This is a true story. It is also an excerpt from my novel, Morning Star. It is the right time of year for it, and I thought I would post it to show that Todd wasn't always so bipolar.
Broken Ornaments
The morning of Christmas Eve, Tucker and I go to Wal-mart to pick up my check. Sandra, who works in the office, cashes it so I can do some holiday shopping before I leave the store. The electric bill can wait until next week, damn it, I am giving Tucker a Christmas! I just hope the propane holds out that long….
When we get home, the driveway is so icy that I have to park at the bottom and trudge up the hill on foot, dragging the artificial Christmas tree box-it was half the price of a real tree, and at least I won’t be vacuuming up pine needles all year. Tucker carries the bag with the lights and ornaments in it, but the way he is banging the bag around, I’m afraid there will only be shards of glass by the time we reach the trailer.
Tucker is so excited when I start putting the tree together. He claps his hands and jumps around, “Yay, Kissmas free! Yay Santa!”
I turn on some seasonal music, trying to put myself into a better mood, and I can’t believe it when I open the box of ornaments to find they are all still intact. It’s a Christmas miracle, I chuckle to myself. $4.99 for eighteen, assorted color, glass ornaments. Quite the bargain. I think back to when we paid four times the price for a single ornament. The year Tucker was born, Eric and I picked out a porcelain teddy bear wearing blue pajamas. Baby’s First Christmas was stenciled on it. We were so happy just to hang it on our tree. It was one of the first times that I felt that Eric and I were no longer just a couple, but a family.
The ornament is packed in the storage unit now, and even if I could afford to pay up the rent to get into the unit, Eric has the only key….
While I string the lights, Tucker hangs all the balls on the bottom of the tree, looking up at me for approval before he places each one.
“That’s a good spot,” I tell him, even though he’s putting them all on the same branch.
I lift him up so that he can hang some higher on the tree, but he drops a red one and it breaks when it hits the carpeted floor. Hundreds of tiny pieces glint on the rug.
Tucker looks at me with uncertainty, but instead of getting irritated, I just laugh and say, "Uh oh!".
“Uuuh ooh,” Tucker repeats, laughing, “uuh oooh!”
“Looks like we need the vacuum,” I tell him as I pick up the larger pieces.
Tucker gets excited again, “Vroom, vroom!” he says, and races to the closet; he won't have it any other way. Within seconds I hear fragments of glass dinging against the inside of the vacuum. If only it were so easy to clean up the fragments of our lives once they are broken.
I stand staring at the tree with nothing underneath it, and a huge wave of sorrow washes over me. I try to shake it off, grabbing Tucker’s hands, we dance to Jingle Bell Rock.
Tucker laughs as we spin and skip around the sparsely furnished room and I’m surprised to find myself laughing too. Strange how fast laughter can become unfamiliar when your world is breaking apart. I start to feel dizzy, and then I look up to see Eric standing in the hallway.
I stop spinning, nearly losing my balance as my head continues to whirl.
“Daddy!” Tucker cries, and Eric kneels down to meet our son with a hug.
He's wearing his black leather jacket, the one I got him last Christmas. He knows he’s irresistible in leather.
“Hey, Buddy, Daddy sure missed you.”
I detect a warble in his voice. Coming here couldn’t have been easy for him.
Suddenly I am afraid to move, afraid I’m dreaming, afraid that if he is really here, he didn’t come to see me. I stand motionless, feeling as delicate as a glass ball, about to fall from the tree.
“I knocked, but you didn’t hear….”
I nod, unable to speak, trying to catch my breath….
Eric closes his eyes as he squeezes Tucker tighter, “Can I sit down?”
“Of course.”
He unzips his jacket as he walks over to the drab green couch that my mom gave me. He sits on the edge of it, like he is ready to get up and dart out the door at any moment, but he sets Tucker on his lap.
I sit down beside him, aching to touch him, but afraid my trembling hands will clench too tightly, breaking him in an anxious fist.
Tucker wiggles down and goes across the room, near the Christmas tree.
Eric cocks his head to one side, “What’s he doing?”
“I think he wants to show you… the vacuum cleaner,” I say as Tucker pushes it over to the couch.
“Vroom!” Tucker says; his eyes, beam joyful blue.
Eric looks perplexed, “Yeah, Buddy. Vacuum cleaner.”
“Since… ah, well… he’s become very attached to vacuum cleaners since we… ah… split up….” it’s hard to even say the words split up. I never in my life intended for things to turn out this way.
“Oh?” Eric looks at me with concern, then his eyes dip to my stomach, “What about the baby? I only got half the message you left yesterday.”
“The ah… the doctors said that the baby isn’t…” my voice becomes strained trying to choke back the pain, “growing like he should be.”
“So what does that mean?”
“Well, I have to go back in two weeks, and if he isn’t doing any better, they said they will have to take him early.”
“Early? You’re only twenty-nine weeks.”
I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that he has kept track of how far along I am, “In two weeks I’ll be thirty-one weeks. The doctors say that he‘ll have a… a good chance by then.”
I watch Eric‘s face sink as the full impact hits him, “Did they say why he is so small?”
“Well, they said it could be due to a knot in the umbilical cord, but they didn’t find one during the ultrasound….”
Eric reaches over and touches my stomach tenderly, but quickly pulls his hand away, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”
“That’s your son,” I say, pulling his hand back, pressing it to a spot where the baby just kicked me, “of course you should.”
The baby kicks again, and Eric smiles, “He’s got a strong kick.”
“Yes,” I smile, nodding my head, “he does.”
Tucker comes from the kitchen eating a piece of bologna and climbs back into Eric‘s lap.
Eric sits back and Tucker rests a tired head on his father’s chest, “You sleepy, Buddy?”
Tucker just rubs his eyes and tugs on his earlobe.
“He was up early this morning, so it’s about time for a nap.”
Eric pulls him closer and starts patting his back, like he did when Tucker was an infant, to put him to sleep.
I watch silently, afraid to even breathe, as if I exhaling could shatter this tender moment.
Patting his back still works. In no time at all, Tucker nods off.
“Which one is Tucker’s room?”
“The first door.”
When Eric comes back out, he sits on the very edge of the couch again and I’m afraid he is going to make an excuse to leave. I desperately try to figure out how to get him to stay. “I’ve missed you so much,” I tell him.
“We have a lot of things we need to talk about,” is his reply.
“I know we do,” I scoot closer, “but tell me first, have you missed me?”
Eric opens his mouth as if he is going to say something, and then closes it again.
I lean into him, resting my hand on his thigh, “You missed me,” I breathe in his ear.
“Jodi, don’t start that,” he says, and I swear there is frost hanging on his breath.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I say moving back, rubbing my arms to smooth the gooseflesh, my eyes trained on the rug. I see fragments of the broken ornament that Tucker missed with the vacuum. They are glittering at me, witnesses to my embarrassment. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Neither do I,” he says with regret in his voice.
I glance at the clock, “You’ll be leaving for work soon,” I say in frustration.
“No, I have the night off.”
“You do?” I make timid eye contact.
He nods.
“Then stay for dinner with us?”
“Well…”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Eric. You belong with Tucker on Christmas Eve.”
He considers it for a moment and then nods his head, “Okay.”
I’m smiling again, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
There’s an awkward silence. I take a deep breath, “How about a glass of pop?”
“Sounds good.”
I make my way up from the couch with some difficulty, and Eric laughs at me.
“I know, I walk like a duck,” I say as I step into the kitchen.
“No, I was just remembering how big you got with Tucker.”
“And that is funny because?”
“You looked like a beach ball,” Eric laughs harder.
I giggle at the thought of it, as I open the refrigerator and pour the soda, “Well you try walking around with a ten pound baby inside of you.”
I turn to find Eric right beside me.
“I did miss you,” he says, using his soft, low voice.
I catch the leathery scent of his jacket, as desire for him pools inside of me. I stand there breathless.
He sips the soda and looks out the bay window in the dining area, “You have a great view of the valley from here.”
“You’re right,” it looks like a Christmas card framed by the window. “This is the first time I’ve really noticed it.” The wind blowing down over the hill has caused the snow to ripple; it looks like breakers on the ocean, cresting, but motionless. Further down the hill is the Pendleton’s vineyard; the twisted vines are bare and gray in the cold. The sun glints off the snow as a gust of wind lifts up some powdery crystals like a sparkling white spire reaching for the heavens.
“It’s beautiful,” Eric says in a voice just above a whisper. Then he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulls something out, and holds it out to me. It’s the porcelain teddy bear ornament that we bought the year Tucker was born, “I think… we should hang this one on the tree.”
