Timothy J. Glasby
Assignment #2

For we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute,
Candles in the window,
Carols at the spinet.
Yes, we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute…

Mame/We Need a Little Christmas.

TOO CLOSE TO OPEN

“T. J., if you don’t get away from that tree and those Christmas presents you’re gonna get a lickin’ that you’ll tell your grand kids about,” shouted Ma.
The large box setting beneath the tree was wrapped so securely that it looked as if a bomb wouldn’t open it. I had tried to pull it out so I could feel how heavy it was and to give it a good shaking but each time, Ma caught me in the act.
“Timmy, that’s none of your business,” yelled Ma. “All the presents come out on Christmas Eve, you know that.”
“But Ma, I just want to see who it’s for,” I answered.
“Well don’t worry, because maybe it’s not for you.”
My hopes had been dashed like waves on a beach. The box was the biggest and must have had the best present, and now I found out it wasn’t even mine. “Whose is it, then?” I asked.
“Santa Clause,” she replied.
That was her answer for any question. “Who you talking to on the phone? Who’s gonna be at the party? Who’s gonna be at Grandma’s house?”
Any question elicited the same answer from Ma, “Santa Clause. It’s only a week before Christmas, just calm down.”
I gave up, knowing that Ma had eyes in the back of her head and I would be caught before I could say lickety-split. I put on my ten-year-old thinking cap to decide what the best time to get at the big box would be.
Ma worked everyday from 3:00 until midnight. Dad got home shortly after three and we kids were home about 3:30. Dad kept busy with the twin because, at six, they took a lot of looking out for. I knew if the twins saw me by the tree, they’d run to Dad because tattling was what they were best at.
Helen, my older sister, was usually in her bedroom listening to her record player or practicing her coronet. If she caught me around the tree it would mean a pinch or a punch plus she’d squeal.
With all of these dilemmas, it meant that I’d have to be sneakier than a mouse in a room full of cats to get to that present. I remembered that Dad always went back to work on Friday to pick up his check. He brought the twins with him so I’d just had to get rid of Helen to get to the box.
I waited patiently until Friday, and when Dad and the twins left I knocked on Helen’s door. I knew I was taking my life in my hands but I had to know what was in that big box.
Yelling at her door, I asked, “Helen, can I come in and ask you a question?”
She pulled the door open so fast I thought I was gonna die and yelled, “What do you want, Knucklehead Smith?”
I assumed she had confused me with Paul Winchell’s puppet because we both had butch haircuts. But Knucklehead Smith was really stupid and that, I figured, was what she meant. “I just wanted to know what you asked Santa to give you for Christmas.”
“In the first place, you little gorp, Santa ain’t bringing me nothing, Ma and Dad are, and in the second place what are you up to?”
Helen was a tough nut to crack. She was suspicious of anything I did or said to her. I always had an answer ready because I knew she’d never take anything at face value. “I’m not up to nothing. I just wanted to know if there was something I could get for you this Christmas is all.”
“Yeah, get me that Palomino horse that I’ve always wanted,” she answered.
“Ma and Dad said you can’t have a horse. How about a new record? Johnny Crawford has a new 45 out. I think Caroline has it. You could find out the name of it and I’ll buy it next time we go to Sears.”
“I know you’re up to something but Caroline wanted me to come over. You’re not gonna tell Dad I left you alone, right?”
“Nope,” I answered.
Caroline was her best friend and lived across the street. Helen grabbed her coat, “Stay outta stuff cause I’ll be right back,” she said walking out the back door.
As soon as I heard the door slam I headed for the living room and put the lights out and turned the tree lights on. I pulled the big box out and, shaking it, I couldn’t hear anything inside. I looked at the end and saw it was Scotch taped closed. I carefully began pulling the tape off and, in an instant, realized I had screwed up as the thin Christmas paper tore across the whole box. It was the Mark Wilson Magic Set that I had been begging for the last six months. “Oh, God. Please help me.” I begged, wasting a miracle on this one little dilemma. “Oh please, God, if you help me I’ll never be nosy over anything again.”
God was busy with more important things that day then my inquisitive skullduggery and wouldn’t lend a hand in helping me with this problem. I ran to the kitchen junk drawer looking for the tape and it wasn’t there. I figured Ma had put it with all the wrapping stuff in her bedroom closet.
Running to her room I opened the closet door, praying that the tape would be there. When I opened the door I got the surprise of a lifetime, as the closet was full of unwrapped gifts. There were toys and games and clothes and enough stuff to put under ten Christmas trees. I was awestruck by all the goodies. Had Santa come early and dropped off all the stuff. I knew that the Operation game was for me as I had asked Santa for it. I saw that the pajamas and slippers were my size. The new cowboy boots that Helen had been pestering Ma about were boxed in the back and a Craftsman toolbox that Dad wanted was there too. It was like Christmas before Christmas.
I remembered why I was there and started my search for the tape. I saw the tall rolls of paper standing in the corner and just below them was a box with ribbons and bows. Rummaging through this box, I found the tape, grabbed it, and ran for the living room. I re-taped the big box, turned it over, and pushed it back under the tree. As I stood to return the tape I heard the back door open and knew, by the way the screen door slammed, that it was Helen as Ma and Dad always nurtured it closed so it wouldn’t bang.
I ran for Ma’s bedroom and threw the tape into the box, closed the closet door, and ran out just as Helen was walking down the hall.
“What are you doing in Ma’s room?” questioned Helen.
“I thought I heard something in here so I was just checking.” I lied.
“You are so full of it. What were you doing, snooping in Ma’s closet looking for the Christmas stuff?”
“How do you know there’s stuff in her closet?” I asked, thinking I may have had the upper hand for the first time.
“I always knew. So what were you doing?”
“Nothing,” I replied, attempting to slide past her and her barrage of questions.
“Did Ma get me my cowboy boots?” she asked.
“I didn’t see any,” I lied.
Skirting past her, I grabbed my coat and hat and went out to my hiding place in the garage. I had set an old rug behind the furnace and could spend hours there thinking and waiting for the furnace to kick on and heat up the little enclosed corner that was my secret space. I heard the car drive up and Dad and the twins head for the house. I hid out until dinner, not worried about the gift under the tree, as it would be Ma that noticed the tampering.
The next morning, with only a couple days before the big holiday, I watched the big box to make sure that no one had pulled it out and saw my misdeed. With only one day before Christmas Eve, I was hoping I would get away with my criminal activity. Worse than that, the song SANTA CLAUSE IS COMING TO TOWN, kept running through my head, especially the part ‘He know when you’ve been bad or good, so be good, for goodness sakes.’ What if the jolly old man had seen me snooping at the present under the tree and in Ma’s closet?
The day passed and no one had noticed anything awry and Helen didn’t tattle on me either. Only one more day and I’d find out if Santa had his X-ray Specs on. I stayed out of the way, spending a lot of time in my secret place and hoping that, for just one more day, that my crime would go unnoticed.
At bedtime I said a special prayer, “Dear Lord, I’ve been good all year long. I got good marks in school and only beat up on the twins when they really deserved it. I know it was a sin to look at the present and go into Ma and Dad’s room, but I promise to never do it again. Thank you God. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” I finished, crossing myself.
When I woke, it was Christmas Eve day, and I knew that there would be enough confusion in the house to, “Please, God, Please”, get me through until that night when we opened presents.
When I went into the living room I saw that Santa, had come early. There were dozens of presents under the tree. They were all wrapped and looked so nice. I ran over to see which ones were mine but stopped in the middle of my run as I noticed that the big box was missing. I rummaged through them to see how many were mine. I could tell that the Operation game and the pajamas had both been wrapped and tagged with my name. I looked behind the tree to see if the big box with my prized magic set had just got pushed behind but it was gone, totally gone.
I ran into the kitchen and Ma was standing over the stove making breakfast. I asked, “Did you see Santa bring the gifts last night, Ma?”
“Yes,” said Ma. “He said he was so busy this year that he had to start early. But that doesn’t mean you get to start early. You still have to wait for tonight to open your gifts.”
“Hey Ma,” I asked coyly. “What happened to that big box that was under the tree all week?”
“Oh boy, Santa was really mad about that box. Someone had tried to open it and had taped it closed. You didn’t see Helen or the twins fussing with that, did you?”
“No, Ma,” I answered. “But what happened to it?”
“He took it back with him. He wouldn’t even tell me who it was for.”
“But he can’t do that,” I answered, tears welling up in my eyes. “It was left here before he even came last night.”
“He’s Santa Clause, and he can do whatever he wants to do,” Ma replied as if it was a written rule.
“That’s not fair,” I answered, tears sliding down my cheeks.
“Don’t worry about it, T.J., he can always bring it next year.”
“But Ma,” I started as the twins came roaring in screaming, fighting, and demanding food.
I walked out of the kitchen, heartbroken. My revered magic set was gone. Even if I got it for my birthday, I’d still have to wait until the end of September. I slunk out to my secret place and thought about my stupid nosiness.
“If I’d only been more careful taking the tape off. If I’d only been faster and not nosed through all the presents in the closet, Helen wouldn’t have caught me. I thought to myself. What never crossed my ten year old mind was, “If only I would have left the box alone for a couple days, I wouldn’t be in this pickle.”
Minutes later I heard the garage door open and Ma came right over to my top secret hiding place and told me to come in and eat before breakfast got cold. “Come on T.J. No sense of sitting out her moping, its Christmas Eve and you’ll get to open your presents tonight.
The twins and I spent the day pestering Ma, “What time do we open the presents? Is it time yet? How long do we have to wait?”
When Dad got home from work she instructed him, “Give them each one present from under the tree.”
The twins got sets of Lincoln Logs but they could have been a bag of rocks, as they ended up being projectile missiles instead of building toys. I was handed the package that I knew was the Operation game. I acted surprised and said how much I liked it, but would have to wait to play it as Santa didn’t understand that it took batteries and we didn’t stock them like parents do now.
At 6:00 the sun had set and that was Christmas Eve for Ma and Dad. They had been bothered by us kids long enough and it was officially time to open presents. Ma told us to all get into the living room so the presents could be passed out. Even Helen showed up thinking that the Palomino horse she wanted was staked out somewhere for her to jump on and ride off.
Besides the usual clothes; socks, underwear, pajamas, and jeans, we got most of the toys we asked for. I was still broken-hearted about the magic set but realized that it was my own fault. I went to Ma as she was throwing away all the used wrapping paper. “Ma, I opened and taped that box closed. I’m sorry but it was just driving me crazy not knowing who it was for and what was in it.”
“I knew it was you T.J.,” she started. “Would it have hurt you to wait that extra time?”
“No Ma, but when I tried to open the end and it tore and I knew I would get in trouble so…”
“And you’ll never do it again, right?” finished Ma.
“Never, Ma. I promise,” I replied with all the ten-year-old remorse I could muster.
“Go into my bedroom and check in the closet. There’s something Santa left in there.”
I ran to her bedroom and opened the closet door. On the floor, shining like a spotlight, was the box with the torn paper. My Mark Wilson Magic Set.
I grabbed it and ran to the living room, screaming and thanking God, Jesus, Santa, the Lord, and Ma all at once. I opened the box and there it was. Mark Wilson, Nani Darnell, and Rebo the Clown smiling back at me from a picture on the set. I put it aside and kissed Ma, “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“Just remember that because next year you might not get so lucky,” She answered, hugging and kissing me back.
I went to my room and checked out all the tricks that were included. I fell asleep with the set beside me, as it was the first thing I wanted to play with in the morning.
On Christmas morning, we all went to Mass. As I walked into the church, I crossed myself with holy water. Ma ushered us into the pew and Dad, who only came to mass on Holidays, sat down between the twins to try and control them.
I pulled the kneeler down, got on my knees, and prayed, “Dear God, thanks for all the wonderful presents and thanks for letting me understand that Ma and Dad are
really Santa Clause and most of all thanks for listening and answering my prayers. Amen. Oh, and God, I won’t be nosy no more cause I understand how mad it makes you. Amen, again.” I made the sign of the cross, set back in the pew, and, with a huge smile on my face and a burden lifted from my heart, smiled through the rest of the service.

Three feet tall when we moved in,
The Red Maple grew, so did
Our boys, three sons in all
a family made us whole,
with tennis rackets, books, computers,
rock and roll in stereophonic sound.

The Grass was mowed,
House filled with aroma
Of cherries baked into pies,
and watermelon soup
the guys cooked up one morning,
following an exotic recipe.

A breath,
the boys grew
A breath
They learned things,
A Breath
they went away to school
and left us with puzzles,
shelves full of books,
textbooks, comic books,
baseball bats, hats,
balls, rolling, spilling, filling,
nearly splitting our home.

And yet our home felt empty now,
And only the pictures on the walls
Echoed melodies of laughter…

Three feet tall when we moved in,
The Red Maple grew.
Its branches shaded our roof
and kept us cool.

Than one day, we packed,
went away, and left behind
our Red Maple tree,
its branches spread against the sky,
splash of red leaves on the lawn
for people we don’t know.

Assignment # 2

Reiss duPlessis

Open a new window,
Open a new door,
Travel a new highway,
That's never been tried before;
Before you find you're a dull fellow,
Punching the same clock,
Walking the same tight rope
As everyone on the block.
The fellow you ought to be is three dimensional,
Soaking up life down to your toes,
Whenever they say you're slightly unconventional,
Just put your thumb up to your nose.
And show 'em how to dance to a new rhythm,
Whistle a new song,
Toast with a new vintage,
The fizz doesn't fizz too long.
There's only one way to make the bubbles stay,
Simply travel a new high way,
Dance to a new rhythm,
Open a new window ev'ry day!

Mame
by: Jerry Herman

The day I’ve dreaded most has arrived. It’s my first day at the Firestone office.

My life, thus far, in The Human Resources Department of the State of California, has been more fun than I ever thought a Civil Service job, or any job, could be. My friends and family were surprised that I had given up the life of the hippie, the folk singer, the beach bum and the accomplished goof-off, to don a three piece suit and work in a government office, but here I was, a tie around my neck, my hair and beard acceptably trimmed, providing job placement services to welfare recipients who were mandated, if able, to find employment. My title... Employment Program Representative, One. Me, the ultimate flake of the western world’s worker bees, finding “suitable employment” for other people! No one was as surprised as I. This, however, was fun, a challenge and, in no time, I was the star placement interviewer in our, by Department standards, tiny office. I was a star, not thriving on the applause we enjoyed on stage, but I was a star... a star placement interviewer. This was hard work, There was never a dull moment. It required creativity, people skills and brought exhilarating moments of success, frustrating moments of failure and a regular paycheck. I was hooked.

We, in our little Utopia, were aware of the giant... the full functioning office, the nightmare that was the Firestone Office. We wanted no part of it. We were perfectly happy in our little storefront office, doing our own thing. We were a family in which all the members did well. Indeed, we did very well. Our statistics were better than the giant’s. They were better than most of the large, full functioning offices. We were good. We knew it and we took pride in our success. The State usually sees and rewards success. They closed our office and cast us to the far corners of the state. We, depressed, betrayed and unhappy, awaited our new assignments. No one wanted to go to the giant. It was frightening, impersonal and was in a rough area. The stories we heard brought dread and, even, fear. I decided, maybe it was time to let the hair grow back, pack it in and go back to the loving arms of my former life. Who needs this grief?

The look on Neal’s face told me all I needed to know when he called me into his office to get my new assignment. I was going to Firestone!

“I know you don’t want to go. I understand how you feel, but don’t make any rash decisions. Do me a favor, do the Department a favor, do yourself a favor, give it a try. If you find you are really miserable, I’ll see what I can do to pull you into to my new office, but they feel you are what the placement unit in that office needs and they want you there. Try to be flattered by it all. Give it a try.” This was Neal at his most eloquent. He had been given his orders and he was doing his job. “Trust me, it will be OK. You have a great career ahead in the Department.” Neal had been a fair, honest and supportive manager. He had set the tone in our little office that made it great. Neal was a good guy.

I avoided the barber shop in the weeks before my report date to Firestone. I had to be ready.

I am early, ready for whatever happens. A deep breath, push the combination numbers that open the employees entrance. Open the door. Smile the best Hollywood smile. Walk into the Firestone Office.

Fast Forward:

A couple of very short years later, as I stood in the large lunch room looking at the most food I had ever seen in one place in my entire life, fighting back the tears, as, one by one, the staff members of the Firestone Office, my loving Department family, lined up to say good bye and wish me well in my new assignment as Placement Supervisor, One in the Santa Monica Office.

4:20AM shines from the clock on the dresser. I am awoken by the welcomed but still unwelcome pain that wrenches my belly. How long has this been going on? I am tired. I am not ready for this tonight. The pain subsides but returns every 7 minutes.
He is consistent and determined.
Another 7 minutes.
My skin is taut like vacuum packed plastic.
Another 7 minutes.
One. Two. Three. Four. You are not supposed to remember the pain, but why do I know it did not hurt so much the last time?
Just 5 minutes pass. Time is closing in and I call my husband on the phone.
“It’s time. Come home now.” My little girl lay in her bed beside me. She is in deep and peaceful sleep. The angels keep her company; distract her sweetly with dreams.
I raise myself out of bed and make my way down the hall but stop.
Another 5 minutes already? It’s here again. I squat to relieve the pressure. I just want to explode. I want to pull my hair out and scream. But the hallway echoes silence.
I am still in control of my emotions.
I will not feign hysteria like TV.
I crawl into my Mom and Dad’s bed like a child. It is safe and I sink in.
“Mom.”
“Yes Cherrie.” No surprise in her voice with my early morning visit.
“It’s happening now. Matt is coming back. Can you take…?”
Like the hands that move on a clock, he is precise. He is on a schedule. I remind myself to breathe. Breathe out. Relax. It will pass.
“Mom, can you take care of Monica now?”
“Of course.”
Can I handle 12 more hours of this? I’m not sure. I’ve told myself no painkillers, but right now, I am tempted. Thank goodness, I’m not at the hospital yet. I might actually let them pump me up with drugs. I think of the length of that shiny epidural needle and cringe. I’d rather die than be stuck with that awful thing. Remember, women have been doing this for millions of years and I want to do this the natural way. No drugs and no intervention if I can help it.
I am stalling, laying beside my Mom, waiting for my husband to walk through the front door.
It’s always about the waiting. There is no escape. Patience, Patience, Patience.
Still only 5 minutes. Breathe deep. I release a low grumble from the depths of my womb. It is comforting. My father is startled. My mother remains still, and she’s the light sleeper.
My memory becomes blurred and I lose track of time.
I find myself in my husband’s arms, my knees on the floor and back in my old bedroom.
This time it hurts like hell.
I cannot breath. I cannot grumble. I cannot count or be relax or get comfortable. I am lifting myself off the ground with my arms wrapped around his neck. Matt is solid and safe. He bears my weight against himself.
“Cher, you ok?”
“It wasn’t like this before.” Will it ever end? Of course it will. This is not forever.
The pain returns and it is the greatest my body has ever experienced at one time.
I cannot let go of his neck. Oh, I love this man. We can do this again, together. Suddenly, I burst like fireworks on the Fourth. The pads on the floor are wet. I can finally relax. Rubbing my belly I make a request to him, “Peanut, give Mommy a little break.” He is obedient already.
My mind begins to rush through the checklist.
Get to the hospital. Get out of my jammies. Grab the bags. Jump in the shower and rinse off. Wear loose clothes. I need to get to the hospital. Monica is still asleep. I need to get dressed and go. She will be ok.
Down the hall again, but this time to the bathroom.
The warm water is soothing. I want to stay under it forever.
“Cherrie, it’s time to go.”
It’s Mom walking in with a sense of urgency. I already ruined her carpet.
“I don’t want to go yet. Just 5 more minutes.”
“No, right now.”
Down the hall again to get dressed and then leave.
I am on the floor, hanging on Matt’s neck, with my Mom trying to dress me like a child.
“I’m not ready yet,” as I fling the panties off my feet.
I just need to rest, on my hands and knees.
Is this really happening here?
Calmly from my mother’s lips, “I see his head. Call 911.”
There are instructions, questions answered and actions that lead to, “Bring me some towels.”
“What’s going on here? Cher, are you having a baby now?”
“Yes,” I answer sheepishly to my younger brother. I am embarrassed to be found on my hand and knees, but it’s not really the time to care.
A gush of amniotic fluid, “like catching a wet football,” my Mom retells.
He is fresh and new, arriving on his own terms and in his own way.

ETHEL

The door bell rang. Mother was still dressing, I ran to the door. “Yes?” I said as I opened the door. A sinister looking women, dressed all in brown: brown hat, brown suit, brown purse, and brown shoes. I knew that my father didn’t like my mother to dress in brown, he said it was a dead color. Now I had this brown specter in front of me at my door. I was suddenly frighteneand mad, why did I answer the door?

“I want to talk to your mother! I’m from animal control. We’ve had reports that you are molesting the pigeons.”

“I am not!” I said defiantly. “I brought Ethel with me when we moved here. I turned her lose to be with the other pigeons, her cage was too small. She comes to visit me every day at the living room window. We talk while--I give her corn and bird seed--then she flies back with her friends. She never brings friends. She always comes alone.”

I slammed the door and went back to the window. I looked out at the steely gray ocean, the day was over cast and the sand wasn’t shimmering as it did on sunny afternoons. The pigeons were playing three stories below. Mother was laughing as she entered the living room, “You really shouldn’t talk to adults that way.”