CHRISTMAS BONDS
A little blond girl, donned in Christmas garbs - red wool hat, red sleeves, red jacket, white fur shawl about her neck, stands in the snow with a red gift box in her hands. Her cheeks are rosy, her thin lips looking downturned and, a sly look about her eyes. One gets the feeling she shouldn't be outdoors, at this particular moment. I look at her and feel as she feels - cold, nervous and, determined.
She trudges, her steps heavy and not because of the snow. Her heart seems to press nonsensically against her bones and she gets half the mind to turn away. But she keeps walking, the little drab cottage just within five feet. As expected, Mama Pooch is sat outside looking as critically and miserably saggy as she always did.
Michaella climbs up the short steps under the austere gaze of her grandmother, feeling extremely self-conscious. Her heart beats a steady tempo but threatens to rise with every passing minute her grandmother continues to look at her without a word. The quiet creak as the old woman sways ominously, the steady current of the snow against the sky, the chill air that accompanies it, and the little animals that hop by and by - Michaella soaks it all in. She takes a gulp of breath, fixes her eyes on her grandmother and starts.
"I brought you a present grandma. Hope you like it."
No answer.
Michaella looks around the small verandah and amongst little rubbish, finds an old stool. She grabs it. "Hope you don't mind grandmother, but my feet hurts and it's a long way back it."
Silence.
Despite her grandmother's fixed muteness, Michaella drops her weight and, her lips produce a small, pleasant smile to the hazy sky. She turns to her grandmother who continues to regard her with unwavering hawk-like scrutiny. She regards her drab attire. "No Christmas dresses eh? Just another Wednesday. Always hated these dye dresses you wear." A quick inhale. A checked smile. "I got you a gift, you should check it. Or perhaps you would like to do it later. Your choice."
Mama Pooch in all her statue-like disposition startles Michaella when she suddenly, turned her head sharply at the deserted road. She turned again to Michaella, imperceptibly shaking her head.
Michaella nods a bit too much. "All right, all right, all right."
She tries to speak again, for want of conversation, even though it is one-sided. Sadly, she thinks, she's said all there is to be said. Here's your gift, Christmas is wonderful. The only thing left to say are the things that can't be said. Or shouldn't. Michaella isn't sure. "I'm sorry mom and dad couldn't make it"? It was at the tip of her tongue, and she fought hard to swallow it. She locked eyes with her and her conflict disappeared. In those gray, glazy eyes barely seen through hooded, wrinkled lids, Mama Pooch seemed to sing to her. Like a lone guitarist in front of a hearth, singing to the only audience that showed up. Michaella felt warm and giddy. Christmas is wonderful.
She smiled and announced airily. "Wonderful Christmas, is it not?"
For the next five minutes, she rocked on her edgy stool. Contented, she got up and announced to her grandmother. "I have to go home grandma. They'll be looking for me. Nice chat."
As she went down the steps, she heard her grandmother's voice for the first time in six months. Old and warm. "Wonderful Christmas dear."
Before Michaella could overthink it, she hurriedly threw her arms about her startled grandmother and just as quickly, raced down the street, grinning from ear to ear.
