55
It was still dark when I woke up. The house quiet. Squinting at my alarm clock I saw that it was just five thirty in the morning. I tried closing my eyes and going back to sleep, but it was no use. After sitting up and putting on my glasses, I pushed open my curtains.
The snow fell in clumps on the other side of my window. The clusters dropped lazily, as if they had all the time in the world to reach the ground.
Trying not to make a sound, I bundled myself in a sweater and extra socks, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail, and tiptoed down the stairs. Coat and boots, hat and mittens. I closed the door behind me as softly as I could.
Most of the people in my neighborhood had left their Christmas trees lit all night as if in an effort to guide Santa to their homes. I walked on as-of-yet undisturbed snow, the bulbs glowing bright in my periphery.
Before long, I stood on the sidewalk in front of the church. Using my mittened hand, I brushed off the dusting of snow that had gathered on the painted plywood. Last of all, I wiped off the cutout of Jesus, tracing the perfect pink smile with my finger, the wooly yarn of my mitten scratching against it.
The little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
Standing upright, I wondered if that was true, that Jesus hadn’t cried.
But my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car coming down the road. I turned to see a yellow Buick pulling up next to me, its brakes squeaking in the quiet of the morning.
David waved at me from the driver’s seat and made an attempt at rolling down his window. Finding it stuck, probably frozen shut, he opened his car door instead.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas.” I put my hands in the pockets of my coat. “Where are you headed?”
“Lansing.” He stood, keeping his engine running. “I want to get there before my niece wakes up.”
“That’s sweet.”
“What are you doing? It’s pretty early to be up on your day off, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It seemed like a nice morning for a walk.”
He rested his forearm on the top of his car door and looked at the Nativity. “And this is where you ended up, huh?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“Right on,” he said, nodding and looking my way. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“I think I’ll stay here for a few more minutes,” I answered. “Thanks, though.”
“Anytime.” He put a foot into his car but then turned back toward me. Lifting one hand, he rubbed at his head. “I guess, uh, there’s a New Year’s Eve party. Over at the American Legion next Sunday. I didn’t know if you were planning on going or not, but I wondered if you’d like to, maybe, go with me.”
“Really?”
“Unless you already were going with somebody else.”
I shook my head. “You’re the only one to ask.”
“Oh.” He smiled and laughed. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Sure. Yes. I’d like that.” My voice went up at least an octave. I was glad that David was too polite to mention it. “Thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for saying yes.” He nodded. “I like being around you, Annie.”
“Me too,” I said. “Around you, I mean. Not around me. I’m around me all the time.”
He laughed again. “I dig it.”
Sitting down into his car, he looked up at me before closing his door.
“Merry Christmas, Annie.”
“Merry Christmas, David,” I said.
Somehow I managed to make my way home without remembering a single step I took. All I could think about was David’s smile and the light and swelling feeling in my chest.
Recorded on a reel-to-reel on December 25, 1967