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Just Another Christmas Story (short fiction)

by Linda Fuller

The little bell tinkled cheerily as I pushed open the door to Ned’s Diner. I brushed a dusting of snow from my shoulders and sidled over to the counter where Maggie, Ned’s pretty red-haired daughter, was tallying up a customer’s bill. “Sweetheart, you know where a fella can get a cup of coffee in this town?”

Maggie finished her calculations and looked up at me. “Hiya, Pete. How about right here? And a nice hot piece of apple pie, too!”

It sounded good to me, and I flashed a thumbs-up at Maggie, straddled a seat at the counter and swiveled around to survey my fellow customers. The place was almost full on this early evening in December. Sam Stillwater and Nora Jean Ripley were sharing a booth in the corner, Nora Jean talking animatedly, probably about her students over to the high school, and Sam listening with the rapt expression which seemed to have moved in permanently to his face whenever Nora Jean was around. At the neighboring booth sat a man I recognized but didn’t know by name, one of the genteelly shabby men you saw more and more of these days. He was crumbling crackers into his soup and studying the want ads in the back of our daily newspaper. That section was mighty thin these days, and I knew it as well as anyone.

I turned back to the counter when I heard the crockery sound of my food arriving. Maggie, bless her, had heaped my pie with vanilla ice cream which she wouldn’t put on my bill. Before I could thank her, she had whirled away to serve another customer.

I took a big bite of pie and followed it with Ned’s good strong coffee. The jingle of the door bell had me turning around again to see who was coming in. It was Mike O’Shea and Kevin Lanigan, two of the neighborhood tough guys, usually spoiling for trouble and often spoiling the peaceful times of people in the vicinity. They looked relatively mellow this evening, but you could never tell with these two, not bad boys really, but what with times being so hard, some seemed to turn hard with the times.

I went back to my pie and coffee, with one ear cocked for any disturbance. Mike and Kevin had chosen a table by Ned’s front window, fogged up from steamy bowls of chowder inside and the gathering chill outside. I could hear their boisterous horseplay, and the clatter of something small hitting the floor. Cindy, Ned’s other waitress, hurried over to take their order.

The bell jingled again, and again I turned to look at the door, where an elderly lady and a young boy were just coming in. I had never seen them before, and they looked around as if they’d never been to Ned’s before either. The place was about full up, and I shuddered inwardly as the old woman touched Mike on the shoulder and asked, “May we join you? With my old hips, I’m not comfortable sitting on a stool at the counter. I’m Mrs. Claybourne and this is my grandson, Nicholas.”

Mike and Kevin exchanged sly smirks, and then Kevin said, “Why, sure, ma’am, you and your little grandson just sit right down here and make yourselves to home.” Friendly words, but I could hear the underlying sneer.

Nicholas, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven, pulled out a chair for his grandma and then seated himself. Mrs. Claybourne settled her napkin on her lap and then did the same for Nicholas. Mike and Kevin were just beside themselves, poking each other in the ribs and rolling their eyes. Mrs. Claybourne didn’t seem to notice and Nicholas took it all in with wide blue eyes, too young and innocent to form a judgment it seemed. Me, I was glued to my stool, back to the counter, coffee cooling, ice cream melting down the sides of the pie. I was no hero, but I wasn’t going to stand for anything bad happening in Ned’s.

Cindy returned to the front table with the boys’ orders, and then took out her pad and asked Mrs. Claybourne what she and her little boy would like. Mike and Kevin had started piling in to their meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy, but you could see they were eying their tablemates avidly. Mrs. Claybourne ordered a bowl of vegetable soup for Nicholas and a cup of hot tea with lemon for herself. Cindy headed back to the kitchen, barely avoiding Mike’s pinch.

I swallowed some more coffee, my stomach clenching in anticipation of what those boys would do. The clatter of silverware on crockery played a homey counterpart to my anxiety.

Cindy brought the soup and tea to the front table. Mike and Kevin were still shoveling in their suppers and still watching Mrs. Claybourne and little Nick intently. Nicholas leaned over his bowl of soup and inhaled the fragrant steam. He started to reach for his spoon, but a look from his grandma stopped his hand. Then, they both bowed their heads and I could see Mrs. Claybourne’s lips moving in what I knew was a blessing. Those boys were staring and my stomach was tight.

When the old woman and the little boy raised their heads, they looked across the table at Mike and Kevin and smiled. To my intense relief, Mike and Kevin smiled back, looking suddenly younger, and I remembered that it was almost Christmas, that season of miracles, and I thought to myself, God bless us, every one.

12/24/2012

Author's Note: Written 15 or 20 years ago - I don't know who I was channeling...

Posted on 12/25/2012
Copyright © 2024 Linda Fuller

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/26/12 at 02:48 PM

I enjoyed every little tidbit of this. This scene is brought to life with names and descriptions that seem very real, with some interesting contrasts in people. The ending is satisfying but not sappy. Merry Christmas, Linda!

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