some of it's true

When I was small, Santa left all of my gifts unwrapped on Christmas morning. It was nothing short of extraordinary to walk into the living room to see my Lone Ranger or the Star Wars toys I scored one lucky year. A record player even sat under the tree once surrounded by Kenny Rogers and Beach Boys 45's. I'd never owned my own vinyl before that. All of the splendor leading up to that remarkable moment was impossible to contain the night before and made it difficult to sleep. Getting a solid eight doesn't seem that significant when you're a kid anyway.

Now I'm at the point in life that increasingly gets harder and harder. I've outgrown Santa presents, and I'm nowhere near old enough to be called an adult. The Sears Catalogue is still interesting to look at, but it's no longer the toy section that gets me revved up. When Mom isn't around, I immediately go to the lingerie, but I'm careful enough to keep one finger under another spot in case she pops in the room. I'm shocked she hasn't torn those pages out yet because they're obviously more worn than the rest of the book.

Don't even get me started on Vanna White. Watching her turn the letters is a dream for any boy my age. The best has to be The Price Is Right, but it's also the most uncomfortable to watch with my mother in the room. It gets extra awkward whenever the prize is a boat, and three or four women walk out in bikinis. My pocket knife comes in handy because I can always pretend to examine the blade instead of checking out the half-naked models. Mom insists they should put more clothes on, and all I can do is half-heartedly agree with her while trying to catch a peek before the commercial.

Being my age is nothing but complete agony, and being in middle school doesn't help. I don't see things getting better anytime soon. Most days, I can't even concentrate because my restless mind doesn't focus on anything but girls. Clouds used to form elephants and giraffes, and now it's primarily boobs and legs. All I ever hear adults talk about is how much they wish they were my age again. Grown-ups must be insane, but then again, I'd like to go back a few years myself so that I could concentrate on comics and green army men. All of these hormones are taking over, and it keeps my head buzzing so much it'll probably pop up off my shoulders.

The house is full on Christmas Eve night like it is every year. Since I'm caught somewhere in that in-between area of life, I'm stuck opening presents with the adults. There won't be a cool Darth Vader or Tonto waiting for me under the tree tomorrow, so I'll sleep in more than likely. I know I should be grateful for so many things. I have a home and a family that loves me even when I'm an idiot. It's not even about the toys, but more about the charm and how it wilted somewhere. The sensation is gone, but the precise moment it abandoned me is unclear. Losing Christmas isn't easy.

Our twenty-year-old couch, covered with a scratchy multi-colored checkered afghan, is crowded with whoever claimed a spot earlier. Mom is dressed in her fancy Holiday attire while I wear the new shirt she purchased a few days ago for the occasion. My brother Larry brought his girlfriend Shirley, and they squeezed in beside Mom and me. We all have to go to the bathroom, but no one wants to lose their seat, so everyone stays put. The sounds of paper ripping and soft music in the background fill the room. We're all sick from overeating at dinner, but that doesn't stop anyone from stealing from the generous pile of sweets.

Every so often, I'll throw in a comment or two during the grown-up conversations, but most will nod for the sake of nodding and have no idea what I said. My adolescent jokes rarely see a courtesy laugh, and when I do get a grin, it's for all of the wrong reasons. I can go over what I'm about to say in my mind a hundred times, and it still doesn't come out the way I want it to no matter how I try. Living in my body is like conducting an orchestra of blind musicians. Some sort of sound comes out, but it's never the melody I intended. My palms sweat furiously when I even think about chatting to females because I know the outcome will be identical.

No one talks much about it, but we all miss my father and sister. Mom's heart is especially heavy, and it's easy to see when I catch her sitting silently during the festivities. She often stares at nothing, but I never say anything because I know. They should both be here, and I'm sure I'll look back at the photos from today when I'm older and miss them all over again. If all of this death has taught me anything, it's to not take life for granted. None of it helps much, though, to regain my lost Christmas magic. Often I'll have to peek at a photo of Dad, so I can remember what he looks like, and my sister, Susan, is slowly withering away too. It hasn't even been that long since the wreck on Salem Road, but she slips from my memory regardless.

It feels like the closer I get to adulthood, the more terrifying it becomes. The uncertainty that goes along with the future, and seeing this big empty house overwhelm my mom, is a lot to handle. My biggest fear is that I'll let her down, and that is the last thing I'd ever want to do. How does a kid give enough to the one person that has given everything humanly conceivable? Shame takes over when I think about all of the silly arguments and all of the times I've ignored her advice. She never fails to repay my ignorance with love and understanding when I ask for her forgiveness. Some people don't believe in Jesus, but I see him when I look at Mom.

I guess I'm pleased with my new belt, the alarm clock, and Velcro wallet. These are the things I'll receive from now on, so I may as well suck it up. I'll always have the memories, and by the way, my uncle talks; it's what matters anyway. He and Mom can converse forever about how I've got it better than they ever did and how full of joy they were. They mean it too. I can tell when I see their faces light up. According to them, life happens fast, and it's riddled with tragedy, but the good times tend to surface to the top. I'm betting they know what they're talking about, so it does help. It's time for me to slip out of here and track down my old Six Million Dollar Man. I'm pretty sure I know where I tucked him away.

Kathleen is getting older but not old enough to call old. The Price Is Right has always been her claim to fame, but she didn't win back in 73' and now, in 78' she sits in Frank's Diner on Second Street. Some things seem like they happened yesterday, while others were surely two lifetimes ago. She fancies pretty dresses adorned with pink flowers and bows, but she's most comfortable in her worn bell-bottoms even though they're going out of style.

Donald is barely past his prime, but men tend to age well. His buddies all call him Donnie, even when he was the boss a few years back. Since they cut the ribbon, Frank's has been his early lunch break stop, at first because of the world's best coffee but now for another reason. Those worn hands have held many hammers, but not for several seasons now. You can still see the imperfection from the time the nail went all the way through. He was back to work the next day.

Kathleen takes her break at 10:30, and in the beginning, it was to avoid the crowd. Frank lets her sit in the corner booth by herself because he knows she'll be gone before the rush. Kathy brings along her worn copy of Reader's Digest every visit, but she never reads it. The magazine is only a prop, a part of the show. Sometimes she'll turn a page or two, but most words are impossible to read behind the world's best coffee stains covering the literature. She'll often spend time thinking about how her nature is to hide her own story. It's kind of like a self-imposed wound whose purpose is to conceal any beauty.

Donald brings his newspaper from home but rarely reads it at lunch. He saves the articles for bedtime because it helps him sleep most nights, but it doesn't always work. Most days, he'll catch himself daydreaming about running through the forest. He's never run a day in his life, but the thought of sprinting as quickly as he can through the woods and never losing his breath gives him peace. It's the sort of serenity we all accomplish in our fantasies, but it leaves us hollow when we wake up. Donnie's chest is like an auditorium filled with ghosts he isn't ready to let go of anytime soon. It's not as easy as you'd think. Apparitions linger longer than an old broken power drill we'd discard and replace.

Kathleen's tears cascade in reverse, washing down the inside of her cheeks, hidden from you and me. Houdini probably crafted her mask because all we're allowed to see is what Kathy is comfortable showing us. And it isn't much. She married the devil soon after her five minutes of fame. He spoke the perfect words and gave her the universe before confining her on a small island. The demon dictated every move and thought, and she did her best to comply. At sunset, he came home and rewarded her efforts with bruises and broken bones. She ran away to heal her body, but no distance ever repaired the destruction, picking and pinching and ripping inside her spirit.

Donald can hardly walk after the accident at work left him crippled perpetually. His broken back earned him enough money to get by, but currency is no better than a wet Band-Aid when it comes to repairing the true tragedy. His life is as charged as a brand new Duracell, but a battery is useless without something to power. Donnie has the impulse of a younger man but the body of an old-timer frittering away, waiting on fate. Memories of youth inspire most, but yesterday's photos leave Donald frustrated with the desire to live again. He'd love to climb a ladder to stand on a rooftop where he felt most at home.

Despair recognizes misery when it's hidden beneath a bed of roses like a trained eye senses the body under the lawn of a serial killer. Don caught Kat's eye the day she strolled into Frank's for the world's best coffee. She spent the first day spying on him, the second feeling his emotion, and every day since loving the man, she'd never approach. Kat knows why he brings the paper but never opens it and why he hardly drinks a drop from his mug. Sometimes, he'll order a muffin on Wednesday, and Kat knows if Don will add butter or eat it plain before he even decides. Like anyone else, she can see the physical torment in his face when he stands. Like no other, she discloses the overwhelming sorrow that haunts him.

Love burst through the diner door for Don the first time Kat walked in and had a seat. Her confidence fooled everyone, even Benny, who sits on a barstool every Friday complaining about his marriage. The masquerade failed within moments when Don took a more intimate gaze because he knows tragedy like the back of his scarred hand. Whenever he'd catch Kat scrolling the greasy menu, he knew it was because she felt the need to hide. Sometimes she'd drink a second cup with two lumps of sugar instead of one like the first round. "If we could only sweeten life as easily," he would contemplate as she stirred. He imagines she finds comfort in at least having control over her coffee.

The two meet six days a week, right on time on Second Street. Sundays must be unbearable for both of them. Then again, the separation undoubtedly intensifies the magnificence of the daily encounters. They've never shared a hello or a goodbye, but what they do share is something Benny has clearly never experienced. The comfort of being close to a person who understands and ensures you aren't alone is a gift many never find. Kat and Don depend on one another, and they never break the plans they never made together. Unfortunately, that's more than most obtain when they compromise.

Kat and Don's eyes have met a time or two, and it's enough when you aren't ready for anything more. Perhaps the world's best coffee isn't as great as the sign may suggest, but it gave our two misfits an excuse to find each other. Thirty minutes, six days a week turns into one hundred and fifty-six hours a year that these two forget and feel complete. If Benny gave that much time to his wife, he wouldn't plan on leaving her. Maybe the passion between Kat and Don is indeed unique, and it's doubtful it'll ever move any further than Second Street. Sometimes that kind of love is enough—a love that demands attention from across the room and is admired forever from a distance.

My house has two warm rooms, the living room, and the kitchen. Those enormous wood stoves certainly do the trick, and the sound of the wood crackling never gets old. It's about thirty minutes before bedtime, and I need to make sure I'm prepared to drift away quickly. It's a big night with Santa making a stop, so I have to do everything right. I've spent all year being a good boy, so I sure don't want to cause a ruckus at the last minute.

Opening the door leading to the foyer, I make a frantic dash zipping around the steps bursting through my bedroom door to flip the switch on my electric blanket. A tiny light appears to let me know it's working while I watch my frozen breath for a second before returning to the warmth of the living room. You're either too hot or too cold in an old house, and there is no in-between. Too long in the kitchen and sweat beads up on my forehead, but one step in the next room, and I'm ready for a heavy coat.

On school mornings, I'd abandon the luxury of my blanket and race to the bathroom to plop down on the floor. Our electric space heater was my only hope of survival. A red glow would gradually take over the coils while one-half of my body defrosted. Once I couldn't take it anymore, I'd switch sides and repeat before jumping into a hot shower. By the time I got out, the modest area was full of steam and warm enough to dry off and get dressed. It was my ritual, and I had it down to an art.

School should be the last thing on my mind because tomorrow is a momentous day, and I must remain centered. With fifteen minutes to kill, I crack open the worn copy of our Sears catalog and turn to the pages I delicately marked weeks ago. Instantly, my eyes are cemented to the Lone Ranger and Silver, his steed. I secretly wanted Tonto and Scout too, but each toy was almost ten dollars, and I do not want Santa to think I'm selfish. Grabbing a handful of silver tinsel icicles from the Christmas tree, I tossed them onto the television screen and watched them pop and bounce around when I touched them for a tiny shock.

Mom, in her robe, snuck up on me and said, "Christopher, get that stuff off of the tv and get to bed if you want Santa Clause to make a stop." It's all she had to say; I immediately followed her directions, told her I loved her, then scurried off. When decorating the television set, I overheard the newsman say the Air Force spotted Kris Kringle entering the USA. A friend of mine had the nerve to inform me that Santa isn't real on the last day of class before Christmas break. It'll be fun to tell him he's incorrect because the military has evidence.

Hardly anything is more satisfying than slipping into a heated blanket at bedtime. After pulling the covers over my head, I'd lay there until the last bit of chill left my nostrils. My nose is always the final thing to heat up and the first thing to freeze. Then I slip off my socks to enjoy the feeling of my bare feet cradled in pure coziness. Now that I'm officially safe from hypothermia, I can finally rest and dream about the joy I'll find under the evergreen in a few hours.

Of course, the desire to fall asleep and falling asleep on Christmas Eve are two separate matters. My imagination ran wild as I envisioned Saint Nick tiptoeing around and emptying his bag beneath our tree. "How is it even possible to visit every single house in the world in one night?" I thought to myself. He is mystical, so my best guess is that he suspends time and fulfills everyone's wishes in the blink of an eye. To him, it takes about three days which is much more reasonable, but for us mortals, it all happens while we slumber. I smile as I am sure I've discovered Santa's great mystery, but I'll keep this info to myself because I'd never want it to fall into evil hands.

Gosh, the night before Christmas has got to be the longest evening of the entire year. Although I'm not sure, so I'll try to look that up sometime in our World Book Encyclopedias. If you know the alphabet, you can find anything in those books. It probably has something to do with the big guy pausing time all night long. If that's the case, I doubt I'll have much luck researching, but I'll take a look anyway.

After hours of pondering questions like, "I wonder if he brushes his teeth after milk and cookies every time?" I can finally see daybreak. Full of adrenalin, I slip my socks back on and turn my blanket off. The moment I have waited for all year is finally here, and I can hardly contain myself. The bitterness doesn't phase me as I walk through the freezing foyer. Mom and Dad are awake; I hear the television, and all I have to do is wander straight into utter bliss. Before another step, I shut my eyes to thank God for the most incredible home a kid could ask for, and I close my prayer with, "Happy Birthday Jesus."

The door creeks as I lean into it just enough to see my parents relaxing on the couch, urging me to explore. Before Santa Clause moves on to the next family, he never forgets to leave a little magic behind. I know because I can sense the awe erupting within my chest. The enchantment of this extraordinary celebration propels me toward our spruce to expose all of the wonders a child could manage. It was as though some great power raised the toys from our catalog and meticulously placed them where they belonged. All that's left to do is to ride off into the sunset. Hi-Yo, Silver, and away!

Dad was one of a kind, and no one can argue that because it's a fact. If I'm being honest, I suppose we all are unique but maybe what I'm attempting to say is that our actions reflect how folks remember us. If you didn't know my Dad, Hank, well, you'd probably think he was crazy, and many did. My father's story is extraordinary, with a sprinkle of insanity thrown in, I guess. He loved people, he loved Christmas, and he especially loved my mother. Maybe it's not about who or what we love, but how strongly we love life.

Most days, he'd come home from working long shifts at Trane, where he was proud to say he played a hand in making America's best air conditioners. Dad would tell you that Mom wasn't much of a cook, so he'd heat up a couple of TV dinners for the both of them. He loved those Salisbury steaks and mashed potatoes. They'd watch Dallas and constantly debate over who shot J.R. Many nights; they'd stay up late and tune in to their favorite, Carson. He'd often let the phone ring and ring because no one was allowed to interrupt those special evenings they'd listen to old Sinatra albums and dance in the middle of the living room.

In December, Dad came home with some exceptional news to share with Mom after his important appointment.
"Evie! Just wait until you read this letter," he told my mother.

"The words on this paper change everything. I don't want to be greedy, though, you know what I mean?" Evie shook her head and waited for him to continue.

"I believe it's time for me to quit work and do a few things I should have done a long time ago. Christmas is coming up, and I'm sure you know what I'm getting at. Life is just too darn short, and we are blessed, so I think this is an opportunity to spread some Christmas joy. Not having the time or money has always been the excuse, but now we don't have to worry about those things, Evie! What do you think?" The two of them spoke for hours and into the night.

You can imagine how surprised I was to see Dad at my door early the next day on Saturday. He handed me the letter, and we cried over the good news. He and mom came up with quite a to-do list, and in his words, "It's all code red, so let's get to work." Dad explained that Mom realized he had to do this alone, so she stayed home. Then I was ordered to break my plans for the weekend and assist him on the grand adventure. So I did.

Our first stop of all places was the party supply store. My father purchased the 'best Santa suit money could buy.' At least that's what the sales assistant told him. I think the old guy ended up spending about forty bucks on it, but it's the best one they had to offer. He came out of the dressing room with the fake beard swinging a solid inch from his chin. The hat was too large for his head, and his belt was clearly stitched into the cheap costume.

"How does Santa look?" My father asked.

"Santa looks spectacular," I told him and meant it.

"Alright! Let's get a move on; it's already after ten, and we have a lot to do, son."

On the way to our next location, Dad told me a story, "I don't remember much about elementary school except for a girl named Regina. She wore these thick Coke-bottle glasses and had a reputation for hugging the daylight out of everyone if she caught you on the playground. Like every other kid, my daily mission was to outrun 'Regina the retard,' because no one wanted to catch whatever it was she had. We were dumb, and I want to fix it."

"Um, Dad, how are you going to fix it?" I asked as politely as I could.

"I'm going to give her a hug, son, for Christmas."

"Dad, Regina probably doesn't even live in the same house anymore. Besides, how's it going to look when a strange Santa shows up trying to hug someone he hasn't seen in sixty years?

"I'll do the worrying, and you do the driving. That's the deal," he mumbled before telling me where to turn.

Dad told me to wait in the car, but I followed behind him anyway in case I needed to save his life or something. He pulled up his britches and knocked on the door. We heard cartoons on the television inside as we waited. A woman about my fathers' age answered and seemed a bit surprised.

"Can I help you?" she asked with the door half-open.

"I'm here to see Regina. Ask her if she remembers Hank from the playground."

"Well, Hank, that could be a problem because my sister passed away more than ten years ago."

Dad told her the story, and she mentioned how Regina did indeed like to hug the daylight out of folks. Once the lovely woman warmed up to us, she invited Santa and me in to sit a spell. They spent about an hour talking about his friend from long ago and how cruel kids can be. Regina's sister spoke on and on about how she was known all over for embracing perfect strangers. Many came to know her as an angel on earth in the neighborhood because of her kind heart.

"Well, Santa Hank, I'm not Regina, but I would like to hug you for my sister.

Dad wrapped his arms around the stranger and softly stated, "I'm sorry for all of the mean things I said, Regina."

"Hank, there is nothing to forgive. If there's one thing about Gina, she never held a grudge. She loved everybody. You two have a good day now. I have to tend to the grandkids."

We left after I hugged her myself and thanked her. Santa Hank taught me that it is never too late to tell someone you're sorry. The stupid things he did as a kid haunted him, and he was finally free of that 'demon,' as he called it. It's funny, but my father's face appeared to lose a few wrinkles after the encounter that morning. After taking a few moments to digest what had happened, he told me time was wasting and encouraged me to keep driving.

We stopped for lunch at a small diner downtown. Dad was probably the only person who kept them in business. He ate there or picked up food on the way home almost every day and insisted they served the best meatloaf in the state of Tennessee. I'd tried it myself once and considered it too bland for my taste, but he swore on it. The sweet tea was pleasant, though. We struck up a conversation.

"You know why I enjoy this place so much, little man?"

"Dad, I'll be forty-one next month."

"The food is pretty terrible, but it was delightful before Joann's husband died back in 74' I think it was. She's been struggling to keep the place afloat since then."

"So you were friends with her husband?"

"Nah, he was an asshole, but I owed it to Joann. You see, she asked me to dance with her at our homecoming, and I said no. It wouldn't have killed me to give her one song, but I was shy and concerned about what everyone would think. I'm here today to ask her to dance. Don't you worry, I've worked it out with your mother, and she understands."

I sat there and watched that small barren diner become a high school dance floor. Santa Hank slid a quarter into the jukebox and played Earth Angel. I'd like to think he chose that tune for Regina as well as Joann. I'm not sure how the old man did it, but within moments he was dancing with the girl he'd turned down years ago. Her greasy apron hung over one of the bar stools while they whirled around and left the world behind. Mom wasn't with us that day, but I knew she would have approved.

My father and I spent the rest of the day and Sunday correcting as many wrongs as possible. He had me drive fifty miles to repay an old debt to a gentleman he hadn't heard from in twenty years. Santa Hank gave the man a ten and said, "That's the five I owed you with interest. Merry Christmas." We stopped and spoke to an army buddy he'd fought in the war with who supposedly saved Dad's life one time. All I know is the guy seemed down in the dumps before my father wrote a check. Later, Dad told me that he could do whatever he wanted with his savings.

So today, I don't feel like I'm speaking at my dad's funeral. Instead, we are celebrating his deep love of life. He'd tell you that he didn't always feel that way, but circumstances changed his heart. Maybe it was the war, or perhaps it was guilt eating away at his soul. Whether or not you believe he was missing a few screws isn't the point. My mother passed a year before he did, but her essence was alive and well in his heart. He may have been dancing alone in the living room and watching Carson by himself, but I believe she never left him. The good news he bragged about to Mom's ghost while he stared at her photo would have been tragic for anyone but Dad. Finding out his days were numbered from the doc that afternoon only meant he'd see his Evie soon.

The final Christmas he spent with my family is one I'll never forget. It's because he brought Mom along one more time, and we got to spend the day together. It doesn't matter what anyone says because I saw her too with my own eyes through Dad's, and she was as beautiful as ever. I know it's January, but Santa Hank wanted to make sure I wished y'all a Merry Christmas.

The truth is, in the end, Kelly chose the man she loved. It's that simple.

Cans bounced around, smacking the pavement behind my bright red pickup truck. Kelly and I drove into Gatlinburg with "JUST MARRIED" painted on the back windshield and along the sides of my brand new 91' Sonoma. Shiny gold rings on each of our hands completed the perfect honeymoon portrait. We were barely in our twenties, and everything was falling into its place. The both of us were together at last.

Cars buzzed by and honked while fellow vacationers yelled, "Congratulations." We both waved back and thanked everyone as we made our way up the mountain road. If I had to guess, romance was probably born in places high up like the Smokies or on sandy beaches. We'd saved up enough money for a five-star hotel the first day, but the final two would be spent in a simple cabin at the KOA Campground in Cherokee, North Carolina...

I'm relatively confident God gives each of us the ability to love more than one person. Those feelings aren't like the numbers on a calculator that we can delete and start over. It's more like a beautiful painting we hide away in the attic because there's no room left on the wall. It's still around, it's still breathtaking, but it's out of sight and ignored except for the reverberations of joy that endure.

Yesterday I was five years old, running from Margret on the playground in kindergarten at Cumberland Heights. Now I've graduated from high school, and I'm trying to figure out how to keep my life from becoming a waste. Restaurant work isn't something I want to make a career of, and I know that. It's hard to let go of, though, because it's been one of the few consistent ingredients in my existence. Well, restaurant and my feelings for a particular blonde-headed girl.

Our first and only date came and went quickly my junior year at MCHS. I've long forgotten the name of the movie we sat halfway through that Friday night, but some memories will stick with me until the day I die. I'm not even sure if the moon was full that evening or if the glow was from her smile when she looked up at me. I felt like I towered over Kelly in her little denim skirt while we stood against the Cutlass.

The view of the Cumberland River and the stars above failed miserably, attempting to capture my attention while that girl was in my arms. The ideal mixtape played just loud enough to cover the gentle hum of the car motor. Bon Jovi set the mood while we carelessly swayed, fitting together like two perfectly tiny puzzle pieces. We kissed, we talked, and then we kissed a bit more. None of our responsibilities, fears, or regrets mattered outside on that hill beneath the April sky in 1988.

Kelly never broke up with me because we were never officially a couple. She never wore my class ring or my jacket around campus to signify I was her boyfriend. Maybe I didn't act quickly enough or maybe what I had to offer wasn't what she desired. Within a few days of our first date, her best friend Jennifer, who worked with me, told me that Kelly had started dating another guy, and it was intense. Her news broke my heart that afternoon. I'm unsure of how many days I went without eating, but I can say that I never got over her.

That summer vacation was interesting. The moments I spent with my friends and the dates I went on did me some good. It was the first time I'd felt grown, I guess. Lynette the brunette and I sat in the back row during Young Guns and made out, and I stole a kiss from a pretty platinum blonde named Carol after meeting her at a summer picnic. I couldn't stop listening to Red Red Wine by UB40. My friends and I still managed to find time to strike out all season, cruising up and down Riverside, and they were the best times. My senior year was off to a terrific start, but Kelly never left my thoughts.

My friendship with Jennifer grew over the course of our first semester. By the time late fall hit, we were an official couple and spent every minute of each day together. Of course, this meant Kelly would also be in my life, and I was okay with that. Her tagging along when I'd take my girlfriend home after school wasn't even awkward. We'd cram in the front seat of the Cutlass I finally purchased from my brother and blast Ton Loc through the speakers. Jennifer and Kelly were two of my favorite people, and life was good.

After sliding a quarter into Rampage at the arcade one evening, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Kelly's boyfriend wanted to talk. He could have at least waited until after I finished knocking down all of the buildings before he broke my concentration.

"Oh, hey Lee," I said with a grin.

"Hey Chris, I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between the two of us. I know you went out with Kelly before I started dating her, and I want to make sure we're good."

"That's ancient history, man. I'm with Jennifer now, and none of that even matters anymore."

"That's great. I figured you were probably over it all by now. It's been months, and I know you've moved on. We should all go on a double date sometime when you're free."

My stomach knotted up, and I did all I could do to smile and push out, "That's cool, buddy, we'll figure something out soon."

He walked away from the conversation, and I sat there, misplaced for a few minutes before I headed out to my car. Surprisingly some lost feelings resurfaced and caught me off guard. Time with Kelly and her guy is not an experience I want to knock off my bucket list anytime soon. Don't get me wrong, he seems nice enough, and I don't despise him or anything. No, I don't hate him, but the big problem here is that I wish I were him. Oh boy.

After the ridiculous Rampage predicament, I calmed down, and things were back to normal in my heart. Kelly's love life managed to hit a few ups and downs. She broke up with Lee, which meant she was hanging with Jennifer and me more than ever. I wasn't happy the two of them broke it off. It was, however, comforting to know the dreaded double date was off the table.

1989 snuck up on us quickly, and the three of us decided to drive up to Paoli, Indiana, for a ski trip on January sixteenth with friends from work. We stopped to eat in French Lick, and it wasn't hard to tell that's Larry Bird's hometown. They probably had twenty photos of him in the diner where we ate for breakfast. I recall sitting there with those two far from home and thinking I was a lucky guy to have friends I adore. We headed to the slopes after our meal and enjoyed the day together. Even when I wasn't Kelly's boyfriend, she was always there.

It had been over a year since my first and the last date with Kelly. I can remember fantasizing about taking her to prom back in 88,' but it never happened. I passed on a few opportunities to even go that year because the pain was too much, and no girl I had a shot with compared to the one who got away. It turns out we ended up going together my senior year. Well, kind of anyway. Jennifer was my date, and Kelly brought some guy I'd never met. Kelly introduced us, but his name went in one ear and out the other.

We all met at Jennifer's house for pictures before prom. Both of the ladies were gorgeous; I felt lucky to at least be in the same room with them. The story that led me to that moment took plenty of twists and turns. For a few brief seconds, I allowed my mind to drift, taking me to an alternate universe where I was Kelly's date instead of what's-his-name. A pink bow tie would have looked good on me, especially with Kelly hanging from my arm. On May sixth, I traveled back to my reality and escorted my girlfriend of six months to my final high school dance.

Jennifer and I broke up not long after prom. I went through the typical month-long ordeal of feeling sorry for myself and swearing off relationships for good. She ended up getting engaged to a guy I work with, and that was that. They're getting married today, and I opted out of going to the wedding. Working with the two of them is awkward enough, so I'll be skipping the event. You'll never guess who popped back into my head. It's too bad she got back with Lee, but it's what she wants, so I'll survive.

I've been through a lot since graduation. We moved from the house I grew up in, and not a day goes by where I don't miss it. The song Captain Jack continuously reminds me that I should move out soon anyway, so I've been saving up. At least we have air conditioning now, so that is a plus. My buddy Mike moved off to Knoxville for college, but most of my pals are still around, so there is never a shortage of stuff to do.

Well, too much reminiscing can get to a man, so I guess I'll head on out for some racquetball. I'll give my friend Brett a call to see if he's free. As I reach for the phone, "RING." Crap! That scared me. I hope this isn't one of my mom's friends who'll keep her on the line for an hour.

"Hello," I say, ready to let Mom know she has a phone call.

"Chris, this is Kelly," is the sweetest sound I've heard in a long, long time. After a short pause waiting on my heart to start beating again, I respond, and the next chapter begins.

Life can be jam-packed full of second chances. Sometimes we have to orchestrate our own melodies, and occasionally, the day plays an unplanned piece so sweet we're not even sure if we are supposed to hear it. Welcome the tragic tunes and the victorious versus all the same because seasons are short, so we'd better listen close while we can.

"Chris, I told you the car needs work, and it's not safe enough for you to drive. It died on me three times on the way to Montgomery Ward," Mom said for the final time, again.

"Mom, I need to borrow it today; it'll be fine. If it dies on me, I'll just restart it," I begged.

She countered with, "It's not going to happen, and if you keep asking, I'll never let you borrow it again.

"Mom, please! You don't understand. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Leave me alone, Christopher! Maybe you can use your brother's car. He'll leave it with me today, so I'll have something to drive until mine gets fixed. I'll ask him before you get home."

Well, that never dawned on me at all. My brother, Larry, loves his ride. There's no way he's going to let me use it after school today. It's a sweet, bright white 85' Cutlass that I've admired since the first day he showed it off. Kelly would flip out if I picked her up in it. I'm not even sure if I am worthy enough to sit in the driver's seat of something that special. She's deserving, though, and maybe I'll come home to some good news.

Lucky me, this has to be the longest ride home ever. As soon as the bus was ready to leave MCHS, some kid in the back barfed, and it flowed as far as my seat before it stopped. He got to enjoy his fruit cocktail cup twice today, good for him. Who knows what the pink stuff is that the driver sprinkles on top. It smells almost as bad as the vomit. Between that and Todd's little brother asking me to join his birdwatching club, I've had about enough. I've had a little time to reflect on the day in between the excitement.

It made me feel pretty spectacular when Kelly's best friend, Jennifer, told me that her homeslice was excited to see me after school. The nagging feeling of my brother possibly saying no has been eating at me since first period. Telling Kelly, we may have to cancel wasn't an option because I at least want to project the illusion that I have everything together. So much for being in control of my fate. All I can do now is pray that things work out in my favor.

The giant yellow bus swings around our barn to reveal the stunning automobile I desperately hope to pilot. Everything feels like slow motion as I make my exit and walk toward the impeccable machine resting in front of our house. Gently placing my hand on the trunk, I let my fingers glide over the paint as I circle to the hood. Peering through the windshield, I imagine myself in control of this masterpiece.

"Chris!" blares through the screen door and snaps me from my daze. My stomach feels sick as I march toward the front entrance into the unknown. The smell of the pink stuff still lingers in my nostrils, and that isn't helping at all. One of two things is about to happen; I'll call my friend to cancel our encounter, or I'll pull up in her driveway in Larry's brilliant white beauty. Why do I feel like my life is over?

Tracy Chapman's, Fast Car plays on the radio, drowning any outside noise leaving me solely with my thoughts. The steering wheel of my brother's 1985 Cutlass feels right at home in my hands as I cruise down Salem road. If my smile were any bigger, it would have to sit in the backseat to make room for Kelly. Man, this day has certainly turned around, and I will not let it go to waste. My actual assignment isn't writing the play at all; it's asking her out on a date. My confidence level is through the roof, so this should be a cakewalk.

"Oh boy, I just want to turn around and go home," I said to myself as my spirit took a nose dive turning into her driveway. She's probably going to say no, so I should save face and treat her like she's Miller or something. I'll picture his head on her shoulders and maybe survive the whole trip without sounding like an idiot. Kelly comes strutting out and jumps in the front seat before I get the chance to walk to her door.

"Too bad Miller can't be here, huh?" Kelly expressed.

"Miller? Who?" I mumbled as the reality of her sitting in my front seat smacked me in the face like that softball the time the sun got in my eyes. "Yeah, it's um too bad he couldn't tag along," is all I could think to say after hearing her sweet voice glide along through the air. The scent of her perfume overtook any leftover odor from the pink stuff and sent my senses into a fabulous frenzy of joy.

"Chris!"

"Yeah!?" I shook my head and blurted as if someone rubbed smelling salt on my nose.

"We should probably leave before it's time to be back, don't ya think?"

I wholeheartedly agreed, put the car in reverse, and pulled out into the road. Maybe it's a self-esteem issue, but I never once pictured myself in a situation like this. A guy can spend his entire life thinking and dreaming of this very moment, but it always seems so out of reach. Well, until it finally happens. We're talking and joking like we do every day in speech and drama class in no time at all. It feels right.

"I love this car. Who's is it?"

"It's my brothers. I can't believe he let me borrow it." The one I drove yesterday finally gave out, and I'm glad it did because this is an improvement."

"I'd say so. It's nice, but the adventure was fun yesterday, not knowing if we'd stall in the middle of traffic. You kept me guessing for sure."

"Welp, I'm known all over Tennessee as an adventuresome man of mystery, you know," escapes my lips as I push up my glasses while realizing how lame that sounded.

"That was lame," Kelly snickers.

We go through the trouble of renting the library conference room at APSU for the second night and have a seat directly across from each other. Kelly asks where we should start, and I tell her that I have a confession to make. Honesty is always the best policy, and she should hear the truth.

"What is it, Chris? You're not an adventuresome man of mystery?"

"No, that's true, but there's something else, Kelly." Pulling out my folder, I place a finished script in front of her. "I stayed up late last night completing this so we could just hang out today. Being around you is remarkable, and I never feel like we have enough time, so I wanted to make some for us. Look, if this sounds creepy, I get it, so I don't blame you if you want me to take you home. I lied about only being available today because I wanted to be alone with you. I figured Miller would be okay with it, so yeah, that's everything," Exhaling, I wait on her reply.

"I know."

"You know? You know what?"

"Monday, you told me your schedule for the week, and I know you don't have to be at work until Saturday. I went along with it because I was hoping we could hang out together without any interruptions. I think you're sweet."

"Will you go on a date with me Friday?" Wow! did I just say that out loud! She's going to say no. I've pushed my luck way too far, and it'll be over before it starts. I can feel it."

"I would, Chris, but Miller asked me already at school today.

"Oh."

"I'm kidding; I'd love to go out with you. We don't even have to bring Miller along."

I fought the urge to tell her that I fell for her over a year ago. Who knows if it's love or not. I guess I'm not even sure what that means. It's best to let some things slip through the cracks of history. One shot at this may be all I have, so I'm sure not going to turn it into some complex mess. The only thing I'm one hundred percent positive of is that she said yes, so I'll enjoy that for now.

Kelly and I spent the rest of the evening discussing how complicated life can be and how uncertain the future is at our age. All of our differences surfaced along with anything we had in common. It's probably the most I'll ever learn in a library. Her laughter and the look in her eyes when she tells her own funny story will surely stick with me forever. When I dropped her off at her house that evening, we walked to her front door together. Our first kiss taunted the both of us, but we settled for a hug knowing Friday wasn't far away.

It's a good thing I excel in speech and drama; otherwise, I'd be screwed in Mrs. Todd's class this year. Kelly is by far the biggest distraction in my life right now, without a doubt. I called her at least three times over the summer and hung up as soon as she said hello. Thankfully fate gave me an hour each day right next to her in class. We've spent the entire time bonding while our teacher became nothing more than background noise. It's worth trading my A+ for an A- as long as I get a date by year's end.

It looks like Mrs. Todd has an announcement to make, "Alright, class, I'm going to assign you to groups of three. You will have two weeks to write a one-act play. I'll choose the best one, and we'll perform it in front of the school. You'll have plenty of time to work on it most days in class, so two weeks should be ample." There is a stellar chance this is not good news for me and my pending relationship. No way is she going to put Kelly and me in the same group.

After separating about half of us into teams, she finally says my name. On my trip to the front of the class to await my fate, I can't help but think of how my instructor will ruin my life. My progress, destined to fall apart if she doesn't match us up. Maybe I can will her to call Kelly's name with my mind. It's worth a shot, "Kelly, call Kelly! Mrs. Todd, call Kelly's name," is my thought that will hopefully make it to her brain somehow. Oh gosh, here she goes; my fingers crossed, and she says, "Miller." "Seriously! Miller? He is not who I sit at my desk thinking about all day. He doesn't make me dizzy, nor does he give me that 'Christmas morning' feeling in my stomach," I think to myself. The teacher speaks again, "and Kelly." Yes!

It took me a solid twenty minutes to get over my excitement, but my bliss didn't prevent me from coming up with a strategy. In all honesty, I could have knocked out a decent one-act play in a night by myself, but I convinced my group of three we should meet after school to work on the task. We planned on me picking them both up on Tuesday to rent a conference room at APSU. It would give me more time with Kelly and hopefully a chance to seal the deal on that date I desperately wanted. Thanks to my quick thinking, blinding sparks will fly, and our love will ignite the darkest Tennessee sky.

"Mom, I have to borrow the car. It's a mandatory assignment, and if I don't, then I could fail," she reluctantly rewarded me with the keys after my plea. Okay, so I didn't entirely tell the truth, but I didn't lie either. Her car is an ugly mammoth tank that enjoys stalling in the middle of traffic. I'd rather walk or ride my bike in most cases, but the brown beast is my only hope in this scenario. Sometimes a guy has to make a decision, and I'm determined to do whatever it takes.

Miller is practically my neighbor, so I have to pick him up first. It would look a little suspicious if I went to Kelly's house and then circled back for him. I'd have to think of something clever to get him in the back seat instead of shotgun. Before he could even open the door all the way, I said, "Hey buddy, it might be polite to let Kelly sit up front since she's a girl." He informed me that he tends to get car sick if he rides in the back and sits beside me. It wasn't the best excuse, but it's all I had, and it failed miserably. On the way to our next stop, he insisted on me taking him home by six for dinner, or his parents would get mad. That only gives me a couple of hours with Kelly at most. He's been in the car for one minute, and I already want to leave him on the side of the road.

As soon as I pull up, Kelly comes busting out; she hops in the back, and we head out on our adventure. Whenever I look up into my rearview mirror, her reflection catches my eye and puts me in some weird trance. "Dude, watch the road," Miller says with a bit of dread. We turned on Riverside Drive, and the car died, so I had to coast to the turning lane. It's a pretty good workout with no power steering, but I managed. We sat there for a second before I restarted it and merged back into traffic. My anxiety would have been manageable if Miller hadn't flipped out. More than anything, it's embarrassing because I'm doing my best to make a good impression on Kelly. After catching her giggling in the mirror, it made me feel better. There is no sign of panic in her eyes, so I should be good.

After acquiring our room, we worked on the script for ten minutes before more interesting topics took over the conversation. Knowing Miller had to be home by six, I suggested grabbing a Blizzard at Dairy Queen afterward. Kelly perked up and agreed that was a great idea. Miller told me he'd like that too but reminded me that he had to be on time for dinner. "Darn, Miller, I totally forgot about that. Well, crap, it looks like it'll just have to be me and you, Kelly. I'll take him home, and we'll come back to town for ice cream," I said, trying not to look overly excited.

We began discussing the play again, and Miller excused himself and went to the bathroom. A few minutes alone with Kelly is all I ever wanted, and now I have it for the first time. She has no clue that she seized my heart more than a year ago when I caught her beaming over one of my stupid jokes. It was a combination of laughter and sympathy because it wasn't funny at all. The situation was less about her reaction and more about having her full attention, even for a few seconds. There was no hope after that; she had me, and I fell hard. Hopefully, our unofficial date tonight will turn into an official date very soon.

Miller shuffled back into our private room and insisted he had great news. "Don't keep us in suspense; what's up?" I asked after being ripped from my deep conversation with the girl of my dreams. "I called my parents, and they said I could stay out until seven, so I can go to DQ with you guys after all," Miller said with great enthusiasm. My friend raised his hand for a high five from both of us. The fake smile I summoned was only to hide the feeling of disastrous disappointment. He has once again unknowingly thwarted my plan to sweep Kelly off her feet and drive off into the sunset in the brown beast. After concluding fate may not be on my side, after all, I decided to suck it up because Miller is my friend, and I'd never dream of hurting his feelings.

We left Dairy Queen and headed toward Kelly's home as the evening came to an end. I was determined to make my own destiny today because some things in life are worth the extra effort. The first date with Kelly isn't going to materialize by itself, so I have to take charge with another plan. My schedule is open all week, and if it weren't, I'd cancel whatever I had to if it meant another day with Kelly. Even if Miller had to tag along, it would be worth a few more moments with her. We're only a couple of minutes from the stop, so I'd have to make my move quickly.

I spoke up as we turned on to her road, "We should do this again this week; what works best for you two?"

"I'm good anytime," Kelly says from the backseat.

Miller jumps in, "I have tennis practice every day but Friday, so that's best for me."

My genius idea, "Aww man! The only day I'm available is tomorrow." That sucks, Miller. I guess Kelly and me will have to go without you. I don't mind pulling a little extra weight on the project so you can go to practice; I mean, what are friends for, right?"

They both agreed it was a good idea before Kelly hopped from the car and strolled inside. Miller talked about tennis the whole way back to his house. At least, I believe that's what he was rambling on about during the drive. I dropped Miller off and headed back to Mellon Road with a heart full of hope. Tomorrow is another day, and it looks promising. About the time I parked Mom's car Whitesnake came on the radio. Is This Love packed my chest with optimism while I looked up at my special moon from the front seat of the big brown beast.

Mrs. Phillips recognizes we aren't completing any work today, so she rolls the projector in to keep us engaged. Movie time never occurs in her class, so we all know there is a genuine chance we'll be going home early. The lights go out, and the gentle hum from the machine follows the click of the on/off switch. The film works its way through the maze, gaining steam until our movie appears like magic on the brick wall.

Word on the street is that there is an enormous snowstorm spiraling into Montgomery county. All of the students are delighted in anticipation of Mrs. Gaither saying the welcomed words over the intercom. The Love Bug may be fine entertainment, but almost everyone's attention is on the window. Each kid in the room wants to be the first to shout out snow when the flakes begin to make their way to earth.

No one has made a sighting, but we immediately notice bright yellow school busses stretching through the parking lot. The familiar pop from the loudspeaker signals an urgent message, "Teachers, please dismiss your students at this time." You'd of thought we were experiencing a home team touchdown by the cheers bursting throughout Cumberland Heights. Everyone lines up and heads to the front door, thrilled to leave three hours early.

I'm optimistic we'll get a good dose of the white wet stuff, but others on the bus insist it'll never happen, and we'll be back at it tomorrow. If the forecast is correct, a guaranteed three days off is in our future because today is already Thursday. God tends to get my most sincere prayers under these types of circumstances. Each time the door opens to let an eager child bust through, the polar gust attacks to ensure my prayers do not go unnoticed.

Finally, I'm home and ready for a bit of rest and relaxation. Mom has other plans for my early arrival as she points out the empty wood boxes inside and tells me I'm the perfect candidate to fill them up. Outdoor, we have a mountain of lumber up against the house covered with a tarp. We transfer it inside whenever the crates get empty. It's not how I had planned to spend my mini-vacation, but if we want to stay warm, I'd better get to work.

Once I finish the job, I take a moment to admire my significantly overstacked accomplishment. The containers aren't full unless the wood reaches the ceiling. This particular technique guarantees more free time in between chores. My mother invites me into the cozy kitchen for a hot bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese prepared with love. A string of gooey Velveeta stretches from my toasted bread to the thick red concoction when I tear some off to give it a dunk. Suddenly, my favorite weatherman, Bill Hall, delivers an unwelcome word.

It looks like the naysayers on the bus could have been correct. Bill just told me the storm would barely miss middle Tennessee, but we aren't in the clear. He's a good man because he always gives me hope. A chance is all I need to keep the dream alive until I hear from the Snowbird report in the morning. The sky through the kitchen window doesn't show a sign yet, but it smells like snow. My dad would always tell me he could smell it in the air, and he was always right.

After a solid night's sleep, I awake with a mission. There's no sign of snowfall outside, so my next source of information is the small black and white television in the kitchen. Ralph Emery is on, as usual, the Soap Sisters are singing, and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. "Momma, have you heard anything yet?" I asked on the way to the bathroom. "Nope, you better get ready for school," she says in the distance as I close the door behind me. Disappointment stares back at me through the medicine cabinet mirror above the sink while I say another earnest prayer.

"Chris, it's Snowbird," Mom screams from the other side of the house. Ripping through rooms like the Dukes running from Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane, I join Mom in the den. My face lights up as Mr. Hall points at the map and presents the news I desperately need to hear. School is closed? School is closed! Yes! I love you, Bill, and I love you, Snowbird! My eyes shift to the window in anticipation, only to realize nothing has fallen. Grabbing up my heavy coat, I head outside.

A rush of arctic air slices through my shirt before I'm able to zip up tight. Beads of ice strike my face like a million tiny angel kisses flung from Heaven. I expose the camouflaged precipitation by looking away from the white sky to concentrate on a nearby Spruce. The deep green backdrop affords the perfect frame for Mother Nature's display. A solitary snowflake as large as my hand sways back and forth, drifting silently to the glaciated ground. Finally, an opaque quilt covers any imperfections and charges me with the thrill of a weekend of adventure.

It's not Thanksgiving until Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is on the television. The floats, the marching bands, and the entertainers are mesmerizing. It's an enormous spectacle, especially for a little boy in a small town. Mom's already busy in the kitchen, but my father hangs out with me for almost everything.

"Oh gosh! Oh gosh! Look, Dad, it's Spider-man! There's Superman Dad, look!" Dad smiles and reminds me that we have to watch until the very end because of the special guest. I know exactly what he's talking about because this isn't my first rodeo. They save Mr. Kringle himself for the very end.

Everyone knows the real Santa shows up for the big parade, so it's my chance to catch a glimpse. I've sure tried to see him in the act on Christmas Eve, but he's quick and sneaky. I feel like he's waving at me whenever the camera zooms in on his face. I've been to the mall before in town and sat with one of those wannabes. The beard is a dead giveaway every single time. It's how I know the Macey Santa is the real deal.

The announcer keeps saying that Kris Kringle is getting close, but that was three commercial breaks ago! I have to go to the bathroom, but I'll miss him as soon as I do, so it's in my best interest to hold tight. "Here he comes, son!" My fathers' eyes get as big as mine as we catch the first flash of the jolly old elf in his sleigh. We both tremble in excitement together as Santa is finally introduced and waves at Dad and me. We know Christmas is on the way, and Dad says, "It won't be long now, Chris."