Christmas Presents - Nice

Jill nodded in silence. As a former foster child and a social worker, it was still one of the worst experiences she had heard. Damran had been barely four and like many boys that age he had wet his bed. His older brother had been trying to help him clean it all up before their mother came home drunk again. But it was not to be. She had walked in on the two of them. She had immediately begun to beat Damran about his head and shoulders with the heavy purse she carried. His brother had stepped in between them to protect the younger child. That next blow had sent him flying through the air. He had landed against the wall and broken his neck instantly.

Of course, the foster system had taken in young Damran as his mother sat on death row for the murder of his older brother. What had always shocked Jill was that in all their years of friendship, Damran had never told Peter the name of his brother; always referring to him as simply 'my big brother.' He claimed to not even remember it anymore. But Jill knew enough about trauma and children to know that he could not forget that easily.

His next words haunted even her. 'Peter became an older brother to me too.' He rang his large hands as he stared at them, refusing now to look her in those clear blue eyes. 'I miss them both,' he whispered as tears streaked faster down his dark cheeks. Jill could only nod at the shared pain she heard in the broken timber of his voice.

'My dreams aren't happy. Usually, they are about that day. I can relive each moment like it was in fucking slow motion on a damned IMAX screen.' He held his breath, 'I fucking hate those.' Looking up then, 'But sometimes, we just talk. The two of us just walk and talk like we used to.'

As if it suddenly had just occurred to him, 'You do know how much he loved you?' Jill silently nodded as the tears streamed faster down her face now.

'But tonight was different. It was,' he paused as if searching for just the right word. 'It was nice. And I know he wants me to tell you about it,' he said as if apologizing for breaking a favourite vase, instead of her heart.

The silence hung like a thick fur coat about them, enveloping each in its soft warmth, taking their minds far away. Finally, Damran cleared his throat and began again. 'Tonight, in my dream, Peter was playing with the cutest little blonde boy.' Looking directly into the clearest, bluest eyes he had ever seen, he said, 'He had blue eyes, just like his momma.'

If the pain of the past three years had not been enough, that moment surely broke Jill's heart forever. She had not even told Peter that she was pregnant when he died. It was another of the many regrets with which she lived daily. She knew then that Damran's dream was quite real. As much as it hurt her, she pleaded, 'Please continue.'

'We, the three of us this time, walked a bit. Peter and I would talk when the kid ran ahead of us old men,' he smiled at the memory. 'He said that he knew you missed the boy, but that he needed him more. He said he was so alone with us or his folks.'

Jill had never seen such a manly man cry so hard and so free. Damran made no attempt to hide the tears that glistened on his dark skin or the catch in his deep, smooth Southern accent. He did not even shy away from the gulps of air that she knew meant he had cried so hard that he had the hiccups. It was a phenomenon with which she was quite familiar over a lifetime.

As if reading her mind, he said, 'You know I never used to cry. Not since that night.' He did not need to explain what night. It was part of their shared history as former foster children. 'I figured tears never fixed nothing anyway. So I got angry instead. I got so angry that I almost went to prison for beating this kid within an inch of his life at school.'

He might think that he was telling her something new, but Peter had long ago shared the story with her. He had actually said something about how the Marines got some of their best men that way.

'But the judge must have seen something in my sorry black ass because he gave me the option of enlisting instead. He said that it would make a man of me or kill me.' Staring at some invisible thing on the kitchen ceiling, he philosophized, 'He didn't tell me it would do both.' He finished with a huge exhale.

Jill once again could only nod her head at the wisdom of Peter's friend. Words never seemed to come when she needed them most, especially the important ones like 'I understand...I'm sorry...or I love you.' But she did what she could then; reaching across the table she clasped his large dark hands in her much smaller and paler ones. They sat like that for several moments in silence. Each caught up in their own thoughts, but sharing so much in common.

Finally, Damran broke the silence. 'Anyway, I just needed to tell you how happy they both seemed...father and son.' Pulling his hands from beneath hers he engulfed hers inside his then. 'I thought it might...comfort you...somehow,' he finished.

With huge tears slipping down her soft cheeks to mix with the wet snot she knew was dripping from the end of her nose, Jill could only nod. But then for a single moment, she found her voice; the voice that had betrayed her some often. It was in that moment that she could almost feel Peter's strong hands on her stooped shoulders. It was as if he gave her the words. 'That was just about the best Christmas present anyone ever gave me,' she muttered looking at the symphony of color that was their hands entwined upon the kitchen table.

It was Damran's turn to nod silently. Both seemed to know that the moment was over. That the reality of the dawn breaking through the window dressed in red gingham curtains for Christmas was once again upon them.

Jill stood slowly, saying 'I better try to get another hour of sleep or so. Things start early on the farm.'

Damran just nodded as he collected their mugs and the pan from the stove. He took them to the sink and washed them; shaking off her offer of help with 'You get your sleep. We can handle this.'

Jill was uncertain if he had meant to use 'we.' Was it a simple slip of the tongue? Or did he too sometimes feel Peter's presence so strongly that it was almost as if he was still there? She pondered those thoughts as she slipped back into the bed that they had once shared as man and wife. She smiled as she closed her clear blues eyes and prayed for them to come to her in a dream too.

But if they did, she could not remember it when she woke up several hours later; rushing into the kitchen with words of apology on her lips. But Shelly had dismissed them all with a simple, 'No worries. Damran and I have been chatting while he helped me cook.'

It was odd that after the special moments they had shared around that same table, but Jill could feel that same jealousy that this man was interloping with her family. But she knew that sometimes human emotions were beyond explanation and accepted this weakness in her human state as nothing more than that.

The rest of that Christmas Eve passed easily in the busy work that was farm life. More than once Jill found herself working along side and laughing with Damran. It was as if they shared not only Peter, but a lifetime of pain.

That evening as the four of them gathered around the kitchen table to eat dinner was hard for Jill. She knew that Rick and Shelly found great comfort in their prayers, in believing that Peter was in heaven somewhere. But Jill had always found it impossible to place blind faith in a god that would allow the kind of pain she had endured as a child, the scars that she knew Damran shared, and the things that should never happen to innocent children, but did...all too often. The final blow to any semblance of faith she might have garnered from them was the morning that she had awaken in writhing pain and a pool of blood. The loss of that final part of Peter was more than her soul could manage.

It was a testament to the love that they shared that Rick and Shelly had never condemned her for the anger that they watched grow in her every day after that. It was a tribute to Peter that Jill had kept most of that anger hidden inside from their watchful care. But in the end, that difference alone had driven her to seek a solitary place for herself two hours away in the big city as they called Indianapolis.

Some days she was grateful for the independence and life she seemed to slowly be building there. She had even managed to make a couple of close friends at work. She knew that one of them, Mark, hoped that one day it might be more than just friendship. But Jill doubted that she would ever be able to trust another man enough to allow herself to fall in love again. She would never find that same safety and security that she had so briefly found in Peter's arms.

Other days were a constant battle not to pick up the phone and dial the number that she knew by heart since she was fifteen, a number she knew had not changed in thirty years since Rick and Shelly had begun their life on the farm that had once been his uncle's. She missed them terribly. They were the only family she had in the world and she ached to run home to them again. And once a year that was just what she did. Each Christmas she ran home to the familiar safety of this farmhouse and these people and for a time felt the same loving security that their son had given her so briefly. But this year, she found herself sharing it with a stranger that seemed more like a best friend and brother.

She was proud when she made it through another long winded 'blessing' by Rick. Sometimes she thought the man was a frustrated preacher. He could go on for minutes when he said prayers. But Shelly always signalled him with a solid kick across the table. Jill knew this because a couple of times she had missed and caught her shin instead.

Dinner was a companionable experience for the most part, but on occasion they all paused in mid-bite as one of them would pronounce how very much Peter would have liked this or that. It felt good to be surrounded by the people he loved and who had loved him. But it hurt too; almost as fresh as that horrible day when those men knocked at the door. They did not even have to say the words. Their uniformed presence alone told the story. Peter was dead.

After dinner they had all piled into the old pick-up truck and headed into town. They would all endure the Christmas Eve service at the small Lutheran church where Peter had been baptised...and buried. Pastor John had held onto Jill's hand as she tried in vain to slip quietly out after the service. Like Rick, he seemed to have an endless supply of words. How was she doing in the big city? How was work? They all missed her. She always had a home there. It seemed that he would never let her go until Damran interjected himself.

'You must be Pastor John. Peter told me so much about you and this church,' he said as he extended his large black hand towards the older man.

Jill sent him a thankful smile as she finally managed to slip out into the cold, clear night. The snow had stopped it seemed, at least for the moment. But she knew that it could and would begin again at any moment. It was just the way the winds of life worked.

She stood alone and stared up into the dark night sky at the stars. She looked for it; the Christmas star, some ray of hope in this forlorn world. But all of the stars seemed the same; none of them offered more than a glimmer of light that she knew had travelled hundreds and thousands of years to reach this single moment in time. It made her and her troubles seem insignificant somehow. What did one lonely person matter in the grand scheme of the universe?

She did not have long to ponder the imponderable truths, because she could hear them approaching. Rick, Shelly and Damran were sharing another laugh. Once again, she fought back the unexplainable jealousy that she should have to share them with this stranger. But she forced a smile to her face as they approached.

They were all lost in silence on the drive back to the farm. Jill was for the first time that she could remember trying to figure out an excuse to escape the familiar tradition of opening the presents around the tree. It was something she had done with these people for almost a decade, but this year it seemed too much for her to bear.

When they finally reached the farm and began to disembark from the tight confines of the old truck, Jill protested that she should probably just go to bed. She had a headache, she half lied. But Shelly and Rick would have none of it as they tugged her into the entry way and tossed thick coats aside.

Damran offered to help Shelly with the hot cocoa and cookies that they had made earlier. They insisted that Jill just rest on the sofa. So she had spent what seemed like an eternity alone as they worked in the kitchen and Rick brought in more fire wood for the night. It was not the first time that she had been alone. It would not be the last. But it was one of those time when she was not simply alone, but lonely as well. Lonely, Jill had discovered was something that you could be in a city full of people or the top of a mountain. It was a condition of the soul that had plagued her most of her life. Only for those brief years with Peter had she found togetherness.

She came back to reality as she was covered by the dark shadow that was Peter's best friend and the last person to see him alive. The man really should not be so tall and over bearing she thought as she accepted the hot mug of cocoa and a cookie from the tray.

Rick kicked snow from his boots in the hall as he shook more from his coat. Crossing the living room, he piled a couple of logs onto the fire that roared in the fireplace. He placed the arm full of other logs in the bin next to the mantle.

Jill looked over his head to see the silver frame that held her wedding picture. Next to it stood a black and white photo of what she knew were Rick and Shelly on their wedding day. The mantle was littered with other pictures as well. There was Peter's christening and his graduation. Her favourite was the one of him receiving his Eagle Scout award from the governor. There were also pictures of her graduation.

And in the center of the mantle sat a glass case that held the triangular folded American flag that had made that final journey with Peter from Iraq to where he lay beneath the old oak out back. Damran followed her clear blue eyes where they rested on the flag that he had personally draped over the casket that held the remains of his best friend, the second brother that he had lost in this life. When Jill finally felt his gaze upon her and looked up, he had merely nodded his head in silence.

Then it was on to the business at hand, opening Christmas presents. First, it was Rick to open the bubbling foot bath that Jill had picked out for him, remembering that his toes bothered him during the cold winter. They had been broken when Peter was a child when a bull had stepped on his foot. Next, it was the shawl that she had crocheted for Shelly. The two of them always exchanged handmade gifts. They seemed to recognize that they meant more somehow. It must have been a girl thing they joked.

Then it was Jill's turn to open the big box that she discovered contained a magnificent quilt. Shelly brushed her hand across the patchwork reverently as she said, 'It is made out of some of Peter's old things that I found in the attic last summer.'

The whole proceedings stalled for a time as they shared memories. This square was from his christening gown. That one was from his Cub Scout uniform. This one was his football jersey. Both women were a blubbering mess as they held one another with the precious quilt between them.

Rick broke the spell with a proclamation, 'At this rate it will be New Year's before we get the rest of those damned presents open.' He chuckled as he passed a package to Damran. 'It ain't much son, but I hope it fits.' Damran opened the box to find a red and blue sweater with the Corps emblem knitted on its front.

Jill wanted to scream then. She did not know if Shelly had spent hours and days knitting another. For all, she knew it might even be the one that his mother had gifted to Peter that last Christmas. But somehow it felt...wrong. And yet incredibly right at the same time. She used the back of her hand to wipe away more tears and snot from her swollen face.

There were other presents as well. Shelly had knitted Rick another scarf. It was their shared joke, a scarf for every Christmas they had together. It was a tradition that Jill and Peter had begun as well. There was a photo album for Rick and Shelly from Damran. Most of the pictures were ones that Jill had on an external hard drive. Hardly a day passed without an email and picture from Peter. There were gifts that she would have forever, those words of love and photos of him or the two best friends.

Finally there were only two boxes remaining under the tree. Jill choked back tears as she knew that one contained her scarf to Peter. She kept that tradition even now. They ended each of these Christmas nights by trekking out in the snow to that big old oak tree. Together the three of them draped the plain white cross that bore his name and the words Semper fidelis with that scarf. Then they laughed and cried together before slipping away to bed.

This year Jill knew that this odd tradition would be shared with another; a stranger and a friend. It felt almost like that first night when she had stood naked before Peter. She felt that her whole existence resisted upon his acceptance of her, blemishes and all. So too she felt that her soul rested upon this man understanding this scared right. She was tempted to just leave it unopened under the tree this year. She could sneak out to the tree alone tomorrow perhaps.

But it was Damran that reached for the red and green parcel. Shaking it, he pronounced, 'This one is for Peter. I bet it's another scarf...again this year.'

Jill felt hot tears racing down her face again. Those were the exact words that Rick and eventually Peter would proclaim in jest each Christmas. How had he known? Did he understand there significance? But then she saw his smile and tears and she knew that he truly understood.

But instead of handing the neatly wrapped package to her, he reached back under the tree for the small gold foil wrapped one that remained a mystery. 'Hmmm...this one says it is for Jill.' He held out the small gift without any mention of whom it was from.

Jill frowned as she looked down at the gift. It was the exact same size as those others...first her necklace and then her engagement ring. She wondered at what it contained, but somehow feared opening it. Her slim fingers trembled as she pulled away the glittering bow and paper. Her breathe caught as her worst fears were confirmed, a tiny black velvet box. She was not sure she could manage to lift the lid as both Shelly and Rick encouraged her to open it, open it.

When her fumbling fingers finally managed the task, she stared at the familiar object. It was just like the golden Corps ring that she had scrimped and saved to purchase for Peter that last Christmas. She lifted it to the light as she examined it from each angle. There was a deep dent on one side as if some powerful force had shattered even its precious face. She frowned then as she looked inside. The writing was clear. The inscriptions read to P. J. from J. J. Semper Fidelis.

She felt her heart pounding in her throat as she grasped the ring in her trembling fingers. She looked up into the dark face of the man, whom she knew shared her husband's final moments. 'But how?' she whispered. 'They said they could not find it. That the explosion must have destroyed it.'

Damran nodded as he watched the beautiful young woman bend her golden head to kiss the ring. 'I know. But I had this dream the night before I shipped back home. I knew I had to go back...there.' They all knew where there was, that roadside half a world away where Peter gave his life.