{"id":31,"date":"2008-12-11T20:12:11","date_gmt":"2008-12-12T03:12:11","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=31"},"modified":"2008-12-11T20:12:11","modified_gmt":"2008-12-12T03:12:11","slug":"old-friends-a-winter-tale","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/31","title":{"rendered":"Old Friends: A Winter Tale"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

Old Friends<\/span><\/p>\n

by Todd Walton<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>1<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Michael Perry, gruff and unkempt, smiles at his four-year-old daughter Cecily and says, \u201cPlease be my little songbird just a few more times and we\u2019ll have Christmas tonight in a motel room with television and a bathtub and\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cA tree?\u201d asks Cecily, her eyes growing wide at the thought of a tree lit with colored lights. \u201cWith tinsel and angels?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMaybe,\u201d says Michael, hating to lie to her, but desperately wanting that room with a door he can lock. \u201cAnd pizza and ice cream.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOkay, I\u2019ll sing,\u201d she says, wiping away her tears. \u201cCan I ride?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOf course,\u201d he says, lifting their duffel bag out of the shopping cart to make room for her atop the cans and bottles they\u2019ve collected on their long day\u2019s journey through the city. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Cecily climbs up and in, an expert on the rungs, and Michael shoulders the duffel and pushes their cart down J Street past Mercy Hospital and Sacred Heart cathedral, turning left on 38th Street where grand old homes fronted by verdant lawns stand canopied by towering sycamores. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThese houses are big<\/em><\/span>,\u201d says Cecily, shivering as they move into the shadow of an Italianate mansion. \u201cWill I sing here?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOh, yes,\u201d says Michael, aiming for a house with a gigantic new car in the driveway. \u201cThis is where the money lives.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

2<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Mildred Kittredge, seventy-four, proud and prim in a dark tartan skirt and a well-pressed white blouse, looks out the big picture window in her living room, and frowns at the scruffy fellow pushing a shopping cart along the sidewalk across the street, his cargo a dirty little girl sitting atop a pile of cans and bottles. Mildred describes the ruffian and the child in angry shouts to her husband, Ted, who is playing a video game in his study down the hall. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cLong brown hair. Fortyish. Six-feet tall. Blue jacket. Dirty jeans. Old tennis shoes. No socks. Are you listening to me, Ted?\u201d She waits for her husband to reply, furious that these derelicts continue to come down her street after all her calls to the city council.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThe little girl has curly brown hair like Shirley Temple. Her face is filthy. Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. Pink pants. I can\u2019t see her shoes. She\u2019s in the shopping cart. Did you hear me, Ted? They\u2019re obviously homeless.\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYes, dear,\u201d says Ted, a tall man with snowy white hair. \u201cI\u2019ll put the lights up before they get here.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cBefore who<\/em><\/span> gets here?\u201d asks Mildred, stamping her foot. \u201cThere\u2019s a horrible man with an unsanitary child across the street. They\u2019re going up to the Morgan\u2019s front door, and the Morgans, as you know, are in Paris for the holidays.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cBefore the kids arrive,\u201d says Ted, putting down his control stick, pleased with his new high score. \u201cNo need to get so upset. I\u2019ll put them up right now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

3<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI guess nobody\u2019s home,\u201d says Michael, pushing the cart away from the big brownstone. \u201cMaybe next door.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019m cold, Daddy,\u201d says Cecily, hugging herself. \u201cCan I have my jacket?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Michael fishes in the duffel bag for her filthy blue jacket. \u201cI\u2019ll wash it, honey. Next chance we get.\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Cecily puts on her jacket and wrinkles her nose at the musty smell, though she\u2019s glad to be warmer. \u201cThank you, Daddy. Maybe they\u2019ll have a Laundromat at the motel.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI bet they will,\u201d says Michael, feeling as hopeless as he has ever felt\u2014his daughter the only reason he goes on living.<\/span><\/p>\n

4<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Julia Smiley, wearing her red sleigh bell apron over her forest green dress from Neiman Marcus, stands at the enormous butcher-block island in the center of her colossal kitchen. She\u2019s sprinkling green and red sugar glitter on her white snowman cookies, trying to keep her mind on presents and ornaments, rather than think about her long gone husband. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJingle Bells,\u201d she says lifelessly, which reminds her to put on the Johnny Mathis Christmas CD her mother sent to cheer her up.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>The doorbell rings. Julia licks her fingers, washes her hands, and checks her face and recently permed hair in the little mirror she keeps over the sink for just these occasions. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m still good looking,\u201d she murmurs, frowning at her pretty face. \u201cBut I\u2019m not at all sure about this perm. Maybe I\u2019m ready for long hair again. Maybe\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>The house shakes as Lois, Julia\u2019s sixteen-year-old daughter, hurtles down the stairs to answer the door with Arthur, fourteen, following close behind, shouting, \u201cIt\u2019s not your stupid boyfriend. It\u2019s probably for me.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Julia clears her throat and tries not to cry as she imagines their father standing at the door, ashamed and chagrinned, ready to give the marriage another try, done with his ridiculous affair with that woman barely half his age.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMom,\u201d says Arthur, coming into the kitchen, resplendent in his madras jumpsuit, his frothy blond hair in his eyes. \u201cThere\u2019s some weird bums at the door.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Julia\u2019s feelings of forgiveness dissolve into rage as she grabs her rolling pin and storms through the house, determined to drive the invaders away. But the scene in the doorway is so arresting\u2014a sad little girl standing atop a heap of cans in a shopping cart\u2014that Julia lowers her rolling pin and gazes in wonder as the beguiling waif takes a deep breath and belts out that quintessential Christmas song:\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Chess nuts rosing on an open fire,<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0jack fross nipping atcher nose\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

I know it\u2019s been said many times many ways <\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Merry Chrissmuss Merry Chrissmuss<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Merry Chrissmuss to you.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Lois, who loves movies starring bold little kids, is deeply smitten with the singing child and bursts into applause. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Arthur, who favors anti-hero comics and mildly obscene rap music, finds the little girl\u2019s rendition of the old tune sufficiently bizarre as to warrant an approving nod.\u00a0<\/span>And Julia, having for several months walked the fine line between functional depression and irrational despair, is stricken to the heart by the darling little girl, and bursts into tears of aggrieved compassion.<\/span><\/p>\n

5<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019m calling the police,\u201d says Mildred, aghast at what she imagines to be going on across the street. \u201cThey\u2019re making a horrible scene at the Smileys, and you know Mr.<\/em><\/span> Smiley isn\u2019t there anymore, so…\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHow does this look?\u201d says Ted, standing on the highest rung of the eight-foot ladder to place the big bubbling star atop the towering spruce. \u201cOr do you prefer the kinetic angel? The one that changes colors and has the spiraling halo?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Mildred grabs her phone and punches 911. \u201cHello, yes. This is Mildred Kittredge. I\u2019m at 7472 38th Street. Not avenue, street. There\u2019s a man breaking into the house across the street. With a shopping cart.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cReally?\u201d says Ted, climbing down from the ladder. \u201cAt Julia\u2019s?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d says Mildred, looking out he window. \u201cBreaking and entering even as we speak.\u201d She hangs up and glares at Ted. \u201cSince when is she Julia<\/em><\/span> to you?\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThey just seem to be talking,\u201d says Ted, remembering the thrill of that recent afternoon when he met Julia in the rose garden at McKinley Park, purely by chance, next to the fabulously fragrant red Mamie Eisenhowers, how they walked home together and she cried about her husband leaving her, and he comforted her. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t say he\u2019s breaking in. They\u2019re just\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou have<\/em><\/span> to say that,\u201d says Mildred, storming out of the room. \u201cOr the police won\u2019t come. You have to say there\u2019s violence underway or they ignore you.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cBut honey,\u201d says Ted, following her into the kitchen. \u201cWhy call the…\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t honey<\/em><\/span> me,\u201d says Mildred, seething. \u201cYou\u2019ve been talking to her, haven\u2019t you? Ever since her husband ran off with that harlot. Haven\u2019t you? Admit it.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s our neighbor,\u201d says Ted, feeling terribly sad. \u201cI say hello to her occasionally. We…\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou probably talk to her more than you talk to me,\u201d says Mildred, turning away. \u201cDon\u2019t you? Admit it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

6<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Michael\u2014wishing he\u2019d shaved more recently than a week ago\u2014steps into the doorway, gives Cecily a peck on the cheek, and turns to face the Smileys. \u201cThanks so much for the applause, but we\u2019re just a bit down on our luck right now, and what we really <\/em><\/span>need is\u2026\u201d He stops speaking and his jaw drops. \u201cI\u2026I\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d asks Julia, flustered to be the object of such a penetrating gaze. She impulsively touches her hair and wipes the corners of her mouth in case cookie crumbs are clinging there. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou\u2026you\u2019re Julia,\u201d says Michael, overwhelmed by a flood of memories. \u201cJulia Payne. Class of 1978. Castlemont High.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>She squints at him, sensing she knows him, but seeing no one she recognizes. \u201cYes, but\u2026who are you?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>A huge tear rolls down Michael\u2019s cheek and he forces a laugh to stem the tide. \u201cI\u2019m Michael Perry. We\u2026we\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMichael?\u201d she says, forgetting all about her husband and her children and her hair. \u201cMichael.<\/span><\/p>\n

7<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHoly Jesus!\u201d says Mildred, closing her eyes at the unimaginable. \u201cShe\u2019s kissing him. Has she lost her mind?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Ted does not close his eyes. Julia\u2019s passionate embrace of the bedraggled man is one of the most beautiful things he\u2019s seen in all his seventy-six years. \u201cThey aren\u2019t kissing,\u201d he murmurs, his heart pounding. \u201cShe\u2019s hugging him.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Mildred opens her eyes. And though she is loathe to admit it, Julia and the vagrant do seem to be embracing in much the same way she and Ted embraced on that long ago day when Ted finally came home from the bloody war, and they clung to each other for hours and hours, fearing to ever let go.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Now squad cars arrive, one two three, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Six officers leap from their vehicles and unbutton the straps holding their guns tight in their holsters. <\/span><\/p>\n

Michael and Cecily turn to face the police, hands held high in surrender.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Sergeant Kelly, sensing nothing serious, leads the parade of gendarmes. \u201cOkay, okay,\u201d he says, nodding deferentially to Julia. \u201cWhat\u2019s going on here? This guy bothering you, ma\u2019am?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNo,\u201d says Julia, stepping in front of Michael, shielding him. \u201cThese are my friends. They\u2019ve come to visit for Christmas.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>8<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Mildred is extremely distressed. Throughout the long afternoon, as her two sons and two daughters arrive with her nine grandchildren, and all through Christmas supper and the opening of gifts, no matter how hard she tries, Mildred can think of nothing but that horrid man and the dirty little girl in the house across the street. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, Mother?\u201d asks Janet, the eldest of Mildred\u2019s children. \u201cYou seem so tense.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe just\u2026took him in,\u201d says Mildred, clenching her fists and glaring in the direction of Julia\u2019s house. \u201cA complete stranger. Just\u2026took him in. It\u2019s inexcusable.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cBut why is that bad, Grandma?\u201d asks twelve-year-old Philip, sorely disappointed she won\u2019t allow him to go across the street to visit Arthur. \u201cMaybe like the policeman told Grandpa, maybe Mrs. Smiley knows him. Maybe they are<\/em><\/span> friends.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cShe couldn\u2019t possibly<\/em><\/span>,\u201d says Mildred, barely able to keep from screaming. \u201cHow could she?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMom,\u201d says Jonah, her oldest son and the spitting image of Ted. \u201cIt\u2019s Christmas. Maybe she\u2019s feeling generous. \u2018Tis the season and all that. So don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Ted watches the outdoor Christmas lights come on at Julia\u2019s house, her azaleas and camellias twinkling with hundreds of little golden lights. \u201cThe officer said they were old friends visiting for the holidays. Maybe their car broke down. Maybe\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOf course she said he was an old friend,\u201d says Mildred, shaking with rage. \u201cThey would have arrested him if she\u2019d told the truth. She\u2019s lost her mind. She\u2019s watched too many of those stupid Hollywood movies where homeless people turn into saints and millionaires. She\u2019s delusional, and now we\u2019re all in danger.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOf what?\u201d says Jonah, grimacing at Mildred. \u201cWe have them seriously outnumbered, Mom.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t try to joke me out of this,\u201d says Mildred, clenching her teeth. \u201cThat woman has lost her mind, and she\u2019s endangering her children and us, too, letting a miscreant like that stay in our neighborhood. It\u2019s an outrage.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

9<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Lois is giving Cecily a bubble bath. Cecily peeks through her mask of bubbles and asks, \u201cMay I have some more hot, please?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOf course,\u201d says Lois, trembling at the miracle of the child in their tub.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAre we staying here tonight?\u201d asks Cecily, pretending to be a mermaid, holding her legs together and swishing her imaginary tail through the warm water.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI think so,\u201d says Lois, feeling all sorts of motherly feelings she\u2019s never felt before. \u201cI\u2019ll ask my mom.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI hope we do,\u201d says Cecily, her eyes widening with excitement. \u201cBecause you have a chimney, and chimneys are what Santa uses for getting into houses with his presents. We were going to a motel, but they don\u2019t have chimneys or fireplaces like you do, so there\u2019s a much better chance Santa will bring what I wished for my father if we stay here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat did you wish for?\u201d asks Lois, holding her breath.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNew shoes,\u201d whispers Cecily. \u201cHis are all worn out and we catch pneumonia if we go barefoot in the winter.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

Fresh from his shower, Michael is shaving with Julia\u2019s razor and trying to think of a reasonable explanation for why he and Cecily are homeless. But the tangle of his past resists untangling, so he abandons his quest for an easy answer and says to his reflection, \u201cI\u2019ll just be honest. I\u2019ll just\u2026tell her the truth.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Arthur is on the phone ordering pizza. \u201cYes, we\u2019d like an el grande vegetarian with extra mushrooms and mega garlic, and we\u2019d also like one of your humongo Christmas specials, the Chicago deep-dish Turkey \u2018n Stuffing. Is it possible to get extra cranberry sauce on that?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Julia is in the laundry room, washing everything in Michael\u2019s duffel bag, weeping at the paucity of his belongings. She remembers how handsome Michael was when he took her to the senior prom and she wore her first and only strapless gown and all night long she worried her dress would slip away if she danced too fast and her breasts would come free for all the world to see. \u201cSo I only danced the slow ones, and he danced the fast ones with Mona Felix who was wearing practically nothing and wanted to take him away from me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

10<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI can\u2019t stand it any longer,\u201d says Mildred, rising from her chair and striding to the front door. \u201cIf the police won\u2019t do their job, I\u2019ll do it for them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHoney, no,\u201d says Ted, looking up from the jigsaw puzzle he and the grandchildren are assembling\u2014dolphins leaping over turquoise waters. \u201cWhat are you doing? Wait.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>But Mildred will not be deterred. She hurries down the front walk and marches across the street; Ted and their children and grandchildren following in confused disarray.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Arthur answers the pounding on the door, shocked to find Mildred and Ted and their myriad descendents gathered on the front porch. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBummer,\u201d he says, making a goony face. \u201cI thought you were the pizza.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI am not <\/em><\/span>the pizza,\u201d says Mildred, wondering what Julia has done with that frightening man. \u201cI am your neighbor, and I\u2019m very worried about what\u2019s happening in this house.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Julia joins Arthur in the doorway, her face free of the sorrow that has masked her for years. \u201cMerry Christmas, Mildred. Ted.\u201d She smiles sublimely. \u201cAre you out caroling? It\u2019s so cold and clear. We\u2019d love to hear a song. Come in. Come in. We\u2019ve just turned on the tree lights.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWe won\u2019t <\/em><\/span>come in,\u201d says Mildred, trembling with anger. \u201cNot until that man is gone. How dare you harbor that kind of person on our street. I don\u2019t know what sort of mental problems you\u2019re having, but I\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou mean Michael,\u201d says Julia, seeing her fearful self so clearly in Mildred\u2019s eyes. \u201cHe was my high school boyfriend. The first man I ever really loved.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cFirst man you ever loved,\u201d gasps Mildred, swept away into a vivid memory of <\/span><\/p>\n

Christmas eve in Philadelphia, Mildred and her younger sister Claire just returned from sledding on Brower\u2019s Hill. <\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

They are having cocoa by the fire when someone knocks on the front door. <\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

They run to answer, expecting friends with gifts, but it\u2019s Father with his cap crushed in his trembling hands, his eyes bloodshot and full of tears, his lips quivering, desperate for a drink.<\/strong><\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong><\/span>\u201cMama says we can\u2019t let you in. Mama says you don\u2019t live here anymore.\u201d <\/strong><\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong><\/span>\u201cOh, please my darlings, it\u2019s so cold out here and I\u2026\u201d <\/strong><\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong><\/span>\u201cNo,\u201d says Mildred, slamming the door.<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Now Michael appears with Cecily in his arms, his long hair brushed back from his handsome face. He smiles at Mildred and says in his rich baritone, \u201cIsn\u2019t it amazing? Finding each other after all these years.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>And without thinking, Mildred bows to him, deeply humbled by the seamless confluence of her tragic past and the miraculous present. \u201cI\u2026I don\u2019t know what to say. Forgive me, I\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cPlease,\u201d says Julia, drawing Mildred in from the cold. \u201cWe\u2019ll have egg nog and wine by the fire, and cocoa for the children.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAnd I\u2019ll sing,\u201d says Cecily, leaning out from her father\u2019s arms to kiss the old woman\u2019s cheek.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAnd we\u2019ll sing along,\u201d says Ted, slipping his arm around Mildred\u2019s waist, lest she trip and fall.<\/span><\/p>\n

11<\/span> <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Midnight. Mildred stands at her bedroom window, looking up at the Christmas moon still nearly full. She hears Ted coming up the stairs, and she wonders if he\u2019ll notice the nightgown she\u2019s wearing, the translucent cotton thing she used to wear long ago when they made love with abandon and the children came into being every two years, and they could imagine no end to their passion for each other.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Ted enters their bedroom saying, \u201cThe doors are locked, the children fast asleep.\u201d He sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his shoes. \u201cQuite a day, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYes,\u201d says Mildred, smiling at Julia\u2019s house. \u201cQuite a day.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cFull of surprises,\u201d says Ted, wanting so much to touch his wife, but fearing she will push him away as she has for so long now.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Mildred turns to her husband and opens her arms to him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a012<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>Michael and Julia sit at the kitchen table, searching their minds for anyone else from the olden days they might reminisce about. But there is no one left to keep them from speaking of their own lives now.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThe last time I saw you,\u201d says Michael, sipping his tea, \u201cwas Christmas of my first year of college. I dropped out my sophomore year and never came home again.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMitzy Eiger\u2019s party,\u201d says Julia, remembering her blue paisley dress, her daringly short hair, the peace symbol earrings she never let her mother see. \u201cYou had a moustache and all the girls thought you looked so dashing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAh, yes,\u201d says Michael, touching his upper lip. \u201cMy Zapata phase.\u201d He looks at Julia\u2019s hand and sees the deep trace of her vanished wedding ring. \u201cAnd you were engaged to good old Joe Phelps, so I didn\u2019t even try to kiss you.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI broke up with him a few days after that party,\u201d she says, barely remembering Joe. \u201cI wish you had. Tried to kiss me. Who knows what might have happened?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cSo\u2026where did you go after that?\u201d He smiles shyly. \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>She takes a deep breath and says, \u201cYou first.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span>He takes her hand and gives it a good squeeze. \u201cNo, you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Todd Walton\u2019s web site is Underthetablebooks.com<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Old Friends by Todd Walton \u00a0 \u00a01 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Michael Perry, gruff and unkempt, smiles at his four-year-old daughter Cecily and says, \u201cPlease be my little songbird just a few more times and we\u2019ll have Christmas tonight in a motel room with television and a bathtub and\u2026\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cA tree?\u201d asks Cecily, her eyes growing wide […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=31"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=31"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=31"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}