Never Fear (38 page)

“
We’re going to put the
marbles in the candy dish along with a little note from Santa
himself, letting Ryan know he can’t trick Saint Nick.”

“
Sweetie, I don’t know if
that’s a good idea. You know how Ryan is. That might cause
a...
tantrum
.”
Julie’s body visibly cringed as she uttered that last
word.

Mark could hear the pensiveness in his
wife’s voice, but he brushed aside her concern with his own
certainty.

“
He’s going to be upset
regardless. And I would rather just deal with his normal Christmas
tantrum, with a little added because of his failed trick, than have
to deal with whatever booby-traps he plans for next year if he
thinks this one was just too simple. It’s already exhausting enough
dealing with him. I don’t want or
need
to tread carefully through my
own house.”

“
OK, baby, if you're
sure.” Julie pulled out the marbles and dropped them into the old
candy dish and set them on the mantle of the fireplace.

It did not take Mark long to come back
with some old parchment printer paper he’d stashed away in his home
office. Written upon it in flowing script was the simple
statement:

You can’t trick
me.

“
I... I don’t know, baby,
I really think that this is going to cause more harm than good.”
That pensive look was on Julie's face once more, lips pursed
together as she struggled with herself. She wanted to believe her
husband, but tomorrow was already going to be a hard day. It always
was. But she loved Mark and had to believe him when he said he had
been like this when he was a kid. He had to know what to do,
because she realized deep down she had long ago given up the idea
that she knew how to properly handle her own child. She had tried
spanking and whipping, and that didn’t work. It just made him
resentful. They had tried taking away the few toys he did love, and
in response, he stole her jewelry and hid it until his toys were
returned. Yelling didn’t work; physical punishment didn’t work; and
taking away his things most certainly didn’t work. All she had left
was the thought, the hope, that soon it would be better. Soon Ryan,
her little prince, would, as Mark had when he was growing up,
decide he was tired of getting into trouble and being punished and
would start to behave.

Mark placed the bowl of marbles and
the note on the mantle above the fireplace. He turned and made his
way back to his Julie who had sat down on the sofa. Her distant
eyes still flickered with a lingering sadness.

“
We need to be strong, and
soon enough everything will be fine. I know he will get better.”
Mark wrapped his muscled arm around her and placed a soft kiss upon
her cheek. “Now, it’s Christmas, and Santa has asked me to give you
a special gift.” Mark winked softly as his free hand slipped down
to caress Julie’s thigh.

Julie shivered, her once distant eyes
suddenly snapped upward, locking with her husband’s, a mischievous
twinkle appearing in them.

“
So why don’t you run
upstairs while I grab the gifts. Then Santa will be upstairs to
give you your special
gift
.” Mark’s tone deepened as he
leaned down, his breath caressed the pale flesh of his wife’s neck.
His warm lips pressed softly. He could feel her pulse quicken
before he pulled away.

Julie tensed at the kiss, a soft
sultry little purr escaped her lips. “Oh, Santa baby!” She giggled
as she made her way up the stairs. The love and evident desire
showed by Mark always put her in a better mood.

Mark smirked, watching her
hurry up the stairs, his eyes locked on her energetic steps.
Well, at least Christmas is going to start off
well,
Mark mused as he headed to the back
of the house and down to the basement. They had stored the gifts
down here this year only because Ryan never went into the basement.
There was no reason for him to. There was nothing he was interested
in down in the basement, just the washer and dryer and old dusty
boxes. But behind those were three piles of gifts, each pile
wrapped in different paper. The largest, of course, was Ryan’s.
His
always
had to
be the largest.

He carried them up the old, wooden
basement stairs, which groaned with each carefully placed step.
Before reaching the living room and placing them around the tree,
he made sure Julie’s and his own pile were kept well away from
Ryan’s pile. If they were too close, Ryan would open them as well
as his own.

Mark smiled as he glanced around the
dimly lit room filled with the colors of the season: greens, reds,
blues, gold, and silver. They covered the brick walls of their
living room, giving the appearance of looking through a Christmas
kaleidoscope. The tree looked beautiful; it was much better than
previous years. They had managed to find a tree lot with some
decent stock left the week before and had gotten a wonderful
discount.

Mark’s smile grew as he
beheld the beauty of his small home, and his eyes were drawn to the
mantle above the fireplace, where Julie’s newest decoration rested:
a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, with a little old
driver who looked so lively and quick.
Ah
good old St. Nick
,
Mark mused as he began to count the reindeer, humming to
himself as childhood poems filled his mind.
Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet!
On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
Mark
was always surprised and delighted how such simple phrases could
make him feel so happy and seem to make the holidays so much
brighter.

But all of this—Mark glanced around,
sorrow replacing his recent happiness—all of these things, all the
memories they could invoke would do nothing if Ryan didn’t
behave.

Mark’s head lowered and his hands
cupped together as he prayed.

“
Please, God, let him
behave tomorrow. Let us finally have a nice Christmas
together.”

He knew his wife could not take much
more. Year after year, she seemed to become more beaten and worn.
Their little boy had been a blessing when he was born, but had
become a terror as he grew. Mark knew it was partly his fault. He
had spoiled him early on, and in doing so, their little boy had
come to expect everything to be handed to him. Julie told him he
was descended from royalty, and he now thought of himself as a
prince—and princes got whatever they wanted— even from Santa. It
would be easier if they just told Ryan that there was no
Santa.

But Julie didn’t want that. She clung
to the memories of her childhood, of wonderful nights of being so
excited you almost couldn’t go to sleep, and mornings filled with
the gathering of family to celebrate the birth of Jesus, along with
the treasures that Santa had brought.

So far, those Christmases had escaped
their family. He wanted to give her that Christmas, and for that
reason he had not fought her on ending this childish fantasy for
their son. It would end soon enough. Ryan was getting older, and
sooner or later he would find out. Mark hoped for sooner—for all
their sakes.

“
Baaaaaby,” a soft voice
called to him from the top of the stairs.

Mark’s thoughts suddenly derailed,
switching to a much more pleasant track. He smiled warmly, his own
eyes filled with that mischievous twinkle. Mark hurriedly made his
way up the stairs to his waiting wife. “Ho, Ho, Ho, here comes
Santa!”

*

The following day was one of confusion
for Mark and Julie. Ryan had come bounding down the stairs, his
eyes wide with excitement, but they had not even looked at the
tree, nor the gifts below it. Instead, they first focused on the
fireplace. He had hurriedly made his way over to inspect the note,
along with the marbles. They waited for the worst, but he said
nothing. Rather, his cute, chubby face had gone blank, eyes locked
on the marbles. Slowly, a look of contemplation crept into his
features. But no tantrum. The rest of the day had been strange,
peaceful, and odd as Ryan opened gift after gift, the look of
intense contemplation now permanently etched on his features. It
had been pleasant, although disturbing. Christmas finally ended, as
Ryan headed for the stairs. His gifts lay strewn around the tree,
not a single one taken with him.

Julie spoke out finally. The uneasy
peace nagged at her; something was wrong.

“
Baby, are you
okay?”

Ryan turned, his eyes focused
intensely at the fireplace, his voice toneless.

“
Oh yes, Mommy, I’m...
fine. I underestimated Santa. That was my mistake... mine, and mine
alone.”

And with that, Ryan turned and made
his way slowly into his room, his scattered gifts left untouched
upon the living room floor where they had been
unwrapped.

Mark’s face beamed, a wide grin upon
his rough features, his voice jubilant.

“
See, baby? I told you he
would get better, and that the note would work. No tantrum. No
yelling. I know he wasn’t happy, but he handled it better than any
other years.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his
arm wrapping around her, pulling her small frame close.

Julie looked down in her lap,
unresponsive to Mark’s kiss and words. Her features were troubled.
Finally with a deep sigh, she gazed up into her husband’s
eyes.

“
If you say so. Just...
something seems wrong.”

Mark shook his head and he chuckled.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, I have a feeling things are going to start
getting better from here on out.” He planted a soft kiss on his
wife’s cheek as he helped her up. Their fingers interlaced tenderly
as they went upstairs. Julie gazed at her husband, a smile once
more appearing on her face when she saw his own smile. He was
excited and hopeful. If only she could feel like that all the time,
but she couldn’t. Something was wrong with Ryan. She couldn’t prove
it, but she felt it. But those cares, at least for the moment, were
wiped away as her husband’s lips suddenly found hers. And the night
truly ended wonderfully.

The Year of Hope

The stockings in the Marsh house were
hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon
would be there. Most children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. One child was
not nestled; instead he paced back and forth, his young mind awhirl
with the fear that indeed, St. Nicholas would soon be
here.

“
I’m not ready, not enough
time,” Ryan ranted in hushed tones. His eyes constantly glanced to
the clock. Time was racing; it was almost midnight now. His parents
were in their room watching TV. If he did not think of something
quick, Santa would come. And if he was awake, he would get nothing.
But if he did not figure out a way to teach Santa the error of his
ways, he would get something almost as terrible as nothing. He
would get bad gifts, used things, worn things, and old things. The
cruel joke that Santa played was bringing new clothes, something he
knew Ryan despised.

But he knew from last year that trying
to trick Santa did not work. He had found the marbles, had even
placed the note for Ryan to find, shaming him in front of his
parents. Santa had made him look like a fool, but Ryan should have
known better. Now he did. He was a year older now, and he was
learning. Santa had magic, and magic was something Ryan could not
yet figure out how to counter. He paced for a while longer. Each
minute that ticked by made his pulse quicken and his brain work
desperately faster. Ryan’s frantic pacing halted suddenly, his body
rigid as an alien thought leapt into his mind.

If I can’t trick Santa,
and I can’t hurt Santa, perhaps I can do something for him?
These thoughts were strange, and it took Ryan a
few moments to develop them, but soon enough a smile crept onto his
face, and he jumped into action. Leaving his room, he tiptoed
downstairs. His parents were still up. He could hear their muffled
voices mingling with the TV in their room. To his annoyance and
worry, the stairs creaked as he crept over them, each creak making
him wince. If they were alerted to his movements, he would be in
trouble, and they would foil his brilliant plan, his chance to
finally have a good Christmas.

The lights from his
Christmas tree suffused the room in a plethora of blues, reds, and
greens, all festive, joyful colors, but the beauty of this tranquil
scene was lost to Ryan. All he cared about was that Santa had not
yet come. He had not yet lost his chance. As he moved to the tree,
he stopped. In all his excitement from his new idea, he had not yet
thought of
what
he could bribe Santa with. A memory, long since forgotten,
entered his mind.

A week or so ago, he had this same
strange idea: giving something to Santa to make him happy. It had
occurred at the local grocery mart, when he had been dragged away
from his video game because his Mom was lazy and wanted help
shopping. He had seen rows upon rows of new cookies, with a small
hand-written sign by the grocer, reminding him to not forget the
cookies for Santa. Perhaps, Santa would want a different kind of
cookie. His mother always bought the same brand of cookie, whether
it was Christmas or not. They were a brand called Enjoy Life, some
crappy off brand. Ryan had known at that moment, that if he could
get Santa something different, some mainstream cookie, maybe, just
maybe that would help.