The Christmas Wish - 1. Chapter 1

It was Christmas Eve and it was snowing. Bobby couldn’t imagine life getting any better than what was happening at that moment, except maybe including he was on a train headed for his grandparents’ house. He’d never been on a train, at least not that he could remember. His mother said she’d taken him when he was a baby, but who can remember what happened when they were a baby. Bobby couldn’t, so he was enjoying the ride.

He was alone, too. That made him feel kind of sad. His dad, the worthless bum that he’d turned into during that last couple years, was off drunk somewhere or that’s what Bobby expected. His dad was drunk most of the time, now. He just didn’t seem to care about anything other than not having to think about anything. His mother was working. She couldn’t get off. She didn’t have enough seniority to be home on Christmas, but she gave him the train ticket to spend Christmas with his grandparents. He missed her and knew she had to be sad, too, because she was going to be alone this Christmas. He hoped his grandparents would let him call her.

The snow seemed to be getting worse, not that Bobby knew much about snow. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d seen it snow at home, but it couldn’t have been more than just a few. It was raining when the train left Seattle, it always rained in Seattle. It didn’t snow at all the previous winter or the winter before that. He thought he remembered it snowing a couple years ago, but it wasn’t enough to do anything. He’d never made a snowman.

He wondered if his mother had ever made a snowman. Well, she must have. She grew up in Fort Okanogan and it snowed there every winter. It snowed practically every Christmas, too. He wondered if his grandparents would let him make a snowman. He wondered what Christmas was going to be like with just him and his grandparents. He missed his mother.

“Wenatchee, next stop Wenatchee,” the conductor called out as he walked up the aisle. Bobby knew Fort Okanogan was next, but it was nearly an hour up the river; or, it was nearly an hour by car, he didn’t know how long it would take the train.

Bobby watched a few people get off the train and fewer get on in the Wenatchee station. A slight breeze was swirling snow around the people on the platform. From where he was sitting, the people seemed upset that snow was falling on them. There certainly weren’t a lot of happy faces, even if it was Christmas Eve.

The train had to pull into a siding halfway up the river to let a freight train pass delaying their arrival in Fort Okanogan by about twenty minutes, not that Bobby really noticed. Orange sodium lights at farms along the tracks showed that it was still snowing as they neared the small Amtrak station across the river from Fort Okanogan.

“Fort Okanogan, next stop Fort Okanogan,” the conductor called out as he walked up the aisle. “This is your stop, son. Do you have all your bags ready?”

“I just have this one,” Bobby said. “I checked the rest. I’ll be able to get them, right?”

“You sure will. Is someone meeting you?”

“My grandparents.”

“Well, you have a Merry Christmas and I hope Santa brings you everything you asked for.”

“I’m a little old for Santa,” Bobby whispered. There was a younger girl across the aisle who might still be young enough to believe.

“No one’s too old for Santa,” the conductor said. “You just remember that. You’re never too old not to believe in Santa.”

“Okay, and I hope you have a Merry Christmas, too, sir,” Bobby said. He walked down the aisle as the train slowed to a stop. He could see his grandfather outside, the hood and shoulders of his parka covered with snow. It was snowing, it was Christmas Eve, and Bobby was getting excited.

“Grandpa! I’m over here,” Bobby called out as he stepped down from the train.

“Bobby! Well, aren’t you all grown up,” Grandpa said opening his arms and pulling his grandson into a warm embrace.

“I’m only twelve,” Bobby said, shivering as snowflakes hit the bare skin on his neck. His Mariner’s baseball cap provided scant protection and he didn’t have a parka. He was totally unprepared for snow. “And, I’m still shorter than mother.”

“You’ll catch up to her soon enough,” Grandpa said. “Sally isn’t that tall to begin with. Did you bring anymore bags?”

“Yeah, Mother checked them,” Bobby said looking up the platform at a cart of luggage coming toward them. Three other people who got off at Fort Okanogan, so there wasn’t a crowd.

“Hi, I’m Carl,” a boy said. He was standing beside Grandpa as if he was supposed to be there.

“Bobby, this is your cousin, Carl,” Grandpa said. “He’s living with us now.”

“Hi,” Bobby said feeling like Christmas was somehow different, now. It was as if Christmas wasn’t as he imagined it was going to be when he left Seattle, as if the trip he set out on somehow reached a different destination.

“I didn’t know I had any cousins,” Bobby said.

“Carl is your Uncle Dirk’s son,” Grandpa said. He walked over to luggage cart and handed the attendant Bobby’s baggage claim stubs.

Bobby stood as if he was glued to the platform. He didn’t know he had an Uncle Dirk. His mother never mentioned having a brother. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten off at the wrong station. He looked over at his grandfather and wondered if that really was the man who taught him how to tie flies last summer and who’d taught him how to swim two years earlier.

Then he looked at Carl who seemed shy, very shy. Even with his loose clothes and heavy parka, Carl looked skinny. He wasn’t that much taller than Bobby, but he seemed to be not much more than a shadow of a boy. He wasn’t looking back at Bobby, he was staring at his feet.

“Carl! Come over here and grab this box,” Grandpa called out, breaking Bobby’s reverie.

Carl hurried over to the luggage cart. Bobby went over too, thinking Carl wasn’t going to be able to pickup the box of presents. Back in Seattle, Bobby’s mother had a redcap handle the luggage, but he knew the box was heavy. He’d helped his mother carry it out to their car. Carl put his hands on either side and leaned back a little lifting the box off the luggage cart. An audible oof came out of the boy’s mouth.

“You alright?” Grandpa asked.

“Somebody must be getting a ton of fruitcake,” Carl said. “But, I’ll get it to the Suburban.”

“Good boy,” Grandpa said. “Come on, Bobby, it’s cold out here. Your grandmother will have hot cocoa and fresh Christmas cookies when we get home.”

Bobby picked up his bag and followed his grandfather and cousin out to the parking lot. They put all the luggage in the back and Bobby went around to the front assuming he would be relegated to backseat since Carl was there, but when the other boy opened the front passenger door, he said, “Here, Bobby, you ride shotgun. I’ll get it next time.”

“Okay,” Bobby said.

His grandparents’ house had strings of blue and green lights along the gutters, around the windows and doors, across the railing on the front deck, up and over the gables, up the chimney, and in most of the trees in the front yard. Along the ridge of the roof, a plywood cutout of Santa in a sleigh full of toys that was pulled by only four reindeer, was highlighted by three spotlights positioned lower down on the roof, but because of the blowing snow it could barely be seen from the road. The house sat up on a small hillock about three quarters of a mile west of the college where his grandfather was a professor.

Bobby wasn’t too surprised the Christmas feeling was coming back to him. Carl might have been unexpected, but Bobby wasn’t about to let the other boy ruin his holiday; and, he was determined to build a snowman. He saw his grandmother standing on the back porch when they drove up and practically jumped out of the Suburban before it stopped. He ran up to her and felt her love when she wrapped her arms around him.

“And a very Merry Christmas to you, too, Bobby,” she said.

“Merry Christmas, Gram,” Bobby said not wanting to leave her embrace, but she let he go.

“You’d better go help with your bags or you’ll be sleeping out in the shed tonight,” Gram said.

He ran back to the Suburban, but slipped on a patch of ice and landed butt first in a cold pile of fresh snow.

“You alright, boy?” Grandpa asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Bobby said as he tried to get up, but slipped and fell face first into another pile. He was starting to laugh at his inability to get a footing in the snow and ice.

“Here, let me help,” Grandpa said, pulling Bobby up with a handful of the boy’s jacket. “Don’t you have any boots?”

“No, it doesn’t snow in Seattle,” Bobby said.

“And, look at your clothes. You’re going to be freezing unless you get out of those things. Didn’t your mother buy you any winter clothes?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Bobby said. The laughter was gone, replaced with a bad taste of extreme embarrassment. He felt like a little kid, again, who couldn’t take care of himself. He looked over to where Carl was working on getting the box of presents out of the Suburban, but the boy didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Bobby.

“Get inside and get out of those wet clothes,” Grandpa said sounding disgusted.

Bobby walked toward the house like a boy heading for a whipping. He knew about those, his father made sure Bobby knew about whippings. Gram was waiting for him at the backdoor. She didn’t look happy, either.

“Take off those clothes over here where the snow won’t get tracked into the house,” she said. “Hurry up or you’ll catch your death out here. It’s down to twenty-five already.”

Bobby quickly took off his jacket. Then untied his high-tops and stepped out of them onto the icy cold concrete porch. His fingers were getting numb, but he undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and slipped them down before doing a little jig to get his feet out. He picked up his snow covered clothes and headed to the door.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Gram said holding out a hand. “You leave those out here for now. Go on and get up to your bedroom and change into something when Carl brings up your bag.”

“Which room am I in?” Bobby asked as he started to shiver from the cold.

“At the end of the hall on the left, you’ll be sharing with Carl. Now, git!”

Bobby knew better than to try Gram’s patience. He’d already learned that lesson and remembered the sting on his butt from whatever was handy at the time. Gram wasn’t one for delaying punishment. A yardstick was just as effective as a switch, piece of kindling, shoe, or wooden spoon. Bobby learned very early in life to not mess around Gram when she was baking. One swat from a rubber spatula got his attention quick.

The bedroom was not as he remembered it from the previous summer. There were two twin beds, one under the west window and the other under the south window, with their headboards meeting at a small table in the corner where there was a brass lamp with a dusty white shade. The bed on the west side of the room was made up and covered with a bright green bedspread and had a homemade quilt folded at the foot. The other bed had folded sheets, blankets, a navy blue bedspread, another quilt, and a pillow neatly stacked in the middle. Bobby quickly guessed which bed was his.

The walls were covered with posters of soccer players, or that’s what they looked like to Bobby. He had a feeling they weren’t exactly soccer posters, but football posters, as they call the game in England. The names of teams didn’t sound American. He wasn’t all that familiar with the game since his congenitally deformed knees kept him from any sports involving running until they were fixed when he was eight. He just never got interested in sports. Besides, he had a couple more operations to get through before he was completely put right.

The door opened and Carl walked in with Bobby’s bag, followed by Grandpa with the other bag. They put them down by the closet and dresser on the east wall. Bobby figured the closet and dresser on the north wall held Carl’s clothes.

“I thought your Grammy told you to make Bobby’s bed,” Grandpa said, not too happily.

“Yes, sir, I was going to do it,” Carl said, staring at the floor.

“Well, get to it or do you need more encouragement.”

“I’ll help you,” Bobby said going to his bed and removing everything except the bottom sheet.

“That’s his job,” Grandpa said. “He was told to do it.”

“It’s Christmas, I’ll help,” Bobby said.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting a mouth, too,” Grandpa said, staring at Bobby. He’d heard that voice before. That was his father’s voice, the voice of doom.

“I’m just trying to be nice,” Bobby said.

“Yeah, well, we’re a little short of nice around here,” Grandpa said. He walked out of the room, practically slamming the door as he left.

“God, what’s going on here?” Bobby whispered.

“They don’t like it having to take care of me,” Carl whispered.

“What did you do?” Bobby asked. “And, who are you?”

“I’m your cousin. My dad is your mother’s step-brother. Grammy had a little boy when she married Gramps and he was gone when your mother was born. I don’t know if she even knows if Dad exists.”

“Why are you here?”

“Dad was arrested and he’s in prison in England. He won’t get out until I’m an adult. I was sent here because Grammy and Gramps are my only living relatives, well, except for you and your mum.”

“You mean you lived in England?”

“No, well, some, not a lot though. We mostly lived in Canada or Bermuda. A couple years we were in the Virgin Islands. We were living in Vancouver when Dad was arrested and sent back for trial and prison.”

“Wow, is he some kind of international cat burglar?”

“No, he was involved with some people who were involved with drugs. He wasn’t selling the shit or anything stupid like that, but whatever it was we lived pretty good until he was caught.”

“So, Gram and Grandpa blame you, or something?”

“No, they just don’t like me,” Carl said, staring at the floor.

“Well, I don’t even know you and I like you,” Bobby said as he sat down beside Carl and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, you have an earring.”

“Yeah, Dad got it for my thirteenth birthday,” Carl said looking up at Bobby. He had pale green eyes, dark eyebrows, a small nose, firm lips, and curly, black hair. “He said, ‘You’re a teenager now. You can start making decisions for yourself.’ He was arrested the following week and I was sent down here. Grammy didn’t say a word about it, but Gramps said only queers wore earrings and he said he knows why I have it in my left ear.”

“Why do you have it in that ear?”

“I don’t know. Because I didn’t want it in the other ear, I guess.”

“Come on, let’s make my bed before somebody comes back and yells at you. I don’t remember them being mean.”

“Well, spend a few days here and you’ll see.”

Just as Grandpa said, there was hot cocoa and fresh baked Christmas cookies ready when Bobby went downstairs. All the presents in the box were under the tree. Bobby just stared at it. He enjoyed coming to his grandparents for Christmas because the tree was always beautiful with many strings of multicolored lights, icicles, and so many ornaments he was never able to count them all. What he liked most was the angel on top. She wasn’t pretty in any sense, but to Bobby she was just heavenly, or what he pictured in his mind what was heavenly. He didn’t tell anyone, but to him the angel was named Nancy because he thought Nancy was a good name for an angel.

Although there was mug of cocoa for him, Carl stayed up in the bedroom. Bobby figured he just didn’t want to get yelled at on Christmas. So he took it upon himself to take the cup up to the bedroom. He got two steps away from the dining table.

“Where are you going with that?” Grandpa asked. “You’re not taking it to Carl, are you?”

“He’s scared of you,” Bobby said shaking his head. “He’s your grandson and he’s scared of you.”

Bobby started to walk toward the stairs careful not to spill any of the cocoa. The mug was hot in his hands, but he knew he had to do this. It was a test. He had to know if his grandparents hated him, too. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he nearly spilled all of it when behind him he heard his grandfather yell, “Carl! Get your ass down here now!”

“Put the mug back on the table, Bobby,” Grandpa said. “I’ll not have you waiting on that boy. If he wants cocoa, he can come down here.”

Bobby looked up toward the top of the stairs where Carl stood. He seemed so sad when he slowly walked down the stairs and came over to where Grandpa was sitting.

“You wanted me, sir?”

“Bobby was going to bring your cocoa to you,” Grandpa said. “Thank him for the offer and tell him you’ll get it yourself.”

“Thank you for trying to help me,” Carl said. “I know you mean well, but you can’t be nice to me, it’s not permitted.”

“Why you ungrateful little snot!” Grandpa said as the back of his hand head straight for Carl’s face, but at the last moment Carl backed away.

“I want to go home,” Bobby said. “You’re not my grandparents. You’re not the people who were nice to me last summer and all the other times I was here. I don’t like you anymore.”

He put his cocoa down and walked toward the stairs, but no one said anything. He started crying about two steps up and was bawling by the time he was halfway. He couldn’t go on, so he sat down and put his tear covered face in his hands. He couldn’t believe what was happening. It was absolutely inconceivable these nice people could be so mean.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably no more than ten minutes, his sobbing diminished into teary eyed weeping and he looked up. No one was close enough to see. They were ignoring him. He pitched his fit and they simply walked away. He was mad about that, but knew that was how his grandparents handled tantrums. He’d been through it enough to know they cared little about what upset little boys.

He stood up and went on up the stairs and into the bathroom where he washed his face and hands. He was ready for bed. Tomorrow, tomorrow he would go back home, even if he had to walk to the Amtrak station on his own. He wasn’t going to be able to live with these people. They’d changed and not for the better.

When Bobby walked into the bedroom Carl was in his pajamas and sitting on Bobby’s bed. The covers had been pulled back ready for Bobby to crawl in.

“Go ahead and turn out the light,” Carl said. Bobby did it and was surprised by the amount of light that filled the room. “It’s the Christmas lights reflecting off the snow. It kind of makes it pretty in here.”

“I’m sorry I got upset, but he was being mean to you,” Bobby said as he sat down next to his cousin. When Carl’s arm was extended across his back, Bobby leaned in accepting the affection.

“Can I sleep with you?” Carl whispered.

“Why?”

“Dad used to let me sleep with him when I was upset about something. They don’t do that, here.”

“Okay, let me get my pajamas on.”

After about an hour, Bobby heard and felt Carl as he began to cry. He felt the older boy’s arm tightened around him as the weeping increased to sobbing. Bobby didn’t want to cry, too, but he couldn’t help himself. Tears welled up in his eyes as he joined his cousin in wondering how these nice people could be so cruel, especially on Christmas Eve.

Christmas morning and Bobby didn’t want to get out of bed. Carl was still snuggled against him. A lot of fearful anticipation was on Bobby’s mind. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Christmas just hadn’t turned out like he wanted.

But, he had to pee. Bad. So, he carefully disengaged himself from Carl’s grip and began to ease himself toward the edge of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Carl asked.

“Bathroom,” Bobby said, hurrying, now that he could get away without worrying about waking Carl.

“I’m coming with you.”

Bobby had never in his life stood at a toilet with another boy. He watched his cousin take out his penis and immediately noticed it was very different from his own.

“You’re not circumcised,” Bobby said.

“What?”

“Your penis, you still have your foreskin.”

“What?”

“That extra skin covering the head of you penis, it’s called a foreskin. You still have yours.”

“Oh, yeah, that, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. It’s kind of embarrassing,” Carl said.

“Why?”

“Because most boys aren’t like me. There’re like you. You probably don’t like me, now.”

“Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re my cousin, besides we slept together. I don’t care if you still have a foreskin. I kind of wish I still had mine. Do you think they’re going to yell at you today?”

“I’m hoping they’ll take Christmas off. You’d think Gramps could stop for one day.”

“Is it hard living here?” Bobby asked as Carl started washing his hands and face. Bobby noticed once again how skinny Carl was. He didn’t seem to have any muscles, just bones and skin, but he did pick up the box of presents, so Carl had to have some muscles.

“No, not all the time. Gramps is gone quite a lot, so it’s just Grammy and me. We get along, at least most of the time. I’m just not used to being here, I guess.”

Bobby took his turn at the sink and began to wash his hands and face. He wanted to get to know Carl better because he hadn’t known anything about having a cousin on his mother’s side. There were eight cousins on his father’s side, but they all lived in Minnesota and Iowa, so he hardly ever saw them. Carl was so close maybe they could see each other more.

He wished his mother could afford a bigger apartment than they had and his father wasn’t out drunk all the time, then maybe Carl could come to Seattle and live with them, but his mother wasn’t ever going to make that kind of money, nor was his father going to sober up anytime soon. He just wished he could believe things might get better for Carl. It was Christmas, after all. Everything was supposed to be good on Christmas.

“Ready?” Bobby asked as he hung up the towel. Carl had been sitting on the side of the bathtub, but didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Huh?”

“Are you ready to go downstairs and open our presents?”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose, but I’m not expecting much. I doubt if they give me much of anything.”

“Maybe Santa brought gifts.”

“Yeah, right! Don’t tell me you still believe in Santa.”

“No, but someone told me you don’t have to not believe.”

The two boys slowly walked to the top of the stairs, both hoping to hear some kind of noise from downstairs to let them know if their grandfather was about. There was a strong odor of coffee, but nothing else to indicate whether anyone other than themselves was up. Side by side, they went down the stairs.

“Wow! Look at all the presents!” Bobby exclaimed.

Carl simply stared at the Christmas tree. He walked up to it and squatted down near a new laptop. It was on and the screensaver had a multicolored “Merry Christmas Carl!” floating on the screen. He got down on his knees and looked at the GameBoy beside it. There was a tag taped to it that said, “To: Carl, From: Santa.” He turned to the mountain bike. It wasn’t top of the line, but it was new and it had the same kind of tag.

“Merry Christmas, Carl,” his grandmother said behind him.

Carl turned to look and Bobby saw tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Bobby asked.

“He couldn’t be with us this morning,” his grandmother said. “He wasn’t feeling well last night and decided to let both of you have a very merry Christmas. And, Carl?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Things are you to be different around here from now on, okay? It’s not your fault you have to live with us.”

“See Carl, there really is a Santa,” Bobby said.

The End