The Christmas Call

By Campbell F

The slow brush of swift falling snow illuminates the evergreen trees during Christmas. One of my favorite sights during the new season of joy and forgiveness. I like the smell of the pine needles and the sweet, savory, lip wetting taste of cinnamon hitting you like a train of pleasant aromas. The melted chocolate sitting in your still mug on the newly christened mantle, full of garlands.

Your grandmother sits quietly at her stool, slaving away at her dough. The oven still lights for the puff pastries that will fill you and your sneaky brother before your roasted meal. The doorbell echoing through the house like carolers bellowing the last note of Silent Night. Your hand reaching for the door like muscle memory from the two times before. The hot oven rings out the deadly ping. The crowd of starving children and adults shove their way into the dining room like trying to get to the stage from a mosh pit. Your hands reach for your knives and forks, filling your plate with turkey and sweet potatoes. Mom reaches for her third glass of wine and Dad tells the story of your older brother who is fighting for our country. The food shovels into your wide mouth trying to hide the uncomfortable regrets you have for these old stories about your childhood.

Your mother sits at her seat anxious for the phone call from your brother. The entire room glooms quiet as the phone rings, and the depressing sigh of picking up the loose receiver. “Everything over here is fine Mom, don’t worry.” Your brother’s voice is pained with fatigue and hunger. “Merry Christmas everyone!” He sighs once more. The receiver clicks, while a tear rolls down your father’s pale face.