ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Friday, December 22, 1995 TAG: 9512220056
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
TYPE: SHORT STORY CONTEST
SOURCE: Jill Simonic
This story was among the finalists in The Roanoke Times' inaugural "A Christmas Memory" contest. Jill Simonic, 34, is a former English teacher who spends her days looking after 2- and 6-year-old boys. This story is dedicated to her grandmother, Elzie Mae Stephens, who died in 1987.
The tree looked sad without its gifts underneath. Wrapping paper and toys were scattered everywhere. Jenny could hear the whir of her brother's remote-control car and her Grandma humming carols while stirring the gravy. Jenny felt like the tree - sad and forgotten. Santa had forgotten her. The only toy she really wanted was a Baby First Step. She told Santa all eight times she had sat on his lap and she still did not get one.
All through the church service, she pouted. But no one seemed to care. They were all enjoying themselves even though they knew she was disappointed. That afternoon, she tried to play with her new Barbie and Barbie canopy bed. The pink ballerina doll who danced on her toes when her crown was pulled up was nice. But she was not a Baby First Step.
Mom said, "Oh, really, Jenny! Be grateful and don't spoil the day!"
Her dad explained that Santa probably couldn't meet the demand for such a popular doll, and besides, she was forgetting the true meaning of the season. Friends arrived with candy, homebaked breads and happy children. But Jenny still refused to be happy.
That evening, she sat at the lavishly laid holiday table with her head bowed and listened as each person added his part to the traditional Christmas-night prayer. When it was her turn, she told God it would have been a nice Christmas if only she had a Baby First Step. She was sent to her room.
She opened her window and let the crisp air sting her face and cool her hot tears. She wrapped herself in the curtains, stared into the starry sky and knew no one had ever been more miserable than she was. Soft light flooded the room as Grandma opened the door. She pushed a chair up to the window and pulled her navy cardigan close about her as she sat down.
"Jenny, on Christmas day of all days to act this way! Can one doll be so important?" Grandma asked.
"Yes," Jenny said. "Yes, she would have been the best Christmas present ever. My whole Christmas is ruined!"
"It seems to me that this has been a wonderful Christmas. We've all been together ..."
"Big deal." Jenny mumbled.
Grandma placed her elbows on the sill, propped her chin in her hands and said, "Would you like to hear about my worst Christmas?" Jenny stared ahead and shrugged her shoulders.
"On the first day of December, 30 years ago, Ben Jr. and I were in the kitchen preparing my Christmas apple jelly. He was four and more of a hinderance than anything, but he loved to help me. Oh, what a mess we made! Once the jelly was poured into the jars, Ben Jr. loved to put the wax discs on top. And if I didn't watch him, he would sneak and press one grubby, little finger into the center. I explained to him that these jellies were not like our regular jellies. These were gifts and they had to look nice. So no fingerprints! With the jelly ready, Ben Jr. put on the lids and I put on the red and green ribbons with fresh holly sprigs. We did a fine job."
Grandma closed the window. "Well," she said, a week or so later, Ben Jr. became ill. He had diphtheria and the doctors could not help him. Do you remember our talk about that?" Jenny looked into her grandmother's clear blue eyes and nodded. Grandma unwrapped Jenny from the curtains and wrapped her in a warm hug.
She took a small breath and said, "It was Christmas time and I had just buried my baby. I could not think about baking or shopping. It didn't matter that our brittle tree stood bare in the corner. I didn't go to church or parties. And although family and friends never left me to myself, I felt all alone. No one spoke of Ben Jr. for fear of upsetting me, and I couldn't say his name.
"On Christmas morning the whole family came as usual for a big breakfast. I suppose they felt it would help me to have them there. Gifts were exchanged and I had not a single present for anyone. But they understood. When I went to the pantry for napkins, I came across the forgotten jars of Christmas jelly. I opened one jar and I found a tiny, perfect fingerprint in the center of the wax. I opened every jar and every one had a fingerprint. The next thing I realized was that your grandfather and a crowd of relatives were peering down at me from the pantry doorway. I was sitting among the opened jars, ribbons and holly - and I was smiling. They knew for certain I had lost my mind."
Grandma chuckled and helped Jenny into her long, flannel nightgown. She said, "But I knew I was going to be all right. In a small way, Ben Jr. had let me know he was still with me and always would be. Beside each plate I placed a jar of jelly. And everyone was relieved and very touched as I told them about jelly-making day with Ben Jr.
"That was a sad Christmas for me, Jenny. I'm sorry about your doll. I know it seems important today and it's of little comfort to you now, but someday you will know how to appreciate the truly wonderful gifts in life. I had Ben Jr., I have your mother, I have you - all our times together. Now those are wonderful gifts!"
Jenny slid into bed. Grandma tucked her in and snuggled up beside her.
"Grandma," whispered Jenny. "I'm sorry I acted the way I did today and I'm sorry about Ben Jr."
"I know, sweetie, I know." said Grandma. "Oh, and isn't tomorrow a special day?"
Of course Grandma knew tomorrow was Jenny's birthday. Jenny snuggled closer and smiled in the darkness. Having her grandmother with her on this Christmas night was one of those truly wonderful gifts. And if she didn't really understand that just yet, one day she would.
LENGTH: Long : 103 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: (headshot) Jill Simonic.by CNB