One Week til Christmas

Happy one week til Christmas! This is a cheery little holiday story I wrote a few years ago that I thought I'd share.

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My boots click against glistening cobblestones. White lights shimmer overhead, floating like suspended raindrops. The grey stone of the buildings sparkle silver with a layer of frost. Windows gleam with brightly coloured Christmas displays—chocolates carved into the shapes of reindeer, hanging knitted stockings, and intricate puzzles with snowy scenes, everything dripping in green, red, and gold. 

I round the next corner, my shopping bags swinging at the crook of my elbow. The Notre-Dame Basilica of Montreal looms before me. The soft glow of the angels along its front bring its sharp edges and shadows into view. In the square in front of the church is a dazzling white Christmas tree, the lights blurred from the icy drops on my eyelashes.

I step from the cobblestones and onto the sidewalk, spotting my friend waiting for me. She is wearing her burgundy coat, and it stands out against the white and silver. She is looking up at the tree, and there is a slight smile on her lips above her thick, grey scarf. 

I continue towards the crosswalk, watching my steps along the glassy cement. The snow begins to fall heavier now, landing in clumps on my jacket and in my hair. The lights of cars and the streetlights shine through the thick sheet of falling snowflakes. I walk up to the crosswalk just as the light changes from green to amber. 

When the light flicks to red, the world slows to the quiet thrum of a heartbeat. A car’s horn goes off, a long and frantic sound, and tires squeal, trying to connect with an icy street. I turn my head from the red light, and suddenly, the lights of the streets are coming at me instead of surrounding me.

The white light of the car fills my vision. I go to take a step, but my foot slips on a patch of ice, and I

fall,

fall,

fall,

into lights and swirling snowflakes. 

I am looking through wet eyelashes and the frost of a car window at a kaleidoscope of blurred lights. My hands are wrapped in purple fleece mittens, but my toque is discarded on the wet car mat, and my bangs stick to my forehead. We are on a quiet street, in the small town I grew up in. We are driving slowly, the tires of the truck crunching on packed snow. A painted wooden sleigh comes into view, the reindeers leaping as though getting ready to take flight. The one at the front has a glowing red lightbulb on its nose. We come closer, and I keep my eyes on the red lightbulb. I blink, and the red glow changes to flickering flames. 

“Mary.”

I am sitting in front of a fireplace with a book spread before me. Although I don’t know the words I have just read, I can feel the magic immediately—the feeling of different worlds: of moving staircases and snowy lampposts behind wardrobes. The flames flicker and spark, and they glint off the glassy surface of a china cabinet next to the fireplace. Behind it, porcelain snowmen skate on a pond and a crystal bowl sits full of chiselled pinecones and velvety poinsettias. The air smells of warm sugar and spices. I turn back to the ink on my pages, and the character is laying on their back in a snowbank watching snowflakes swirl towards them.

“Mary.”

I am laying on a cold, firm surface, looking up into the inky black sky. It is a swirling vortex of snowflakes and stars. I am wrapped in layers of winter clothing, but my breath rises in little clouds above me. I spread my arms and legs, pushing the freshly fallen snow. My mittened hand bumps the snow pants of my brother laying beside me, eyes also skywards. We are on a different planet, perhaps the moon. We are looking into the endlessness of a different galaxy. The cold, wet droplets on my face are the mist of stars. We are floating into space…the creak of a screen door sounds and our mother calls us to come inside for hot chocolate.

“Mary.”

I blink and stand up. I am rising from a wobbly wooden chair to greet bright lights and shadowy faces. My heart beats rapidly against my chest, and the lights are hot on my face, but I hold the sheet of paper steadily in my hands as I open my mouth to sing. My shiny black shoes shuffle against the wooden stage, and my dress crinkles against the classmate standing next to me. I spot my family in the crowd, and my heart glows with warmth. The song ends and the applause echoes through the gymnasium. Our many feet shuffle against the noisy wooden stage, and we walk carefully down the stairs, holding the railing, and then giggling on the way back to our seats. 

“Mary.” 

I am laughing as I run along a snow-covered sidewalk. “Three!” He is pulling my hand towards the bustling crowd of people, lights, and noise. There are other people in the streets, too, trying to run towards the scene, but we are all laughing at the futility of it. “Two!” The snow falls so thickly, it is almost blinding—swirling large flakes that catch in your eyelashes. And the ground is slippery—a layer of ice with fresh snow over top. “One!” The countdown ends and the tension snaps like a crinkled coating of ice. We stop running. He pulls me towards him, and our lips meet as fireworks burn through the frosty sky.

“Mary.”

I blink back snow to open my eyes. My friend’s worried face comes into view against a backdrop of falling snow. Her lips are painted in red lipstick, and they are opened slightly in concern. They match her red coat, which frames her face. Her scarf is tickling my chin. 

“You look lovely,” I say.

She laughs with relief, and it tinkles like Christmas bells into the streets.