"The Red Sled" - Robin Loving (superbooks4u txt) 📗
- Author: Robin Loving
Book online «"The Red Sled" - Robin Loving (superbooks4u txt) 📗». Author Robin Loving
who always left a half a gallon of milk on the porch every morning. Occasionally there was a box of "Captain Crunch" or a loaf of white "Rainbow" bread. This became a game to us...we loved opening the door in the morning to see what was out there. We drank the milk greedily, cereal or not-- before hiking in all directions through the snow to our different schools.
My oldest sister hadn’t been seen in weeks. She had quit going to school, and was living with her boyfriend Mark. With my mother gone all the time...Dana was in charge. Dana was pretty much robbed of her childhood, by trying to take on the demanding role of family Matriarch that year. I thought about that now (while I looked at the dog I planned on leaving to her), and felt selfish… Why would I ask her to give up any more of her life for me? The answer came too quickly--I knew she would.
I always believed myself to be the weak one in our family of five children. Dana sensed this, I'm sure. At that very young age of 12, she developed a nurturing instinct akin to a mother hen. My younger brother, sister and I were her, eh...'brood'. I wanted back under her wing. She had always loved me enough to take my hand, and walk me through that brightly-lit, trailer-park of life…point out all the beautiful trees, and even drag my frozen butt home on a little red sled--(most assuredly, saving my life on more than one occasion). She and I had gone our separate ways, but through all the years, and all the physical barriers that kept us apart…we maintained a bond of love that dissolves all barriers. Love like that has no words to describe it's depth. Love like that never doubts itself. It may change forms, but it never goes away. I knew this in my heart. Whatever my future held…I was safe with Dana-- and I hoped she would love Annie.
After Dana took over, those weirdly, de-formative years took on a small sense of structure, but my memories of Christmas are what I cherish most.
Santa never missed his rounds at our house. I never wanted to admit that I knew Santa had long blond hair and big blue eyes--he might not come--but she did everything from; burning cotton to make it look like Santa had come right through the radiator, (since we never had a fire-place)—to putting rein-deer, hoof-marks on the steps outside our front-door. She could even turn a brown paper-bag into a chain of smiling gingerbread boys, to hang from our tree. Our ‘tree’, was usually a sorry little twiggling of a thing, generously donated by any local tree-dealer who felt sorry for us. With bits of ribbon tied into bows, and a glitter-and-glue, card-board star...Well, I’ve never seen prettier trees in all my life since. I never knew where she found the small bits of money to buy the candy and jacks and paddle-balls that over-flowed onto the floor from our stockings. The toe was always stuffed with a tangerine.
I was peeling a tangerine now--found laying next to me on the wind-shield, like a small, orange ghost from the past. I watched the slow-motion of the sweet spray from the fruit, as it settled into a shiny mist on Annie's fur.
My head hadn’t stopped bleeding, and now the entire back of my coat was damp and sticky. I could actually smell the blood. I was getting light-headed, but needed to stay alert in case I heard a car. My humming of old Christmas carols had taken on an eerie, dark edge...like a twisted, funeral-drone. I made a mental note to try and remember how it sounded. I liked it--in a sick way. I sat helpless--waiting for a sound of any kind. I was wearing the sticky, mingled smell of tangerines and blood. I decided I couldn't eat my tangerine.
It was dark now with only a slight glow from the nearby silo lights. I watched--in silence now--as the snow completely covered the rear window of my car. I should have been terrified. Instead, my mind was far away...swooping up and down the steep, snow-covered slopes of our Christmas’s in Germany...
My father had returned from Viet Nam, and the tour had taken a heavy toll on our family. His drinking had increased dramatically, and robbed him of the jovial, life-loving spirit we had all fallen in love with. He had seen a world that doesn't allow for laughter; from anyone with a conscience. He was always tense and angry. Haunted. He was everything, except the person who had left us a year ago.
I suspected my mother had married him to help provide for her five children. She used to show a 'fondness' for him, but I felt sure it was all for the sake of us kids. When he received his marching-orders for Viet Nam--she broke--started looking for someone else. She found someone who loved 'her', but didn't necessarily want to take on a whole family. She gave us up.
Christmas, that first year in Germany was spent trying to understand what had happened to the 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' we had lost. My parents were back together, but both were constantly sick. I imagine it was mostly due to stress and heart-break...the never-ending cycle of alcohol-abuse. When our household goods finally arrived--months after we had--the 'red-sled' was the first thing I looked for. The one solid thing I could connect fun and happiness to. The snowy hills weren't far from our home, and we spent countless hours there. Dana, dragging me home after every outing.
We lived in a rambling old ginger-bread-type house, smack-dab in the middle of Ramstein for the first 6-months. It smelled like the fuel-oil we used, to fill our stoves. The streets were very 'Dicken's'-like. We tried to ignore our parents.
Dana and I teamed-up that first year to buy as many gifts as we could for the family--thinking this might heal everything. A 'mark' was equivalent to a quarter in those days. Our tree had real candles, and the tiny, perfectly wrapped presents were everywhere. Dana bought me a pair of soft, warm mittens that Christmas. Nothing was healed that year, except my frozen fingers.
I grew-up very fast and furiously in those next few years. The only thing that kept pulling me back toward my last remembered moments of childhood innocence, were the days leading up to Christmas.
Once we finally moved into our base-housing apartment...Dana and I made a ritual of painting huge Charlie Brown murals on the picture window leading out to the balcony. We were both quite sure this balcony would fall off the side of the building; had we used it. Her highly-critical eye would be watching as I’d carefully paint Snoopy’s smile; just so. She insisted on the exact number of lines to emphasize ‘happy’ on Snoopy’s ‘happy-feet’. We’d encase the entire thing in snow-from-a-can…barely leaving a peep-hole to peer through.
We also lived next to the woods. This gave us instant access to all the pine-boughs we wanted and we had those tied to everything we could wrap a string around. We risked our lives with the wrought-iron balcony, which could have been mistaken for an old-growth forest, by the time we were finished. Shiny baubles and brilliant lights everywhere… We were the envy of the entire air-base(or at least we thought we should have been).
Those three years before Dana got married, she and I started our midnight ‘peeking’ ritual. First, we would make sure everyone else was fast asleep, and then we would creep out into the living-room, under the spell of conspiratorial whispers. Picking out that one present on the first night, wasn't easy. We always had a steaming cup of hot chocolate (made from a packet...had to be the packet-type), and the lights from the tree made everything soft and warm, and magical. We’d use our fine-tuned ‘peeking-ritual’ skills to dismantle the wrapping, and with the same measure of skill…we’d re-wrap. We would do this every night leading up to Christmas Eve, and even had to throw a few ridiculously-constructed, gag-gifts into wrapping paper, just to make it through the entire 24 days. When the tree dried-up and began to shed it's needles, my childish side was shed, as well. I quickly reverted back to my free-roaming, mini-teen persona. Always looking for excitement. Always in trouble.
Dana left home the year before we returned to the States. That last Christmas I had to pretend I was a grown-up, and didn't care about Christmas anymore. Santa quit coming to our house, and the red sled never came out of the closet again...
I had brought a thermos of our 'special' hot-chocolate for the trip to Dana's. I knew it would be swimming with thin, silvery-glass-- as I had a sneaking suspicion this is what gave me the goose-egg on the back of my head. A knowing-smile crossed my lips as I thought of the karma-effect, and how I was being paid back for all those years of sneaky-peeking. I opened the thermos; the smell was haunting but made my situation seem ironically peaceful. I don’t know why I passed the thermos under Annie’s nose--maybe I was just trying to get her to respond to something…she was starting to fade. I was too.
Annie's body was beginning to lose it’s warmth, so I shifted myself closer, to try and share more of the small blanket with her. I was pressed up against her side--kissing her cold black nose as I rubbed her head. I was holding on as tight as I could...so she wouldn’t slip away from me. She still smelled like the conditioner from her bath two days ago. My eyes were dripping but I was trying not to cry. I knew the jerking-sobs would make my head explode.
Once I let the tears out, I felt calmer…almost too calm. I closed my eyes again and my frozen arms cuddled Annie even closer. I was rocking her and humming my own deranged version of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas" now. It was Christmas Eve, and we were missing the Christmas caroling. We had always sung carols on Christmas Eve when we were little. By now Dana’s house would be full of the scents of hot chocolate, and cookies. Rows and rows of smiling, brown-paper, ginger-bread boys would be hanging everywhere, with their sugary counter-parts being grabbed by little fingers. The lights would be flashing in her windows. Perhaps "Snoopy" would be dancing there...surrounded by canned snow -- pine-bough ties everywhere. I wondered if she had shared our “peeking ritual" with anyone else. I winced at the thought. I wondered what-ever happened to the red sled.
Off in the distance, I thought I heard the faint sound of sleigh-bells. I opened my eyes and shook Annie as the sound drew closer. She didn’t whimper this time…her eyes were starting to glaze. With every last bit of my strength I shook her hard… “ I HEAR THE SLEIGH-BELLS ANNIE! WAKE-UP! ANNIE!!! I hear the sleigh-bells...Annie... Dana's coming to take us home”.
*****
A distraught driver, in a red SUV makes a wide U-turn in the deep snow after discovering the lights--mistaken for a town--led to nothing
My oldest sister hadn’t been seen in weeks. She had quit going to school, and was living with her boyfriend Mark. With my mother gone all the time...Dana was in charge. Dana was pretty much robbed of her childhood, by trying to take on the demanding role of family Matriarch that year. I thought about that now (while I looked at the dog I planned on leaving to her), and felt selfish… Why would I ask her to give up any more of her life for me? The answer came too quickly--I knew she would.
I always believed myself to be the weak one in our family of five children. Dana sensed this, I'm sure. At that very young age of 12, she developed a nurturing instinct akin to a mother hen. My younger brother, sister and I were her, eh...'brood'. I wanted back under her wing. She had always loved me enough to take my hand, and walk me through that brightly-lit, trailer-park of life…point out all the beautiful trees, and even drag my frozen butt home on a little red sled--(most assuredly, saving my life on more than one occasion). She and I had gone our separate ways, but through all the years, and all the physical barriers that kept us apart…we maintained a bond of love that dissolves all barriers. Love like that has no words to describe it's depth. Love like that never doubts itself. It may change forms, but it never goes away. I knew this in my heart. Whatever my future held…I was safe with Dana-- and I hoped she would love Annie.
After Dana took over, those weirdly, de-formative years took on a small sense of structure, but my memories of Christmas are what I cherish most.
Santa never missed his rounds at our house. I never wanted to admit that I knew Santa had long blond hair and big blue eyes--he might not come--but she did everything from; burning cotton to make it look like Santa had come right through the radiator, (since we never had a fire-place)—to putting rein-deer, hoof-marks on the steps outside our front-door. She could even turn a brown paper-bag into a chain of smiling gingerbread boys, to hang from our tree. Our ‘tree’, was usually a sorry little twiggling of a thing, generously donated by any local tree-dealer who felt sorry for us. With bits of ribbon tied into bows, and a glitter-and-glue, card-board star...Well, I’ve never seen prettier trees in all my life since. I never knew where she found the small bits of money to buy the candy and jacks and paddle-balls that over-flowed onto the floor from our stockings. The toe was always stuffed with a tangerine.
I was peeling a tangerine now--found laying next to me on the wind-shield, like a small, orange ghost from the past. I watched the slow-motion of the sweet spray from the fruit, as it settled into a shiny mist on Annie's fur.
My head hadn’t stopped bleeding, and now the entire back of my coat was damp and sticky. I could actually smell the blood. I was getting light-headed, but needed to stay alert in case I heard a car. My humming of old Christmas carols had taken on an eerie, dark edge...like a twisted, funeral-drone. I made a mental note to try and remember how it sounded. I liked it--in a sick way. I sat helpless--waiting for a sound of any kind. I was wearing the sticky, mingled smell of tangerines and blood. I decided I couldn't eat my tangerine.
It was dark now with only a slight glow from the nearby silo lights. I watched--in silence now--as the snow completely covered the rear window of my car. I should have been terrified. Instead, my mind was far away...swooping up and down the steep, snow-covered slopes of our Christmas’s in Germany...
My father had returned from Viet Nam, and the tour had taken a heavy toll on our family. His drinking had increased dramatically, and robbed him of the jovial, life-loving spirit we had all fallen in love with. He had seen a world that doesn't allow for laughter; from anyone with a conscience. He was always tense and angry. Haunted. He was everything, except the person who had left us a year ago.
I suspected my mother had married him to help provide for her five children. She used to show a 'fondness' for him, but I felt sure it was all for the sake of us kids. When he received his marching-orders for Viet Nam--she broke--started looking for someone else. She found someone who loved 'her', but didn't necessarily want to take on a whole family. She gave us up.
Christmas, that first year in Germany was spent trying to understand what had happened to the 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' we had lost. My parents were back together, but both were constantly sick. I imagine it was mostly due to stress and heart-break...the never-ending cycle of alcohol-abuse. When our household goods finally arrived--months after we had--the 'red-sled' was the first thing I looked for. The one solid thing I could connect fun and happiness to. The snowy hills weren't far from our home, and we spent countless hours there. Dana, dragging me home after every outing.
We lived in a rambling old ginger-bread-type house, smack-dab in the middle of Ramstein for the first 6-months. It smelled like the fuel-oil we used, to fill our stoves. The streets were very 'Dicken's'-like. We tried to ignore our parents.
Dana and I teamed-up that first year to buy as many gifts as we could for the family--thinking this might heal everything. A 'mark' was equivalent to a quarter in those days. Our tree had real candles, and the tiny, perfectly wrapped presents were everywhere. Dana bought me a pair of soft, warm mittens that Christmas. Nothing was healed that year, except my frozen fingers.
I grew-up very fast and furiously in those next few years. The only thing that kept pulling me back toward my last remembered moments of childhood innocence, were the days leading up to Christmas.
Once we finally moved into our base-housing apartment...Dana and I made a ritual of painting huge Charlie Brown murals on the picture window leading out to the balcony. We were both quite sure this balcony would fall off the side of the building; had we used it. Her highly-critical eye would be watching as I’d carefully paint Snoopy’s smile; just so. She insisted on the exact number of lines to emphasize ‘happy’ on Snoopy’s ‘happy-feet’. We’d encase the entire thing in snow-from-a-can…barely leaving a peep-hole to peer through.
We also lived next to the woods. This gave us instant access to all the pine-boughs we wanted and we had those tied to everything we could wrap a string around. We risked our lives with the wrought-iron balcony, which could have been mistaken for an old-growth forest, by the time we were finished. Shiny baubles and brilliant lights everywhere… We were the envy of the entire air-base(or at least we thought we should have been).
Those three years before Dana got married, she and I started our midnight ‘peeking’ ritual. First, we would make sure everyone else was fast asleep, and then we would creep out into the living-room, under the spell of conspiratorial whispers. Picking out that one present on the first night, wasn't easy. We always had a steaming cup of hot chocolate (made from a packet...had to be the packet-type), and the lights from the tree made everything soft and warm, and magical. We’d use our fine-tuned ‘peeking-ritual’ skills to dismantle the wrapping, and with the same measure of skill…we’d re-wrap. We would do this every night leading up to Christmas Eve, and even had to throw a few ridiculously-constructed, gag-gifts into wrapping paper, just to make it through the entire 24 days. When the tree dried-up and began to shed it's needles, my childish side was shed, as well. I quickly reverted back to my free-roaming, mini-teen persona. Always looking for excitement. Always in trouble.
Dana left home the year before we returned to the States. That last Christmas I had to pretend I was a grown-up, and didn't care about Christmas anymore. Santa quit coming to our house, and the red sled never came out of the closet again...
I had brought a thermos of our 'special' hot-chocolate for the trip to Dana's. I knew it would be swimming with thin, silvery-glass-- as I had a sneaking suspicion this is what gave me the goose-egg on the back of my head. A knowing-smile crossed my lips as I thought of the karma-effect, and how I was being paid back for all those years of sneaky-peeking. I opened the thermos; the smell was haunting but made my situation seem ironically peaceful. I don’t know why I passed the thermos under Annie’s nose--maybe I was just trying to get her to respond to something…she was starting to fade. I was too.
Annie's body was beginning to lose it’s warmth, so I shifted myself closer, to try and share more of the small blanket with her. I was pressed up against her side--kissing her cold black nose as I rubbed her head. I was holding on as tight as I could...so she wouldn’t slip away from me. She still smelled like the conditioner from her bath two days ago. My eyes were dripping but I was trying not to cry. I knew the jerking-sobs would make my head explode.
Once I let the tears out, I felt calmer…almost too calm. I closed my eyes again and my frozen arms cuddled Annie even closer. I was rocking her and humming my own deranged version of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas" now. It was Christmas Eve, and we were missing the Christmas caroling. We had always sung carols on Christmas Eve when we were little. By now Dana’s house would be full of the scents of hot chocolate, and cookies. Rows and rows of smiling, brown-paper, ginger-bread boys would be hanging everywhere, with their sugary counter-parts being grabbed by little fingers. The lights would be flashing in her windows. Perhaps "Snoopy" would be dancing there...surrounded by canned snow -- pine-bough ties everywhere. I wondered if she had shared our “peeking ritual" with anyone else. I winced at the thought. I wondered what-ever happened to the red sled.
Off in the distance, I thought I heard the faint sound of sleigh-bells. I opened my eyes and shook Annie as the sound drew closer. She didn’t whimper this time…her eyes were starting to glaze. With every last bit of my strength I shook her hard… “ I HEAR THE SLEIGH-BELLS ANNIE! WAKE-UP! ANNIE!!! I hear the sleigh-bells...Annie... Dana's coming to take us home”.
*****
A distraught driver, in a red SUV makes a wide U-turn in the deep snow after discovering the lights--mistaken for a town--led to nothing
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