THE LAST CHRISTMAS TREE

 “What is it?”
“It’s a Christmas Tree.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Dad, this is your fault.”
“It’s not my fault … why is it my fault?”
“Because you procrastinate.”
“You’re not old enough to know what that word means.”
“You don’t even know how old I am … do you?”
“Ah ... ten ... eleven?”
“I’m fourteen and I know what procrastinate means.
“Are you suggesting …?”
“No, I’m telling you. We would have had a better choice of trees if you hadn’t…”
“…procrastinated.”
“Good evening, folks, this is the last one. Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Are you kidding? You’re right about it being the last one. And I’m not wondering why?”
“It’s a magic Christmas tree and will bring the owner much luck.”
“Much luck, my Aunt Fanny. How much is it?”
“Twenty.”
“TWENTY DOLLARS? You’ve been dipping at the eggnog … haven’t you?”
“As a matter of…”
“I’ll give you a dollar. No, on second thought, you give me a dollar and I’ll take it off of your hands. I will remove it from your life.”
“Fifty cents. I have a family to feed.”
“A family of what?”
“That isn’t funny, mister.”
“Okay, here’s your blood money.’
“Thank you, kind sir. And blessings of the season on you.”
“Oh, please. Spare me. Cindy … carry.”
“Dad … it’s too heavy. I’m not that strong.”
“You were strong enough to beat the crap out of Dale Clausing.”
“I never…”
“Cindy.”
“Okay. But that was different.”
“I see how you look at him. I’m not as inept as you think I am.”
“Oh, Dad. What am I going to do?”
“Try being nice to him for a change. Give him something for Christmas.”
“That will probably freak him out.”
“No, it won’t. Trust me. I can just imagine what your mother will say about this thing.”
“She’ll love it.”
LATER …
“Okay, here she comes.”
“What the hell is that?”
“I thought you said she’d love it? Mother … it will be beautiful.”
“Harry, this is your fault.”
“What did I do?”
“Her … that’s what you did. You can sleep in the guest room tonight. Come on, dinner is ready.”
“She’s kidding … right?”
“No, she’s not kidding.
“She’s punishing you with no sex?”
“I heard that. Mind your manners, young lady. Now, both of you … get in here before it gets cold. Where’s your brother?”
“Hiding … from you.”
“Shhhh … don’t aggravate her … He’s upstairs, dear, studying like a good boy … Go on … get him … Oh, here he comes. Dinner, Charlie.”
“What’s all the yelling about?”
“Because of that.” Cindy points at the newly acquired Christmas tree.
“What is it?”
“A Christmas tree … keep laughing and I’ll kick your butt.”
“Be careful, Charlie. She can do it.”
“Dad!” Cindy glares at her father.
“Come on you two. The mistress of the house awaiteth us.”
“Smells good.” Charlie sniffs the air.
“Be sure to tell her that. She’s in a mood.”
“She cut Dad off again?”
“Will you two stop? She’ll box both your ears if she hears you.”
“Sorry.” Cindy let Charlie go first.
“Mom, it smells de-lish.”
“Thank you, Charles.”
NEXT MORNING …
“Morning, Marge. I made coffee.”
“Good morning, Harry. Where did that angel come from?”
“I was wondering the same thing. You didn’t…?”
“No, I didn’t … Cindy maybe?”
“I didn’t do it … what didn’t I do?”
“Morning, Cindy. The Angel. Was that your idea?”
“Oh, my God, no. She is so beautiful … Mom?
“No. Do you think Charlie did it?”
“Not very likely.
“Morning, all. What’s with the Angel?”
“Morning, Charlie. We’re all wondering the same thing.”
“I know who did it.” Charlie smirks.
“You do?”
“Grandma Rose.”
“You’re kidding?”
“She’s helping me with my homework.”
“What? That’s impossible.” Marge looked at her son.
“No, it’s not. She’s always helped me.”
“You’ve never mentioned that before.”
“Didn’t think it was important.”
“Your grandmother is dead and buried. Now, I want you to stop this nonsense.”
Everyone looks at Charlie like he’s nuts.
“Harry?” Marge stares at the Christmas tree.
“Yes, dear.”
“That bell. Where did that come from? It wasn’t there last night.”
“I have no idea.”
“It looks like real gold.”
“By golly, it sure does. And that angel is just the thing my mother would do for a funky old Christmas tree like that.”
“I agree with you,” Marge mused.
“Maybe Santa Claus came early and placed it there.” Cindy touched the bell.
“Harry?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I know you did it … always with your tricks.”
“But I didn’t. I swear on your mother’s grave.”
“That’s not funny.” Marge glared at her grinning husband.
“I vote for Grandma doing it.” Charlie interrupted.
“I second that.” Cindy turned and looked at everyone. “Hey – if she’s actually responsible for the Angel and the bell, I guess we can call it our Christmas miracle. Besides, the tree man said it was a magic tree.”
“I don’t think he meant it.” Harry grinned.
“Okay, enough of this nonsense. Let’s have breakfast and then . . . to work on dressing the tree.” Marge moved toward the kitchen, stopped and turned. “Harry?”
“I’ll be there in a minute, dear.” When everyone had let the room, he turned to the tree, “Thanks, Mom. And a Merry Christmas to you.”
As he turns to leave, he stops dead in his tracks when he hears the bell ring. He smiles, then continues into the kitchen.
“Where’d this come from?” Marge holds up a partially opened box.
“What is it?” Cindy closes the refrigerator and sets a bowl of eggs on the counter.
“A fruitcake.”
Everyone laughs and shouts, “GRANDMA.”

THE END

Thank you for reading this short story. Here’s a little tune to send you on your way. Cheer, JT
 http://chirb.it/pvCBa6




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