The Christmas Wreath

THE CHRISTMAS WREATH

 

 

He glanced at his watch. It was nine-thirty on a Wednesday night—another half hour, and he would call it a night. No customers had wandered in for over an hour. He frowned as he surveyed his small lot; with only a week left before Christmas, he still had three dozen trees left. The growing popularity of artificial trees and competition from the big box stores and larger lots were taking their toll. Benjamin Logan had been selling his trees since he retired fifteen years ago and counting. But making his fortune in the Christmas tree business had never been high on his priority list. He smiled at the thought, unconsciously rubbing his hand across the gray stubble on his lined face. He’d forgotten to shave that morning.

With a grunt, he dragged another cut, seven-foot blue spruce, across the frozen ground and struggled to get it upright. At sixty-eight, Benjamin was getting too old to be wrestling with Christmas trees, but with the tree bound with twine, he managed to get his arms around it enough to lift it into the metal sleeve sunk into the frozen ground. With the tree now upright and secure, he deftly cut the twine with his pocket knife, freeing the limbs. By tomorrow the branches would have spread, and Benjamin would trim the tree, making it even more presentable. He paused, taking several deep breaths; he loved the smell of freshly cut pine in the crisp winter air.

Benjamin glanced around his small, five-hundred-square-foot lot. Surrounded by rabbit fencing on three sides, his small travel trailer enclosed the fourth side. Christmas lights on several poles around the lot brightened the area and added to the holiday spirit. Two dozen trees of various heights stood with pride in their temporary stands. Another bound dozen piled against the fencing on one side awaited freedom and their chance to become a family’s gaily decorated Christmas tree.

Benjamin walked over to his illuminated manger scene, stretching his aching back along the way. He bent over and unplugged the extension cord. This little tableau was plastic and consisted of Mary, Joseph, and the Three Wise Men watching over a Baby Jesus. The tallest figure was only four feet tall. He had constructed a small wooden manger a few years back to give the scene a little more realism. He just needed to add a few animals to the display to make it even more appealing. Maybe tomorrow.

The old man felt the delicate touch of a snowflake on his cheek. He glanced around and saw large flakes drifting to the ground. With no wind or even a breeze, they were floating lazily earthward. Several kissed Benjamin’s cheeks and forehead. He held out his hand and watched several of them land in his palm, resting there for a moment before melting. He felt a ripple of vertigo as he looked up into the dark and peered at the wafting white specks falling toward him. With the black sheet of the night sky as a backdrop, the white flecks appeared to emerge out of nowhere as they came into range of his modest lighting. He didn’t like the cold anymore at his age, but he always loved the snow. The odds of a white Christmas this year were looking good.

Feeling all of his years, he shuffled over to his temporary home and was just mounting the fold-down steps when a car’s headlights reflected off the side of the trailer. A vehicle had pulled into the makeshift parking area next to his tree lot.

When Benjamin turned to look, he was startled to see the vehicle: a vintage, red VW Square Back, Volkswagen’s ’68 version of a small station wagon. He knew this because he had owned one like it back in college. Since that had been forty-eight years ago, he was a little surprised to see one now, appearing to be in pristine condition.

As Benjamin walked back across the lot, he got a look at the driver exiting the vehicle, heading his way. He was tall and lanky, bare-headed in the cold night air, his graying hair tied in a short ponytail. Of indeterminate age, the man wore blue jeans, brown cowboy boots and a heavy, brown suede coat. His smile was big and warm, his ungloved hand even more cordial in the handshake he gave Ben.

“Hello, my name is Joshua H. Cristobal, and I need to buy me a good Christmas tree for friends of mine,” the man said, his gaze fixed on Ben.

“I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Benjamin Logan, and you’ve come to the right place. Look around. I have Scotch Pines on the left and the Blue Spruce on the right. The prices are on the tags.”

The new customer walked around looking at the trees and found a tree in less than five minutes. “This six-footer looks good, and the price is right. I’ll take it.”

Benjamin pulled the tree out of the stand, carried it to the two sawhorses near his trailer and laid it across them. He fired up his small chainsaw, the noise jarring in the quiet night, its gasoline engine emitting fumes at odds with the pleasant scent of the cut pine. He deftly cut off two inches from the trunk of the tree, making it better able to absorb water through the new cut. Almost affectionately, Benjamin brushed the sawdust off the base of the tree. Turning to Joshua, he asked, “Any branches you want trimmed while I’m at it?”

Joshua gave it a cursory look. “No, it looks like you’ve already done a pretty good job. Let’s get it tied down on my car.”

They toted it over to the VW, lifted it onto the roof, and secured it with Benjamin’s heavy twine. He appraised the car before him. “I had a car like this in college. I haven’t seen one in years; this is really cherry,” Benjamin said.

Joshua patted the hood of the car with affection. “I got me a real good deal on this several years ago. It’s dependable, and I’ve taken good care of it. The Germans have always known how to make automobiles.” He blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Well, let’s settle up; it’s freezing out here,” he added.

Benjamin glanced at his new customer as they headed back to the trailer. “You’re right; it is cold out. Must be all of twenty degrees. Let’s go inside the trailer. How about a cup of coffee or hot chocolate?”

“Sounds good; my hands and ears are numb, and hot chocolate would hit the spot.”

Inside the trailer, it was toasty warm, the electric heater on high to conserve propane. A fold-out table and chairs occupied the center. A tiny, two-burner stove, a small refrigerator, and a compact microwave sat on an adjoining counter. A combination bench seat/storage area and a closet occupied one end, a twin bed the other. A lamp on the table and an overhead light provided illumination. The interior had a faint, musty odor. Benjamin would have to air it out or get an air freshener.

As Benjamin made two cups of hot chocolate, Joshua pulled out his wallet and removed thirty-five dollars to pay for the tree. “This is a nice little setup you have here, and your prices are comparable to the big lots. How do you manage that?”

Benjamin brought the steaming cups back to the table and plopped down in a chair. “I belong to the Kiwanis Club. They’re a fraternal organization, doing social and charity projects, things like that. Anyway, they let me order my Christmas trees when they order theirs, so I can piggyback on their quantity discounts, even though they have their own lot on the other side of town. And as for the competitive prices, well, I just try to break even.”

Joshua handed him the money, blew on his hot chocolate and took a sip. “No profit? That’s unusual. Why do you do it?” He was looking at Benjamin in curiosity over the brim of his cup.

Benjamin couldn’t believe he was opening up to this stranger, especially at this late hour. But the man’s smile and brown eyes radiated warmth, and he felt the fine lines etched around his eyes and mouth were from years of smiling, as opposed to those of frowns. He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and, on impulse, continued, “I was a history teacher at Rockwood High School here in town for thirty years. I’m retired now, have a good pension, draw Social Security, don’t have a wife or children, live by myself in a nice apartment, and don’t have many expenses. I like Christmas, I like people, and I don’t need the money.” He sighed. “And now you have my life story in a nutshell.”

Joshua threw back his head, laughing. “I highly doubt that.”

But Benjamin was also curious about his visitor. He couldn’t detect any accent in the man’s speech. “So, Mr. Cristobal, I’ve never seen you around town. Just visiting for the holidays?”

“You can call me Josh.” He took another sip from his cup. “Yup, visiting a number of friends here in Michigan. A few of them are having problems, and I’m trying to help out a little. I’m originally from the east coast. I travel a lot. Like you, I’m single and financially secure.”

The man’s voice was pleasant and had a deep, masculine timbre. It was soothing to the ear. Benjamin was formulating several more questions for his friendly customer, but Josh was still talking.

“Actually, Mr. Logan—Ben, if I may—several people recommended your Christmas tree lot. I was talking to Robert and Anna Reed at your local Wal-Mart, fellow members of your church. They said you’re a good man—honest, generous and fair.”

Ben could feel himself blush. “Geez, they make me sound like a Boy Scout. They have a lot of room to talk. They’re a wonderful couple.”

Josh was studying him. “They’re not your only fans.”

Ben was going to question that, but Josh put his cup down and rose from his seat. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Things to do, places to go, people to see. Chances are I’ll be able to stop back in before Christmas. And thanks for the hot chocolate; it hit the spot.” With that, he was out the door and down the stairs, a blast of frigid air blowing in after him.

Ben wanted to say something but didn’t. Instead, he stood in the open doorway and watched the VW square back pull out onto the highway and disappear to the north. It was ten o’clock. He wondered what things, places and people the friendly—but strange—man still had to do, go, and see at this late hour. Whatever the reason, he hoped to see him again.

 

And he did. Four days before Christmas, Joshua H. Cristobal was back. It was another cold night, and Ben was just finishing up with a customer, assisting the man in getting a Scotch pine into the bed of his pickup truck.

Joshua was wandering the lot looking at the trees and stopped in front of the manger display at the rear of the lot, near the trailer. A three-inch snowfall had blanketed the ground, making the area a proper winter wonderland.

Ben smiled as he approached the man who was still immobile in front of the manger scene. “Mr. Cristobal, don’t tell me you need another Christmas tree?”

He turned. “Josh… please. All my friends call me Josh.”

They shook hands. Joshua turned back to the manger and nodded at it. “This setup isn’t too politically correct anymore, is it?”

Ben frowned. “No, I guess not. Times have changed. Unfortunately. But I bought this half-acre parcel almost fifteen years ago. It’s zoned commercial, and the city council hasn’t given me any problems with my yearly permit. Not yet, anyway. So screw the atheists and the ACLU. If a few customers don’t like it, they can get their trees somewhere else. God gets to stay in this little corner of the world. At least as long as I’m here.”

Joshua looked at him and chuckled. “Sorry. Sounds like I hit a nerve.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Hey, I’m on your side; you’re preaching to the choir. And to answer your question, yes, I need to pick up another tree for some people.” He looked at a small pile of tree trimmings next to the trailer. “I’d like to take a bunch of those tree clippings if it’s okay. I make wreaths out of them for gifts.”

“No problem; I throw the clippings away at the end of the night, anyway.”

There were only a dozen trees left, but Joshua found one he liked. After they tied it to the car’s roof, Ben filled two big boxes Josh had brought for the clippings. That done, he asked, “You have time for another hot chocolate or a cup of coffee?”

Joshua grinned. “I appreciate the offer, but not tonight. I still have a lot to do.” He looked at Benjamin, appraising him. “I hear you’re open on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s true, as long as I have trees left, anyway. Believe it or not, I have regular, late customers every year,” Ben replied

The fine lines around Joshua’s eyes and mouth creased deeper as his smile grew. “That’s what I hear. I’ll stop in then for that coffee.” With that, the man turned and left.

Ben watched him go, disappointed that he wasn’t staying but glad he was coming back.

 

Joshua returned at noon on Christmas Eve. He greeted Benjamin warmly. “I’m ready for that coffee, my friend.”

They retreated to the cozy trailer. The day was icy cold, the sky a steel-grey dome. Customers would be sparse on Christmas Eve, and besides, there were only a half dozen trees left on the lot, what most would consider the runts of the litter: crooked, uneven, but still looking for a home.

Ben and Joshua sat inside and talked about the weather, the economy, and even politics. They were just passing the time. Benjamin retrieved sandwiches from the small refrigerator, prepared in anticipation of Joshua’s visit.

Every so often, a car or truck would pull up—older, rundown models, usually—occupied by somber-looking people with children who stared at the trees and lights with big and wondering eyes. Benjamin would go out, talk to the people, help them load their tree and return to the trailer.

By five o’clock, the last tree had disappeared. Joshua noticed that when Ben returned to the trailer each time, he put no money in the drawer next to the table.

When Ben clambered back into the trailer after the last sale, Joshua said, “You gave those last trees away for free, didn’t you?”

Ben frowned. “Yeah. A few of my regulars are going through hard times and can’t afford a tree. I’m just trying to help. But I seem to be missing one family….”

As if on cue, an old Ford station wagon, heralding its arrival via a defective muffler, pulled up to the rabbit fencing. A tired, washed-out-looking woman in her forties got out, followed by three girls and a boy, ranging in age from six to ten.

“Too bad you ran out of trees—” Joshua began.

But Ben was already out the door. He greeted the woman and the children with a smile and a hug. He disappeared behind the trailer and seconds later was dragging out a beautiful, seven-foot blue spruce to the delight of the four children and their mother.

Josh ventured out into the cold and helped Ben secure the tree to the roof of their car. Then Ben gave several small boxes of Christmas tree lights to the woman. She was in tears when she got back into the car.

Back in the trailer, Benjamin answered Josh’s unspoken question. “Yes, I keep a few trees in reserve behind the trailer for emergencies. That woman’s husband left her and her kids several years ago, and she’s been struggling to get by ever since.”

Joshua just sat and looked at him, a smile working its way to the corners of his mouth. “I have a sneaky suspicion you have a habit of giving to people, and it’s not confined just to the Christmas holidays.” It was past six now and dark out. He changed the subject. “Any plans for tonight? Relatives, someone special?”

The old man pursed his lips. “No, my parents are dead, and my sister lives in Florida. The Senior Center already had its Christmas party, and it’s too late to make it home in time for a church service, so I guess I’ll just go home and watch a movie—‘It’s A Wonderful Life,’ I guess. I’ve always liked that movie. What about you?”

“Nothing special for me either. All my friends either have something going on or are hitting the sack early with their kids. Oh, before I forget…” Josh leaned to the side and picked up a Christmas wreath leaning against the wall beside his chair. “… I made this for you. Merry Christmas, Ben.”

Benjamin took the offered wreath with a flustered look. “I… ah… thank you, Josh… you shouldn’t have… it’s beautiful.”

And it was. Josh had tied the long strands of pine boughs together with the fishing line neatly hidden among the pine needles and holly. Bright crimson ribbons, small pine cones, sprigs of holly, and red berries decorated the traditional circular wreath. Secured within the wreath were several small figures and objects. Benjamin peered closer and recognized them as delicate winged angels, trumpeting with long horns. “These figures are beautiful… they’re wood… did you carve them yourself?”

Josh grinned, a little self-conscious. “Yes, I enjoy working with wood. People have said I have a knack for it.”

“You certainly do. But you shouldn’t have; I have nothing to give you in return.”

Josh tapped his chin absently with his forefinger as he lapsed into thought. Finally, he leaned toward Ben and said, with a hint of conspiracy in his voice, “Do you have anything stronger than coffee or hot chocolate around here?”

Ben looked at him for a long second, a blank look in his eyes, before a huge grin dawned across his face. “Now you’re talking! It will be my humble contribution to the holidays.”

He made a quick trip out into the cold to turn off all the lights in the lot before returning, opening the storage bench, and pulling out a half-full bottle of Jim Beam. He grabbed two juice glasses from the cupboard over the sink and poured them each a couple of fingers worth of amber whiskey. Ben held up his glass. “A toast to Christmas and the birth of Christ!” They downed their drinks, and he splashed another liberal shot into their glasses. “Here’s an even better one. ‘To Jesus, the reason for the Season!’”

Joshua lifted his glass. “Good one, Ben.”

After the second shot of the fiery liquid, the warmth spread through Benjamin, chasing away the cold of the night. However, he seemed unable to block a sense of melancholy pervading and shadowing his cheery former spirits.

But Joshua didn’t seem as afflicted. “So, Ben, do you have a favorite Christmas from your past, any special ones that stand out? Christmas vacations, stuff like that?”

“Not really; they all kind of blend together. Except one, maybe, but I didn’t know it then—”

“Well,” Josh prodded, “Do I get to hear?”

“Nah, it was a long time ago.” Benjamin’s eyes seemed to have dimmed at the thought.

Joshua was looking at him, smile lines tugging up at the corners of his mouth. “A history teacher. You’ve helped a lot of students along the way, went the extra mile for them in school and even after they graduated. Besides the Kiwanis, you belong to Hope Junction and volunteer with the poor and homeless. You’re active in your church and have done a lot of charities along the way. You’re a regular saint, Ben. I even heard—”

Benjamin was blushing and wincing. “Hey, hey, how do you know all this?”

Joshua laughed and leaned forward again. “This is a small town, Ben; people have a high opinion of you and aren’t afraid to share.”

Benjamin drained the rest of his drink and shook his head, continuing to redden.

Joshua continued. “I have to ask, Ben. You’re a decent-looking guy, lead the good life, have given instead of taken, and yet have no wife or family. True, your fashion sense is questionable with that loud flannel shirt and those baggy khakis, but I never bought ‘the clothes make the man’ advertising spiel, anyway. Yes, I realize I’m being nosy, but I have to ask, why? If I’m crossing the line, just say so.”

Ben poured them another drink and took a sip, a sheepish look on his face. “Nothing really to say. I’ve had my share of women, even dated one for four years. Thought about marriage once or twice, but could never take that final, monumental step. I guess I never met anyone right for me, no one I was totally happy with, or no one that was really happy with me.”

Joshua leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs, and pressed on, “Not even your four-year girlfriend?”

“No, she got tired of waiting for me to take that final plunge into marriage and dumped me for another guy.”

Joshua leaned forward, saw they had emptied their glasses again, took the bottle, and poured them another drink, toasting, “Here’s to womankind, can’t live with them, can’t live without them and can’t figure them out.” Pursing his lips, he exhaled as if blowing out a candle. “Phew, this is good stuff; it’ll keep the blood flowing.” After a pause, he continued, “Did you ever wish you could do things over again?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, go back and choose ‘the path not taken.’ Relive your life, do things differently, make other choices. Take the things you had learned during your lifetime and use them to try something else.”

Now Ben was tilting back in his chair, precariously balancing on its two rear legs. “I’d say not as easy a choice as one would think. To keep from repeating the same mistakes over again, one would have to take learned knowledge back with him. But to carry the accumulated baggage of a lifetime—in my case, sixty-eight years’ worth of luggage—the sorrow, the grief, the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the day-to-day grind, knowing I would have to go through another lifetime of accumulating more debris, well, I can’t think it would be worth it. Too tiring, too exhausting, too consuming. Either way, to make it even temptingly worthwhile, there would have to be something or someone….” Ben’s smile faded, his face clouded, and his eyes seemed to stare off into the distance at a place apart from the present.

Joshua leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “What? There was someone, wasn’t there? Someone right for you, someone you were ‘totally happy’ with?” He lifted his glass. “Come on. We’re drinking buddies now; spit it out.”

Ben’s pale blue eyes refocused on Joshua; long seconds passed before he began. “Back in college, almost… um… forty-five years ago, there was a girl named Judi. That’s Judi with an i.” He poured them both another drink. He was feeling a little light-headed. “She was beautiful, personable, intelligent… the perfect woman, you could say… and she was in love with me. Actually, she figured in that ‘special’ Christmas vacation I didn’t want to talk about.”

They both paused as they listened to the rising wind blowing and screeching outside the trailer. Several strong gusts caused a slight tremor to ripple through their cozy little island. Ben rose—a little unsteady—and turned on the propane heater. The trailer wasn’t exactly airtight, and the cold drafts caused by the blossoming winter storm made it a little uncomfortable. “Sounds bad out there. We both might end up spending the night here, Josh.”

Joshua waited until his host had returned to his seat and then prodded, “You were telling me about this, Judi….”

Josh poured another drink, and Ben continued. “Judi Kennel, a beautiful woman inside and out; a regular chameleon when it came to experiencing life and its vicissitudes.” He hiccupped, shook his head and smiled. “I just love that word, ‘vicissitudes.’ He grinned self-consciously and continued. “She was just as comfortable roughing it on a camping trip in the wilds as attending the opera, or all decked out for a formal dinner—at ease in any situation. We dated for the better part of a year while I was attending college at good ol’ Long Beach State in California.”

Ben was getting a little tipsy, and his words seemed to thaw and flow, freed from any former discretion. “The southern California college kids loved to head for Mexico in those days for their school breaks, and their Christmas break was no exception—they still called it ‘Christmas vacation’ back then and not ‘winter break or solstice or whatever’—and the young revelers moved in and literally took over the small port town of Ensenada, Mexico, about ninety miles south of the US border. Judi and I drove down for a few days in… oh…‘68 or ’69, I guess.”

Joshua didn’t need to prod him anymore; the memories were fully liquid and flowing faster. “We drove down in my little red VW Square Back, just like your car. We spent the days wandering the village and exploring the countryside. We joined the other college tourists on the beach at night and partied heartily around big campfires. Later, Judi and I would zip our oversized sleeping bags together and spend the cool nights on the sand, the lullaby of the Pacific Ocean singing us to sleep. We’d rise in the morning to the same songs from the sea and start over with a new day.”

A strong gust of winter wind rocked the trailer. Or it could have been the booze casting its spell, Ben mused. He squinted at Joshua H. Cristobal sitting across from him. “Josh, I’m three sheets to the wind—don’t know where that saying ever came from—and you look sober as a judge.” He chuckled at his double metaphor.

Joshua laughed along with him. “I’ve always been able to hold my own. High tolerance for alcohol, I guess. Go on with your story. What happened?”

“She would fly back to Ohio for Christmas to see her parents when we returned to the States. She wanted me to go along with her to meet them. We had argued about it several times. I didn’t go.”

“Why?” Joshua poured them another drink. “So that was it, end of story? She dumped you?”

“No, when she came back from Ohio, she said she was going to try her hand at modeling in Hollywood. She certainly had the looks for it. I know she wanted me to stop her, but I let her go. I blew another chance.”

“And that was it?”

“Nope. Judi kept in touch. After a year of modeling, she decided to have a go at being an airline stewardess, took the training, and hired on with World Airlines, an international carrier. Judi was one of those rare individuals who didn’t just talk about doing something. She did it. They based her in San Francisco, and she had an apartment in nearby Sausalito. She wanted to see the world, and she did.”

Eyes shut, Ben ran his hand back and forth over his forehead, caressing the old memories. “A year passed before I saw her again. I stayed with her for a week when I was heading to northern California to visit a college buddy. A wonderful week, but the last morning I left while she was still sleeping, never said goodbye or anything. I just left, still running from her, still afraid of her, of us, of happiness, of failure. And so ended another missed opportunity with the most incredible woman I ever knew.” Ben was leaning on the table searching for support, his head sagging lower, the whiskey weighing him down like a yoke.

Joshua shook his head and grimaced. “You’ve got to be kidding. That should have done the trick for her. Dumped and forgot your sorry ass for good, I bet.”

“Nope, nope, nope.” Ben was having trouble focusing his eyes now. “She still kept in touch. I don’t know why. Just an occasional letter, no internet or email back in those technological dark ages. Then, five years later, she called me. I had moved back to Michigan and was teaching at Rockwood High by then. They had grounded her flight in Detroit because of a union strike, and she was staying at the Marriot near the airport until the union settled the contract. She didn’t know how long her layover would be and wanted me to drive out to the airport to see her. She was all of ten miles away from my apartment.”

“This sounds like a great love story or a romantic movie,” Joshua interjected. “But I have a sickening feeling—”

“Yes sir, Josh, my main man… absolutely right… blew it again. Three strikes, and you’re out and all that. Or was it four strikes I had? I lost count. Seven years and she was still there, had never gotten married… still waiting for me. What an idiot I am. What was I thinking—or not thinking.” Benjamin rested his hands on the table, palms up. He was staring at them. “All I had to do was reach out, grab happiness, and face the love I’d always felt for her. But no, not me. I refused to let that risky, dangerous emotion dictate to me.”

He shook his head, almost in denial and disbelief. “I had a date that night, don’t even remember her name. I knew I should have dropped everything and run to Judi—take a chance to make up for all my past mistakes. Instead, I said I’d call her the next day. As luck would have it, the airline and union settled the strike that night. She flew out very early the next morning and left a message for me at the front desk. I never called or wrote. A month later, I received a postcard from her saying she quit the airlines, was moving to Alaska, and would soon ship out on a fishing vessel as a cook. That was my Judi. Wanted to do and see everything. I could have gone with her, been with her, shared my life with her. I never answered the postcard and never heard from her again. I realized that I had been in love with her from the beginning, had always been in love with her, but feared I couldn’t, wouldn’t, measure up. What an idiot I was. There’s never really been anybody else. That’s why I’m alone…”

The older man’s lined face crinkled into a grimace. “I’m sure a shrink would blame it on my dysfunctional childhood—battling parents and their messy divorce, causing ‘deep emotional scars resulting in a fear of commitment and relationships,’ or some such bullshit as that. They’d probably be right. Too late now—”

Benjamin’s eyes blurred with tears. “I’ve often wondered what happened to her. Did she get married and live happily ever after? Is she even alive?” I tried Internet searches and stuff but never came up with anything. He shook his head and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Maybe she’s still waiting for you—somewhere, somehow, another place, another time,” Joshua said.

“What?”

Joshua dismissed his last comment with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, just musing out loud, thinking about parallel universes, alternate realities, reincarnation, time travel, all that science fiction stuff.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’m guessing this Judi might be the exception, someone worth going back for, doing your life over with.” Joshua lost in thought, drummed his fingers on the table for several seconds. “But maybe if you could go back with your lessons learned, but not with the painful baggage of how you learned them. Something along those lines, anyway.”

“Yeah, if only I could,” Benjamin answered. “I think I’ve compared every woman I ever met to Judi, and they all came up short. I was just way too slow to realize things. Took me a lifetime to figure out all the important stuff. Shit, I’m getting drunk.” He hiccupped, covering his mouth with his hand. “Excuse me, my friend. This firewater is getting to me.”

“Come on, big guy, let me help you get to bed.” Joshua gave him a hand up and walked him over to the small, fold-out twin. He guided Ben down onto the bed and wrestled his shoes off.

The old man struggled back up onto his elbows. “Let’s have one more drink,” he said, peering at the bottle on the table. He paused, staring. “Now I know I’m drunk,” he said. He squinted at the bottle. “We’ve been drinking all night on a half-full bottle, and it’s still half-full. Damn…” He flopped back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Within seconds he was snoring.

 

The cool air caressed his face, but the rest of his body was pleasantly warm. He inhaled the moist, briny perfume of the ocean with pleasure. Even the raucous squawking of the seagulls and ernes circling in the early dawn failed to trouble him, nor did he feel his normal aggravation at the sand that had sneaked inside his sleeping bag from the beach. He opened one eye and peered up at the slate-grey morning sky. Somewhere behind him, the sun was rising, struggling to clear the mountains to the east of Ensenada. Benjamin listened with pleasure to the pounding of the Pacific surf nearby.

He turned his head and saw his clothing piled next to his sleeping bag. They reeked of wood smoke. He remembered the big party around the bonfire the night prior. There must have been two dozen college kids doing their thing into the wee hours of the morning, and he and Judi hadn’t hesitated in joining in the revelry. He smiled in amazement; he had no hangover, not even a headache. He closed his eyes, listening to the ocean while his mind drifted—

A blast of cold air broke his reverie, hitting his nude body as the sleeping bag opened. Another body slid in next to him and quickly zipped up their cocoon.

“Geez, it’s cold in the morning, but I had to pee,” Judi whispered. “Now I wish we would have bunked down a little closer to the outhouses.” Judi burrowed further into the joined sleeping bags, shed her sweatshirt and sweatpants, and snuggled up to him, her face buried in his neck. She ran her cold hands down his warm body.

He jerked. “Shit, Judi, your hands are freezing.” Ben wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I’m not complaining; like they say, ‘cold hands, warm heart.’” He ducked his head back inside the sleeping bags, their cocoon again enveloping them. “Cold out, but warm in here.”

Judi murmured into his neck. “By the way, somebody put a Christmas wreath over the antenna on your car. I guess Mexico really caters to college students during holiday breaks.”

Benjamin’s breath caught in his throat. “What did you say?”

“I said, Mexico must really cater—”

“No, before that,” Ben interrupted.

“Oh… somebody put a wreath on your car. A real one, a nice one, too. Red ribbons, berries and these cool little wooden angels with big trumpets.” Judi kicked her feet. “And you need to clean these sleeping bags out more often; I found pine needles down at the bottom; they kept pricking my feet. I mean, pine needles on a beach in Mexico? Really? Anyway, I put the wreath in the car. You need to check it out. It’s pretty unique.

When he didn’t respond, she pulled the top of the sleeping bag down and looked at him, at the puzzled expression on his face. “Hey, Ben, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

He stared at her for a long second. “Yeah, it’s okay. Last night I think I had a dream about Christmas trees and winter, with snow and everything, like back in Michigan. I can’t remember much; you know how they fade after you wake up. Something about a wreath, and there was this guy… hell, I can’t remember… just a weird coincidence, I guess.”

Judi burrowed even closer to his body. “Anyway, don’t forget, we can’t spend all day here, my plane leaves for Ohio tonight, and even if it is the ‘red eye,’ we still have a long drive back. And I’m looking forward to a long, hot bath before—”

“Judi, I changed my mind; I want to go with you.”

She pulled back, looking, searching his face, her eyes brightening. “You changed your mind? Why?”

The sea eagles cried, and the surf roared. This time around, Benjamin Logan didn’t even hesitate. “I want to be with you wherever we go. I love you, Judi. And always will.” He kissed her long and hard.

 

Joshua frowned and laid his hand on Benjamin Logan with an innate gentleness. The sleeping man’s chest was rising and falling rhythmically beneath his hand. “It’s more than a dream, my old friend. It’s a second chance for you. Make the best of it; you’ve earned it. Call it a do-over, so to speak.” Ben’s breathing slowed, then stopped.

Joshua H. Cristobal looked at the half-full bottle of Jim Beam. “They thought changing water into wine at a wedding a wonder, or feeding the multitude with two fish and five loaves of bread a miracle.” He shook his head and sighed. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He sighed again before a smile brightened his countenance like a sunrise. “But for those who are strong in their belief and faith—all things are possible.” He lifted his hand from the still form before him. “Merry Christmas, Benjamin.”

 

The sun blessed the day, the eagles rejoiced, and the pounding surf thundered its approval. The two young lovers held each other close, their love and life stretching before them in an endless stream of blissful anticipation.

And God smiled.

 

###

Impressum

Texte: J. C. Laird
Bildmaterialien: istockphoto/Alexandra Laird
Lektorat: Alexandra Laird
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.12.2012

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