Scenes of Christmas

Jingle bells-ells-ells, jungle bells-ells-ells, jingle all the way-ay-ay-ay! A slightly modified version of the classic song plays in the air above the many customers bustling around two days before Christmas, scurrying to find last-minute gifts. From the ceiling hang aluminum red balls coiled in plastic green wreaths, now iconic signs of the season.

Sales clerks hurry around the store, jumping from customer to customer. Can I help you with something? Hold on a minute, I have to take care of someone over here first. Yes, we do have that in another color. Oh, I’m sorry, we’re all out of that size. In the moments out of the public’s view, looking for shoes in the back room, she balls up her fists and closes her eyes and lets out the exasperated sigh that’s been pent up since the last trip back here. Calm down, she tells herself. It’s these short moments, away from the chaos of grumpy Christmastime shoppers, that keep her sane. In these moments, she reminds herself of the wonderful food her mother will make, and the look on her best friend’s face when he sees the present she got for him. After a couple seconds, she opens her eyes, grabs a box of shoes from a shelf, and takes one last deep breath before pushing open the door, her cheerful smile already back on her face.

He’s been standing behind the coffee bar since 7:30. The line of customers never seems to end; on the contrary, it seems to be growing by the minute. It seems like it will be a rather glum morning, but he reminds himself of the better things to come after he gets off at 12. Lunch with a friend, and then off to go look for his own last-minute presents. Something nice for each of his parents, that cute girl at work (he turns his head to watch her give change to a customer), maybe a little something for his dog. He’d appreciate something to chew on.

The twelve year old boy is sprawled over two large chairs in the fancy boutique. His mother is somewhere behind him, talking to a salesgirl. He lazily stares at his cellphone, wondering what game to play next. It seems like they’ve been here forever, even if it has only been 14 and a half minutes. (He knows, he’s been watching the clock ever since they came in.) Tired of cutting ropes and catapulting birds, he shoves his phone in his pocket and stares at the ceiling, praying to Santa Claus to speed up the time and fast-forward to Tuesday morning, when he’d wake up to a beautifully lit Christmas tree with even more beautiful Christmas presents under it. He glances back at his mother, who, miraculously, is finally at the cash register. Maybe now they can head over to the Godiva store! Or meet up with his little brother, who is waiting in line to take pictures with Santa.

A couple days from now, most people will be with their families and friends, perhaps celebrating Christmas, perhaps simply enjoying a day off and thanking everyone else for celebrating Christmas. Little kids run around in their pajamas, gleefully playing with new toys. Parents finally get to watch them peacefully from the couch. Despite the commercialism and stressful, chaotic days leading up to it, Christmas still manages to be a time of relaxing and celebrating with loved ones. 

Door

I can see the door in front of me
Made of an illusive material that seems to be mobile
A white, pearly substance that swirls before my eyes
It's intriguing and frightening all at once
I can hear the sweet voice of Mrs. Weasley in my ear
"Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous"
I should, should just jump right in
Like into a cold swimming pool
It's not as cold once you start doing things
I close my eyes and reach out to the door
Quickly push it open and step inside
I'm not sure what I see
A swirl of colors, red yellow blue
And others I've never seen before
I look back at the door I've come through
Hoping for a glimpse of the room I have left
But the door is gone
Yet the room is still there
For I haven't gone through a door
I've knocked down a wall

I Am

If you are a stranger asking what I do,

“Figure skating” is always my first answer for you

The ice rink’s a place I feel I belong

Wind on my face, a flying jump – I could go on

I love it for its graceful tricks

As well as friendships strong as bricks

For someone who loves such a flashy sport

One would expect, perhaps, a louder sort

But though I perform in many places

I’m not that loud in many cases

I don’t always get out all that I’m thinking

And many teachers tell me to be louder-speaking

But rather than talk, I’d read a book

Lose track of time, curled up in a nook

Or write in my journal, as I do many a night

Where, sometimes, a short story comes to light

Perhaps I’d like to write it in français

My favourite language, apart from l’anglais

It can be easier to write in a strange tongue

The words sound better, and it’s really much fun

For all my friends I really care

Despite the daily insults we share

When anyone complains of troubles with school

“I won’t let you fail,” I say to the fool

For I believe with some help and some trying

There’s no need for anyone’s grades to be dying

Sometimes I find myself thinking about life

Wondering what matters, if it’s worth the strife

I am sometimes confused by my own strange thoughts

Understanding myself ties my mind in knots

But I suppose, with growing, it’s something we learn

Understanding will come when it is my turn

With most of the world, conforming to individuality

I want to be unique, just like everyone else.

Warbler

“Can I have popcorn?” Jenny asked her brother, Mark.
“But you just had lunch!” he protested.
“I’m hungry again,” she retorted. Mark sighed and went to the cupboard. For a tiny six year old, Jenny could be so demanding! There were bits of popcorn still scattered on the couch and the windowsill from Jenny’s previous snack.
Mark went back into the living room to see what Jenny was up to while the popcorn heated in the microwave. He found her kneeling on the couch, staring out their large window.
“Mark! Come here!” Jenny yelled at the top of her lungs.
“Calm down, I’m right here!” Mark yelled back. Jenny raised an eyebrow at him, but quickly turned back to the window.
“Look!” she pointed at some indiscriminate point in the distance. Mark followed her finger. The sky was mostly clear, save for a few wispy clouds that floated lazily along. The trees in front of the house were beautiful, as usual. Some leaves waved slightly in the summer breeze. Mark had no idea what was making Jenny so excited, and told her so.
“There’s a birdy there!” Jenny said, exasperated at her obviously blind older brother. “It’s so pretty!”
Mark picked up a set of binoculars on the coffee table and squinted into the trees. A tiny blue bird stood on a thin branch several feet away. Mark wondered how in the world his sister had spotted it. It was mostly blue, but had a white belly and black streaks on its wings.
“I think that’s a cerulean warbler!” he exclaimed. “I researched them in school but haven’t ever seen one! You’re amazing, Jenny!”
Jenny smiled at her brother smugly. “Will you give me my popcorn now?” she said. The microwave had beeped a few moments ago. Mark rolled his eyes, but smiled.
When Mark returned to the couch, he found Jenny with her nose pressed against the glass.
“It moved closer,” she whispered.
The bird was standing right on the windowsill. It was nibbling on a small fragment of popcorn that had landed there.
Mark was speechless. All those days trying to set up a bird feeder with just the right foods to attract a warbler, and it had been his little sister’s popcorn litter that had finally done it!
“You’ve made a great discovery!” he finally said to his sister.
"What do you need to make a discovery?" asked Jenny, cocking her head to the side just like the bird outside the window, who gave a shrill chirp.
"Hard work, dedication, and..." Mark could hardly contain his joy "serendipity!"
"What’s serendipity?"
"It's like, your obsession with popcorn lead to discovering the bird... and the fact that they like to eat popcorn,” he replied. “Well done, kiddo!"
Jenny beamed at him as she put half a fistful of popcorn in her mouth, and dropped the remaining pieces onto the windowsill.