The Land of the Living:
Christmas Stories
Chuck Allen
Published by Chuck Allen
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Chuck Allen
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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The Land of the Living
This is where we live, this land of the living. Our days are filled with experiences, which become memories. Throughout our journey we experience happiness and sadness, war and peace; we find love and are broken by its power. Our lives are stories and, whether we like them or not, they are our stories. This collection of stories reminds us that we live our stories together - here in this land of the living.
Jason slid back into the shadows as he watched Pastor Ben emerge from the sanctuary. He didn’t want to slow down, as the wind seemed to slice his ears like a blade. A brief delay was better than running into Pastor Ben, though. He talked a lot and Jason didn’t trust religious people very much. Better to hang back in the shadows and wait for him to leave.
It may have been too late, though, as he watched Pastor Ben look into the darkness for a few moments. He took a step or two in Jason’s direction and then returned to the sanctuary door. Unlocking the door, he went back inside.
Jason wrapped his tattered scarf around his head again, trying to block the wind from his ears. He wanted to get moving, but the pastor hadn’t closed the door all the way and his keys were still in the lock. Was this a trap? Was he waiting inside until Jason came by? A few lights flickered on inside. The nearby heating unit clicked as it whirred to life.
Jason squatted and moved closer to the building - Hank’s Hardware Store. The hand written sign in the window read “Closed for Christmas”. As if the excessive amounts of greenery and blinking lights were not enough to remind him of the holiday.
His jeans blocked the wind, but they felt stiff and cold against his legs. He rubbed his hands over them in an attempt at warmth and debated whether he should move on. How long had the pastor been back inside?
Fortunately for Jason, the door finally pushed open and Pastor Ben emerged. He closed the door as he had before and removed his keys. He looked in Jason’s direction for a moment and then opened the door again. Turning to leave, he pulled the door closed behind him and walked the other direction to his car.
He didn’t lock the door, Jason thought. Or at least he didn’t lock the dead bolt. Maybe the bottom part was locked? But hadn’t he seen him open it just before closing it again?
Jason watched Pastor Ben drive away and waited another minute. The cold urged him to move on. The alley beside the pharmacy was still a few more blocks away and the temperature seemed to be lowering still. At least the boxes there kept this wind from biting his skin.
As he took a few steps Jason wondered what it would feel like inside the sanctuary. There would certainly be no wind and it would likely still be warm from the day’s heating. He looked around the street. No one was around.
He tried the door and found it open, just as he had suspected. He stepped quickly inside and closed the door behind him. He found himself in a foyer, a faint light illuminating the room through the passage to the auditorium. He listened for any sounds of movement.
A slight chill emanated from the door, but Jason basked in the warmth of the building. He removed his scarf and hat and stepped away from the door toward the auditorium. His fingers tingled as he removed his gloves.
He walked to the auditorium entrance and stopped to take in the view. The room was dark except for the glow of a large Christmas tree to the right of the stage. The red, green and white lights flickered a welcome to the weary stranger. The warmth was everything Jason had expected it to be, but the experience was not. His mind was suddenly filled with memories from his childhood. Memories of gifts around the tree, of Christmas services, carols and parties. Jason had not missed any of that for the past eight years, but somehow now choked back tears.
He walked slowly down the aisle toward the tree. A nativity scene stood serenely beside the tree. The characters and animals were exceptional in their detail and each was arranged carefully around the manger.
Tears began to escape Jason’s eyes. Held hostage for many years now, they started slowly and then began to flow. He thought of Sarah. Of how much she loved Christmas. Of the expensive nativity that she had insisted they buy. “It’s the centerpiece of Christmas!” she had urged. He thought of their last Christmas together and how weak she looked from the treatments.
He wondered about his sons. Wondered if they thought about him. Wondered if they had children. Wondered if they had a nativity scene in their house.
By the time he reached the manger the tears had won full control. He knelt on the floor next to the manger and wept. Really wept.
He had no idea how long he cried, but Jason knew he felt better. The room was warm, yes, but there was also a warmth in his soul that he had not felt for a while. He doubted this mental clarity would last long, but it felt good. He felt - alive.
Looking down, he noticed a collection of items next to the manger. A songbook lay open to “Silent Night”. A Bible was open to the second chapter of Luke. Next to the Bible was a plate with several sandwiches. A few bottles of water and a bag of potato chips completed the ensemble on top of a stack of blankets. A small pillow fell out as he lifted the blankets.
Jason startled as he heard a loud click and the heating unit whirred to life again. He smiled and looked at the tree again. The few tears still clinging to his eyes produced a brilliant display of the lights - sharp points of light darting in every direction. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but this was going to be a good night.
“I want to be a shepherd! They get to carry big sticks.” Luke swung his hands, pretending to hit Carl with an imaginary stick.
“Not me. I want to be a wise man. They get to wear a crown!”
“They’re not real. It’s just a plastic crown. I saw ‘em last year.” Elizabeth spun her head to toss her hair as she spoke.
“So! The baby’s not real either.”
“I wanna be a cow.” Tommy started crawling around the stage on his hands and knees. “Mooooooo!” Several other boys joined in.
“Ok. Children, quiet down.” Ms. Randall put a finger to her mouth to signal for silence. “Tommy, bring your herd over to the group and sit down so we can get started.”
“Can I be the little drummer boy, Ms. Randall?”
A few laughs went through the group. “There is no drummer boy in the nativity scene, Garrett.”
“If he plays the drums, then I wanna play the guitar.” Tommy interjected, jumping to his feet and playing ‘air guitar’ while shaking his head.
“Cows don’t play the guitar, dummy!” Elizabeth looked at her friends and rolled her eyes. “They don’t have hands. Duh!”
“Tommy, sit down. Now everyone listen. I’m going to name off the different parts and you can go stand with the group for whatever part you want. If we don’t have enough in each group, though, I’m going to have to move some of you. So don’t be disappointed. Elizabeth and Larry, you’ll be Mary and Joseph so go stand by the manger. Cattle? Over there next to the piano. Wise men? On the other side by the edge of the stage.” She continued working through the roles - shepherds, sheep, angels - pointing each to a different part of the stage.
When she finished Garrett was the only child still standing beside her. His raised eyebrows asked his question.
“Garrett, I’m sorry but there is no drummer boy in the nativity.”
“Uh huh. I heard about him in a song. He plays his drum for baby Jesus.”
She scanned the groups on stage. “We need another wise man. You can be that or you can be a cow or sheep. Which do you want?”
His shoulders and head slumped forward as he walked toward the stage. “I guess I’ll be a wise man.”
*****
“Garrett, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of your attitude tonight. I know you didn’t want to be a wise man, but I’m sure you’ll be the best one.”
“Thanks mom. I’m ok with it after talking to daddy.”
Mom cast a surprised glance at dad who was concentrating on parking the car. “Well, good.”
“He told me how the wise men were special, that they traveled a long distance to see Jesus. He said they wouldn’t let anything stop them from giving their gifts to him. I gotta go. I want to have plenty of time to get in my costume. See you after the program.” He grabbed his backpack and slipped out of the car.
“Bye, honey!” Mom called out and then looked at dad again. “Good work, Dad.”
*****
“There he is,” Mom whispered. “Get a picture!”
“I’m trying! But there is a huge head in the way at the moment.”
“I knew we should have sat closer to the front.”
The auditorium was dark except for the lights on stage and the flashing of cameras. We Three Kings played through the speakers as the children walked from the back of the room toward the stage.
“He’s such a handsome young man.”
“Like his father?”
“He’s like his father in more ways than that.”
“What does that mean?”
An elderly lady in the row ahead of them turned and glared.
Mom leaned in closer and whispered softer. “Let’s just say he has your mischievous nature.”
“Me? Mischievous? I can’t even spell it.” Dad grinned.
“I know. Unfortunately, he gets his spelling skills from you too.”
By this time the wise men had reached the stage and were, one at a time, kneeling at the manger. They each placed an item on the ground as they did, representing the gold, frankincense and myrrh mentioned in scripture.
“What’s he doing with the manger?”
“I don’t know. It looks like he’s reaching under it.”
They both watched with shock as they realized what he was doing. As they feared, he pulled a tiny drum from under the manger and placed the strap around his neck. He then beat it a few times before moving to his spot with the other wise men. Several children snickered, but Garret’s face showed only a serious sense of duty.
The narrator started again as the music faded, but Garrett continued to move his drumsticks as if playing.
Dad was watching Garrett, but he could feel mom staring at him. He finally looked over at her.
Her accusing look gave way to a smile. “Stop at nothing to give their gifts, huh?”
“What can I say? He’s got his mother’s stubbornness.”
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Dad, why are we here?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“To draw attention to the donation kettle. People are more likely to give to a person than they are to just a bucket.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Yeah, but why are we here?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Because everyone needs to do their part. A lot of people doing little things can make a big difference, son.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“But mom says you already give money, isn’t that enough? Can’t we let someone else do this part? It’s cold and boring, and most people just pass by without giving anything. What if some of my friends see me? Besides, the bell is driving me crazy.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“That’s because you’re not listening for the song.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“The song? It’s just a bell.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“No, it’s more than a bell. Listen to it for a minute and tell me what you hear.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I’ve been listening to it for the last half hour, dad. All I hear is ‘ding, ding, ding’.”
“Then you’re not trying. Really listen.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Do you really hear a song, dad?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Sure I do. Right now it’s Jingle Bells.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I think I hear it now! O what fun it is to ride…”
“Now you’ve got it!”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Can you do other songs?”
“Sure. Listen for a bit and see if you hear something else.”
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
“You getting anything?”
“Uh-huh. Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars…”
“Is that a song?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Yeah, but it’s not a Christmas song.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“That’s ok. The important thing is that you’re hearing the song. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Christmas song or not.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“This is pretty cool, dad.”
“You want to know the really cool part?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“What’s that?”
Ring.
“We’re part of the song.”
Ring. Ring.
“What do you mean?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“We are here today, and able to hear the song, because someone else did their part years ago.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I think I see what you’re saying. We’re keeping it going.”
Ring. Ring.
“Now you’re getting it. And for us it’s even more personal. Maw-maw used to tell me that we wouldn’t be here without the Salvation Army. ”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Really?”
Ring. Ring.
“She was your grandpa’s mom. My grandmother. She told me about the tornado when they lived in Mississippi.”
“We lived in Mississippi?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“This was long before you were born. In fact, it was before I was born. Paw-paw was killed in the storm.”
“How come grandpa never mentioned that?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“He doesn’t talk much about it. He was a young teenager, probably about your age.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Maw-maw said the Salvation Army gave them a place to stay and helped them clean up after the storm. It was several years later when they would move here to Georgia. That’s when your grandpa started his store. He might not have ever gotten that chance without the help they received years before.”
Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.
“I had no idea. I guess we really are part of the song.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Doctor Butler? What a surprise to see you out here.”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hi, Mrs. Davis! Just trying to do my part for a good cause.”
“Well, here, let me see if I’ve got some change.”
Clink. Clink.
“Thank you, Mrs. Davis. Have a Merry Christmas!”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“You still hear the song, son?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Yeah. I do.”
Ring. Ring.
“Good. That’s why we’re here.”
Sometimes the best gifts don’t come wrapped in tidy packages with ribbons and bows, but this year’s gift started off that way. Mom and I sat in the living room floor on Christmas morning wrapping the last of the presents. These were small knick-knacks - things my mom had forgotten to wrap earlier. The lights from the tree were glimmering. The sun bounced off the snow, illuminating the room through the large, ceiling-to-floor windowpanes.
“I’m so glad it started snowing last week. I was hoping we would have a white Christmas.”
I was already looking out the window and did not say anything. I didn’t share her excitement for the snow. A large, single snowflake, hanging on the edge of the windowpane, caught my attention. It fluttered in the breeze, but stayed intact, as if the cold wind were somehow holding it together. A few moments later it began to lose it’s shape and melt into a small mass of white. It was still a snowflake, I guess, but it had lost its previous beauty.
“What time is Andrea getting here?” I eventually asked.
“Hold that for me.” She pointed at the ribbon she had just wrapped around the gift. “She didn’t give a time. She just said ‘in the morning.’ Can you believe how much weight she has lost? She doesn’t look healthy to me.”
Mom pulled the ribbon tight, catching my finger in the knot. I wasn’t sure what to say. Did she not realize what was going on with Andrea? Or was she just in denial?
“I hope she actually comes.” I pulled my finger out of the knot.
“Of course she will! Why wouldn’t she?”
“She didn’t make it to Thanksgiving… or show up when we were decorating the tree. And she said she would drop by last weekend.”
“Well, college can be really busy. She’s probably got a lot of studying to do for finals and such.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I looked back out the window hoping the world was as simple as Mom indicated it to be. I missed my older sister, but that had started long before she moved out to attend college. Something about her changed during her senior year. Whatever it was that changed, I lost the Andrea that I knew.
We were never your normal brother and sister anyway. Sure we fought from time to time, but for the most part we had always gotten along. Andrea was, in some ways, another best friend. When she started driving, she would take me along with her- the mall, movies, school activities. When one of us had a project due for school, we did it together. We even both sang in the church choir that one year - more as a joke than anything else. But it was fun.
That Andrea doesn’t exist any more. Now all I hear from her are empty promises about us getting together for lunch or visits that never happen. I’ve finally quit leaving messages on her phone.
I hope Mom is right, that the rumors I heard at school are not true. “Your sister’s a crackhead.” The words stung. I almost punched the guy who said it. Fortunately, the possible truth of what he was saying punched me first.
I wasn’t sure whether to say anything to Mom and Dad or not. I tried to get in touch with Andrea, but she never answers the door at her apartment. I was hoping to talk to her at Thanksgiving, but she didn’t show.
I’m not sure how many gifts we wrapped sitting by the tree that morning. The calm was soon interrupted by a phone call, confusion and a chaotic rush to the emergency room.
It’s probably the worst Christmas I can remember. Watching Mom and Dad hear the news that Andrea had overdosed. Seeing Andrea’s unconscious body hooked up to all those machines. Wondering if I were about to lose Andrea for a second time. Wondering if I could have done something to stop it.
But today the doctor says she’s going to be fine. He says she was lucky.
Our presents are still sitting under the tree. Mom and Dad are back in the room with Andrea and the doctor. I’m sitting here staring out the window of the waiting room, watching the snow. Yesterday was messy. But if this experience can get Andrea into treatment - can get my sister back - then this would be the best Christmas present ever.
“Honey, I can’t find the snowman ornament. I looked through all of the boxes several times already.” Mom sat on a chair surrounded by open boxes and tins.
“What do you mean? There are several snowmen in those boxes.”
“Not just any snowman. The snowman you gave me for our first Christmas. It was our first ornament.”
“Oh. That snowman.”
“Here daddy?”
“Yeah, sure.” Dad leaned down close to Junior as if telling him a secret. “It doesn’t matter where you put it, son. Your mom will just move it later.”
“That is not true! All I do is try to even out the ornaments. Just don’t put them all in the same area.”
“I won’t, mama. I put the last one on this branch over here.” Junior pointed to the limb next to the one he was currently decorating.
Jackson lay sprawled across the couch. “Can I go to my room?”
“No,” Dad spoke immediately. “You may be fifteen, but you’re still a part of this family. Decorating the tree is something we always do together.”
“Here, Jackson, why don’t you hang this ornament?” Mom held out a silver-colored bell.
“But mom! I always hang the bells.” Elizabeth looked with pleading eyes.
“Ok. Here, you hang the bell. I’ll get something else for Jackson.”
“She can hang them all. I’ll just watch, like dad does.”
“I don’t just watch. Didn’t you notice I am the one who has to put the lights on these stupid things.”
“Our tree’s not stupid!” Junior folded his arms.
“Daddy didn’t mean to call the tree stupid, dear. He was just pointing out how hard it was to put lights on it. Right, honey?”
“Uh. Yeah. Of course the tree is not stupid. It’s just a figure of speech.”
“A what?” Junior cocked his head
“It means your daddy said the wrong word.”
“No it…” Dad flailed his hands and went back to his chair.
“Here, Jackson, hang this gingerbread man.”
Jackson huffed as he pushed himself from the couch. “A gingerbread man? Why do we have a gingerbread man on our Christmas tree? Is he secretly one of Santa’s elves or something? Or maybe he’s one of the cookies Santa eats on Christmas Eve?”
“Santa’s not going to eat the gingerbread man, Jackson!” Elizabeth called out as she placed another ornament on the tree.
Junior pulled a clear, crystal bell from the box. “Can I hang this one?”
“Don’t touch those, sweetie. That is the breakable box.”
“Hey! Give me that! I hang the bells.” Elizabeth lunged toward Junior.
“Get off me!” Jackson shoved her as she bumped him.
“I had it first!” Junior turned toward the tree.
Pushing and fussing, the three siblings crashed into the base of the tree. Mom watched as the crystal bell flew out of the chaos and smashed into pieces against the fireplace.
At the start of the fight, Dad had tried to jump up quickly but only managed to flip backwards off the recliner. Landing with a thud, he watched as the tree toppled on the fighting trio below.
“Whaaaaaaa!”
“Get off me!”
“Look what you’ve done!”
“Children!” The room grew silent at dad’s outburst. Silent, except for a faint whimpering from Junior.
The children each poked their heads out from under the tree, dreading the look they were going to get from mom. Surprisingly, mom had moved around to the other side of the tree - the side that had been against the wall - and was examining it closely. They could all see tears on her face.
“Look,” she said as she pulled an ornament off the tree. “Here’s the snowman ornament. Our first ornament.”
The children all glanced at Dad, who was staring at mom from his spot on the floor.
Mom took the ornament and placed it back on the tree. “Who wants some hot chocolate and cookies while Daddy fixes the tree?”
“I do!” The children said, almost in unison. Junior climbed out from under the tree and hugged mom’s leg.
“Well, go help him up off the floor and then meet me in the kitchen.”
Merry Christmas!
From Chuck Allen
The End