting for me in the car.”
An almost imperceptible cringe from Sheila when she hears the name is well concealed as she scoops up some packages and hands heads towards the living room. Her daughter races ahead and he follows behind.
As the two parents stand watching the girl tear open her packages, each looks anxious: the father anxious to please the little girl, the mother anxious that her daughter will be more pleased with her gifts than with his.
“Oh Daddy, you got my favorite tapes and a Walkman and a Nintendo game. You’re the best.” The girl runs to hug him and once again he snatches her up in his arms.
“Santa didn’t eat our cookies; so we saved them for you.” The little girl exclaims.
Sheila can feel him looking at her with questioning eyes, but she will not meet his gaze. She does not follow them into the kitchen this time. Instead, she turns on the Christmas tree lights. As she watches them blink, she notices that the angel at the top is a little bit crooked. Even angels aren’t always perfect. She hears her daughter giggle in the kitchen.
She waits for an eternity before they reappear.
“I’ve got to go now, baby.” He says gently to the little girl.
“But Daddy, you only just got here.” The girl protests
“You know, Daddy loves you.” He answers helplessly.
“I know. But why don’t you live here anymore?” The angel questions simply, innocently.
“Well, you see Daddy…” He begins to answer.
Sheila interrupts: “Stop asking him so many questions and give him a good-bye kiss.”
“But Mom.” The girl whines.
Then Stan says in a mock offense, “You don’t want to give Daddy a big kiss good-bye?
The girl gives him a big wet smack and say: “I love you, Daddy. When are you going to come see me again?”
“Whenever your mother says.” He answers deliberately, and Sheila can feel his eyes on her.
Her angel follows his gaze, and she can hear a stranger’s voice like her own saying: “Next weekend, I guess.”
“Daddy, can we go to the circus or to Putt Putt or to the zoo?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.” He gives the girl one last hug, puts her down and picks up his coat.
“Good-bye, Sheila.” He says, almost as an afterthought.
She does not answer, and he walks out the door again to Lois who is waiting in the car. He is gone, finally. Finally she is alone with her daughter.
Suddenly she remembers that it is Christmas, and she smiles bravely through her tears. She sits on the couch and watcher her daughter play. Much to her delight, her daughter has put aside the presents her father has brought and has begun to play with the Barbies.
“I am the Mommy, and you are the Daddy.” Her daughter pretends to be Barbie speaking to Ken. “Here is your house. We live here. Me and you together. I will let you drive the car if you promise never to stop living here.” Her daughter’s voice lowers, and speaks for Ken who says, “I promise.”