"Bah humbug," I murmured to myself as I passed a jolly Santa ho-ho-ho'ing away. I wasn't committed enough to say it louder. Christmas had always been my favorite holiday, but this year felt different. I was spending the holiday alone. Unable to get enough time off to go home and after a year of almost romance with my crush, Colin, I was zapped of cheer.
My mind lingered on him, even after the year of tag. We met at a New Years' party almost exactly a year prior. We immediately clicked, sharing the same sarcasm beneath twinkle lights. But then, it was a story of nearly. A skating date was foiled by him getting a cold; the St. Patrick's day met its demise from me getting the flu. The misses continued: work conflicted for a July beach date, Labor Day BBQ foiled by rain, Halloween party thwarted by him having a family emergency. It was at that point that I think we both decided to resign to our fate.
The small Christmas celebration I had planned for the evening had been pajamas and a turkey TV dinner. Even the plans without Colin were stymied when the lackluster meal didn't include cranberry sauce. It was enough to make me put on real pants and trudge to the Bodega on the corner.
I waited patiently in line with my tin of cranberry as the man behind the counter good-naturedly assisted a child count out his change for a chocolate bar.
"I'm sorry, kiddo; you're $0.25 short." The clerk frowned.
The kid immediately slumped. "But it's for my mom for Christmas."
"I'm sorry." As the clerk lifted his eyes to mine, I could see they were as sad as the kid's posture.
"Let me," I said to the clerk and handed him a dollar.
"Thanks!" The little boy's eyes grew wide with appreciation.
"Ho, ho, ho." I teased with a wink before he scurried out of the store.
"I don't remember Santa being so beautiful." A familiar voice came from behind me.
I turned to see Colin holding his own can of cranberry. I hadn't anticipated being a Santa, but it returned the gift I had wished for all year.
YOU ARE READING
Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories
Short StoryGot a minute? Want to have your mind flip between genres so fast you are left unsettled and confused? Excellent! Here's a book of shorts in no particular order; sorry, Melvil Dewey. Maturity Level: fade to black violence in The Seven Sisters & Heart...
