It’s just Mom and I on this cold Christmas morning. In some ways, it’s kind of nice. The fire is going, and we’re both in pajamas and sweatshirts with no worries of needing to get ready or shovel the deck or even bother to go outside. The tree doesn’t have many gifts under it, but neither of us minds.
It’s been a tough year for both of us.
Mom actually surprises me with a phone when I tell her that the one I had was busted. It probably is, since I chucked the old one into a Dumpster in Asheville. The new iPhone is just like the kind I had. Except I have a feeling this one hasn’t been tampered with.
The phone isn’t the last gift she gives me. She saves a small box for last, making me curious about it.
“Keys to a new car?”
She likes my joke. “Or maybe it’s a wallet, for when you get your license.”
That’s an even better joke. My negligence in getting a driver’s license has become our joke now. She’ll ask me about it and I tell her I’m working on it.
I open up the small box. It’s a lighter. An old lighter by the look and feel of it. There’s a logo of wings on it.
“Is this for all the cigarettes I smoke?” I joke.
“That’s a Zippo lighter. An original. From World War II days. It belonged to your great-grandfather when he served in the army.”
The mention of my great-grandfather makes me stop breathing. I look up at her to see if she’s going to say anything else. To surprise me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You just turned pale.”
“Really?”
“Are you okay, Chris?”
“Yeah. This is great, Mom.”
“His name was Walter Kinner. He died while fighting over in Europe, and this was brought back by one of his fellow soldiers and given to his wife.”
Uh, no, Mom, he didn’t die, because I just saw him, and while he looks a bit, well, unhealthy, I still saw him.
“I wanted to give it to you as part of our history. There’s a lot about my family that I’ve tried to forget. Because of my mom and dad passing away. But family is family.”
Right, Chrissssssss?
“Chris?”
“Yeah, that’s great—thanks.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Does it have to do with your father? Or Christmas?”
“Maybe both,” I lie.
I lie because I have no idea what to tell her.
So my great-grandfather served in the army during World War II. Did he die over there, like Mom is saying?
Reports would have that, right?
Reports far away from this place.
I guess in some ways, it doesn’t matter. The man I met the other day has enough issues. Whether or not he’s lying …
Or whether or not he’s dead …
“I want your trip to Chicago to be a nice break for you,” Mom says.
“Thanks.”
“I hope it’s also a good chance for you and your father to start over—to actually be on good terms.”
“Yeah.”
I hold the lighter in my hand. “Have you tried to work it?”
Mom shakes her head, and I open it up and try it.
“Maybe if you took it somewhere, they could put some lighter fluid in it,” she says.
“You trying to turn me into a pyromaniac or something?”
“If you do get it working, be careful. I’d prefer you keep it more as a memento.”
“I’m not going to lose it, Mom.”
Then again, maybe I should.
Maybe it will start lighting itself in the middle of the night.
I’m really curious about Walter Kinner now. Even more than I was before.