Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

And by the way, Scrooge was only a Scrooge on Christmas Eve. The ghosts didn’t show up four days after Halloween. They came on Christmas Eve, because he was ruining everyone’s Christmas. Not their “season”---their day. Their ONE special day. He’d been a meanie all thru the season and those ghosts didn’t make a peep till midnight Christmas Eve.

There’s a difference. A big difference.

By the time I got home, I was greeted by a huge puddle in my living room. Water everywhere. Luckily, it managed to contain itself to the middle of the room, avoiding the furniture and anything valuable. The cat was in hiding, which was nothing new. I called for her all night, but she wouldn’t come out. Not even a meow. She must have been pretty scared.

I started mopping up the water and threw more towels down to help contain the water still dripping from the ceiling. I turned on the TV to check the weather forecast. Rain. Everyday. For the rest of the week. I spent the evening looking for buckets, pitchers and large bowls; trying to strategically place them to catch the rain---points of entrance that seemed to move a few inches away from the buckets and bowls every hour.

Finally, with rain still pouring into the apartment, I crawled into bed. The sound of water dripping into buckets continued all thru the night.

The next morning, there was a knock on my door.

Oh no.

6

The rare occurrence of someone knocking on my door never failed to scare the bejesus out of me. I never knew if it would be the Illegal Sublease Police or the Chinese food I ordered.

“Hello?” I said tentatively from the other side of the door.

“Hello?” a Spanish-accented man answered back.

“Who is it?” I said, actually hoping he would reply “The Rapist” so I could just not open my door and he would go away.

“You have leak?”

Damn. It wasn’t the rapist.

“Just a minute,” I replied. I took a quick look around the apartment. If I was supposed to be pretending to be “Alex’s girlfriend staying there for a few days” I’d better do at least something to make the place a bit more masculine.

Luckily, Alex had left a few things before he moved in with Celia. A few pieces of furniture and a bunch of miscellaneous things I’d found over the past few months and thrown into a large box marked “Alex’s Stuff”. I reached my hand into the box and quickly pulled out some men’s cologne, a tie, a can of shaving cream, and a men’s t-shirt that had “Ted’s Ribs & Chicken” emblazoned across the front. I sprinkled the items around the apartment, gave the cologne a spritz or two, tossed a bathrobe over my pajamas and took a deep breath before I opened the door.

“Buenas dias,” the small man who appeared to be the leader of about four even smaller Mexican men said as he stood in the doorway.

“Buenas dias,” I replied. “Hi. I’m Dorrie. Alex’s girlfriend,” I said as I showed them the can of shaving cream as proof. “Alex is at the gym right now. I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

They looked at me like they didn’t understand a word I said.

“You have leak?” he repeated.

“Um….yeah. It’s in here. Aqui,” I said utilizing my two years of high school Spanish as I led them thru the kitchen and into the main room. Not that I needed to point out the leak in question. Raindrops were still filtering in, so high school Spanish wasn’t really necessary.

“Ahhhh,” they all said in unison. Then they huddled together for a moment, discussing something in Spanish. What were they talking about? Did they see all my clothes and shoes? My feminine bed sheets? My lady dishes?

The huddle broke up and the leader looked at me and said, “Okay mami.”

And then they left.

At least Alex had been right about the “not speaking English” thing---or was he? Maybe they did speak English. Maybe they were undercover spies for the building simply posing as Spanish-speaking maintenance men? Or maybe I was veering off into Crazytown. The truth is they didn’t seem too concerned about who I was or why I was there. Happily, I had the play to distract me.

Steve had emailed me a copy of the script he’d worked out with Nate. Like most people, I’d seen the movie on television at least a dozen times. George Bailey, a young man from the small town of Bedford Falls, has his hopes and dreams repeatedly dashed by the circumstances of life. Finally, on Christmas Eve, when everything appears to be lost, he decides that the world would be better off without him and attempts suicide. Only by the intervention of an angel named Clarence, does he begin to see the difference he made in the lives of everyone one he ever met. By the end of the film, he rediscovers the joy of living, the town steps in to help, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

I would be working on this for the next six weeks of my life. I felt nauseous.

But it was work. A good theatre. And there was Nate. Nothing like a little innocent backstage crush to keep my spirits up while an angel tried to get his wings.

At work, Deb and Jamie kept me busy by bringing in more and more Christmas decorations for me to hang. At a certain point, I ran out of space to make the office look