GRANTED! by Nexxie J.R. Gage woke up Christmas morning rubbing both eyes sleepily. The cold floor in his bedroom reminded him to slip on a pair of socks before running into the living room. Maybe, just maybe Santa received my letter, he thought. No sounds in the other room. Mom must still be asleep. She worked overtime last night until almost midnight. It must have been real late when she got home. Mrs. Smith said Mom would want to sleep late this morning. The quiet kitchen echoed with the ticking of the alarm clock from its place on the counter. He picked it up and carefully wound it. "Not too tight or the spring will break, J.R.", his mom always said. There, one of his chores done for the day. A soft mewing from the balcony reminded him of another. With a furtive look to make sure he was unobserved, J.R. opened the cupboard and removed one of the plastic cereal bowls. Good, it's the one that has a small chip out of the top. He set the bowl on the red and white enameled table and went to the refrigerator. Inside he found a half-gallon carton of milk about half full. Well, it's Christmas morning and we should share with those less fortunate. At least I have a warm house. That poor kitty just has a box in the alley. I sure wish Mom would let me keep him. I'd take care of him and brush him and hug him tight like Mom does me. Careful not to glance at the Christmas tree on the small rickety occasional table in the corner, J.R. made his way to the balcony door, the bowl half full of milk in one hand as he turned the handle. The cold air seemed to rush at him, crisp and clean, the gray sky threatening snow. Oh, if only it would! Cold fur brushed against his leg where the pajama cuff ended at mid-calf. He drew in his breath at the sensation and set the bowl down, then quickly wrapped his arms around his thin body and hugged himself to stay warm on the cold stoop. "Good morning, kitty," he whispered. "If you were mine I'd give you a name, a real good one. The Carter twins named their cat 'Fluffy' and Sam Dawson named his cat 'Demon'. Well, really, that was his dad's idea. But I'd give you a really special name, kitty, if it was up to me. I'd call you Toby. That's a really neat name, you know. Toby Kandles and I were best friends until he moved away, so I'd name you after him." A stirring on the balcony below reminded J.R. of the time. "Well, I have to go in now. It's time to have breakfast and see if Mom is up. We're gonna open our presents this morning, kitty, and then go to my grandparents house for dinner. I wish I didn't have to; they don't like me and I don't like them either. Mom says we have to, though, on account of they're her parents. But we can leave after lunch...I mean dinner...is over. Then we're coming back here and have dinner with Mrs. Smith. It won't be as fancy as the other dinner, but I bet it will taste better. Maybe I'll be able to save you something from my plate. I'll see ya later, kitty." He started to go in. "Oh, yeah, Merry Christmas." J.R. padded to the table and dragged a chair to the counter then climbed up to reach the cereal box on the top shelf. Why do they have to make cupboards where all the shelves are too short to hold cereal except the top one? He returned the chair, hoping now that the sounds of his stirrings would awaken his mother, and fetched a second bowl from the cupboard. The cereal made satisfactory noises as he poured on the milk and sprinkled it with the allotted two teaspoons of sugar. "No more than two teaspoons, J.R., it'll rot your teeth," he mimicked. At a loud "ahem" he looked up. The cereal forgotten, J.R. Gage rushed at the woman standing in the doorway in her faded robe. "Mom! Did you know it's Christmas morning? I haven't looked at the tree or the presents, really. Honest!" he said in reply to her skeptical glance. Marnie McGuire bent down to give her six-year-old raven-haired son a hug and a kiss commensurate with Christmas morning. "Let's see if Santa's been here, okay?" The excited child ran to the corner where the Christmas tree stood. A second-hand artificial tree with two branches missing, wearing a single string of lights and decorated with homemade ornaments, had three gaily-wrapped gifts beneath its branches. J.R. thought it the most wonderful sight in the world. "There's one for me, there's one for me!" he shouted. Marnie reached beneath the tree and pulled out the first package. From the shape, J.R. knew it to be a book. His eyes lit up; a new book that he'd never heard before! "OK, Little John, have at it." "Mooooommmmmm," he said plaintively. J.R. knew she only called him that when she felt all mushy. He also knew that he could expect a story later when she called him "Little John". He concentrated on the package, ripping through the paper before he remembered to save it for another year. The little boy pulled the book from its wrappings and drew in a deep excited breath. On the cover he saw a big red fire engine with ladders and hoses and firemen clinging to the back as it raced to a fire. He also saw his name. A question in his eyes, J.R. held out the book to Marnie. "It's called 'Fireman John to the Rescue'," she told him. "Just like my daddy!" he squealed, forgetting to be quiet. "My daddy is a fireman and his name is John!" Marnie reached beneath the tree for the second gift and handed it to her excited son. This time J.R. remembered to carefully unwrap the present and save the silver paper. The box held several small bundles and a large one oddly shaped. The boy went for the large one first. Carefully unwrapping the tissue, J.R. discovered a small red plastic helmet, just his size. He issued a whoop of glee and plopped it atop his raven hair, then reached for the next bundle. Inside this one reposed a small diecast fire engine, a pumper. A ladder truck emerged from the next tissue bundle and the final one held a small bag of plastic firemen. Eyes sparkling, J.R. raced to his room for the building blocks that would shortly become buildings to save and the cowboys and indians that would transform themselves into victims in need of rescue. He was about to begin playing with his gifts when he noticed the one present still under the tree. Head down with shame, J.R. walked over to the tree and withdrew the gift, then handed it to his mother. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "Merry Christmas." Marnie smiled and unwrapped her gift. From the paper she withdrew a rhinestone covered barrette and matching pendant in the shape of a cat. Without hesitation his mother drew back her thick chestnut hair that fell nearly to her waist and snapped the barrette in place. Then she clasped the pendant around her neck and opened her arms to the small boy standing nervously before her. "It's beautiful, Little John, just what I wanted." "Mrs. Fletcher gave me a whole dollar for helping her rake leaves in October," he told her, "and Mr. Johnson paid me fifty cents to feed his dog Bunker while he was gone last week. Mrs. Smith took me to the store and helped me buy your present, then she wrapped it. I helped her with the ribbon." "That makes it very special, son, because you used your own money that you earned. I'm real proud of you. Thank you, and Merry Christmas." J.R. hugged his mother and crawled into her lap. Marnie picked up the book and began to read about 'Fireman John'. J.R. was sure it would be his favorite book forever. "Mom, does my daddy slide down a pole like that?" "I don't know, J.R. I'm not sure whether all fire stations have poles like that." "I'll bet he does! And I'll bet he's the first one down. Some day I'm going to be a fireman just like my daddy." Marnie cuddled her son close and kissed the top of his head. "That's great, son. And you can drive the engine around and pick me up for a ride, okay?" "Okay!" the six-year-old enthused. Then he sobered, "Mommy, do you think Santa got my letter?" "Well, J.R., I hope so. It sure looks like he brought you something." "But he didn't give me what I asked for." "Well, maybe Santa just couldn't do that this year, so he gave you the best thing he could think of instead." "Okay. I guess he did a pretty good job." J.R. slipped from her lap and ran to his new toys. "R-r-r-r-r-rrrrr," he made engine and siren sounds until there was a pounding on the floor from the apartment below. The small boy toned it down and continued the play with somewhat muted fire engines. ~~~~~~*~~~~~~ John Gage, his crooked grin pasted on, adjusted a big green bow atop the yard-long metal fire engine and attached a tag that read "to: J.R. Gage; from: Santa". He gave it a pat of satisfaction and picked it up in both arms to take into the living room. Johnny's cousin Claire and her husband stood gazing at the Christmas tree that dominated their living room and at the four children blissfully asleep next to Johnny's son. J.R. and his cousins lay in sleeping bags on the living room floor. He pretended to go to sleep when they did, then arose to assist the adults in assembling bicycles, doll houses and other assorted toys. Now he lay snoring softly surrounded by children of various ages, two dogs and a cat. Grinning broadly, Johnny set the fire engine down beside his sleeping son and knelt down to smooth the hair away from J.R.'s eyes. He needs a haircut, Johnny thought. Man, he looks so young. I can't believe he turned twenty last week. Walking carefully to avoid the assortment of children, toys and pets scattered on the carpet, Johnny joined the other two in gazing at the scene. I shouldn't have waited this long to take Claire up on her invitation, he decided. I love Chris and Jen, but Claire's kids could have used an "Uncle Johnny" too. He pulled from his pocket a faded piece of notebook paper and unfolded it gently to read it again. Claire placed it in his hand yesterday after giving him a big hug and warm welcome. "Marnie mailed this to me," she said, "instead of to Santa." The graceful writing belonged to Marnie McGuire, but the words came straight from the heart of a little boy. He read: "Dear Santa,    How are you?  I am fine. I've tried to be a good boy this year, but it's been pretty hard. Joey Mahoney threw rocks at me and called me bad names, but I didn't throw any back.  And Sarah Bailey put her bubble gum in my chair and I sat on it. But I didn't hit her, I just yelled a little bit.    Mom said not to get my hopes up, but I'm going to ask anyways. Santa, this year, what I really, really want is to see my daddy ...even just for a minute.  And if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like a ride on a big fire engine just like the one he rides. And maybe have a little one to play with.    If you can't do it, Santa, I'll try to understand.  But could you please give my daddy a nice Christmas this year, and somehow let him know that Mommy and I love him? Thank-you. Love, J.R. Gage, December 23, 1970" Johnny folded the letter carefully and put it back in his pocket. "It took fourteen years, J.R., but Santa's given me the best Christmas ever!" THE END Author's note: My thanks to Sue who sent me a story that inspired this one. Feedback for Nexxie. Return to main menu .