All I Want for Christmas is a V.R. Supercube
Copyright 2011 Dan Absalonson
All I Want for Christmas is a V.R. Supercube
As soon as I saw him I ducked behind a rack of games. Blair Thompson, the school bully who loved picking on me, had just come into the store. I was in there checking out the new game system, it was on my Christmas list, when I saw him come in. If he spotted me it would be trouble. As I franticly looked for an escape route his mom walked in right behind him, and he said,
"It's this one ma."
He pointed to the display of the new Virtual Reality Super Cubes I had been looking at. If they walked towards them they were sure to see me. I peered between some games and saw his mom's eyes drop to the price tag.
"Come on Blair, you think I make enough in tips to buy that thing? Don't you know we're barely making it right now?"
He didn't say anything.
"Blame your Father. I was always tellin' him he needed to get life insurance, but he kept saying we couldn't afford it. I'll get it when we make a little more someday he would say. Well that someday never came and now he's gone, that stupid man."
Her anger turned to anguish as a few tears hopped out and rode down her cheeks.
"Come on ma don't cry; please?"
She turned to him and I could see the anger return to her eyes. She wiped the tears away, and said,
"If you ever drop outta school I'll kill you."
"I know ma."
"No, I mean it. I'll find one of your father's tools from the garage or something and it'll be all over for you. You're going to college and gettin' a nice job some day. So you can buy these stupid things for your kids; and I will have grandkids. I will have joy in this life again. Yes you'll get a nice job, one that doesn't wear you out so much you just wanna die at the end of every day. Does that sound like a way to live?"
Again he said nothing. He was looking at the ground, I thought, to avoid seeing her cry.
She smacked him upside the head with her purse. It was a purse, I was pretty sure, wouldn't make it onto a plane as carry on luggage. It had so many things stuffed inside of it that it bulged here and there; a great amorphous shape that she brought down on him hard. I wondered at the strength behind her bony little arms to fling such a thing at him.
"I said does that seem like a way to live!" she said again, this time the tears flowing like the faucet in our downstairs laundry room. Drip, drip, drip.
He cringed at her words, recovering from the blow.
"No ma, that's no way to live."
"That's right. So you gonna finish school or what?"
She raised her hand again. The Buick of a bag hanging from her wrist swayed back and forth; and I could see veins that matched the ones rising on her forehead begin to make road maps down her arm.
"Yeah ma," he blurted out with his own raised hands, "I'll finish school. Just don't whack me with that thing again; ok?"
"Alright," she said with a sniff, getting the control back in her voice.
"That's what I wanted to hear. Let's go, the bus comes in ten minutes. You know your father was just like me, dropped outta high school and got a crappy job . . ."
Her voice faded into the crowded mall as they walked out of the game shop. As I watched them go, I realized my opinion of Blair had shifted. I still thought he was a big jerk; but now I knew part of the reason behind it. His Dad had died, and now he was poor. I just thought he dressed in tattered shirts and jeans to look tough. You can buy clothes like that; usually they cost more than the regular stuff. I hated to admit it, but I felt sorry for him; the big jerk. The creep who made my life suck whenever he could just because I was smaller and different than him. Maybe because I wore glasses, or tucked in my shirt and used big words. I guessed in some way that he must have been threatened by me. Isn't that why bullies pick on other kids, because of their own insecurities? He must have known that my parents were rich, and that I had already started some college classes. Then I had an idea. Maybe there was a way to solve everything, I mean really work out the equation. I went home to ask my mom if she'd be ok with it.
My mom thought it was a great idea. I stopped counting how many times she said "I'm so proud of you." So here I was on Christmas morning standing on big bad Blair's porch, with a huge wrapped box in my hands. A tiny card was taped over where mom had written my name, on which I wrote:
To: Blair
From: Alfred
His mom answered the door in a bathrobe. Her thin hair looked greasy, and smoke from the cigarette she held between her fingers swung into my face when she opened the door. I was hard not to start coughing.
"Hello. What are you doing here on Christmas morning? Do I know you?" she said.
"Is Blair home ma'am?" I asked.
"Well yeah, he's just in the living room."
She turned back and yelled,
"Blair! Someone here to see you!"
Then she turned back to me and mustered a quick, rather fake, smile.
"Well, Merry Christmas," she said.
Then she took a puff on her cigarette and turned back into the house; leaving a thin trail of gray smoke as she walked away. A few seconds later Blair came to the door in boxers and one of his ratty black t-shirts. As soon as he saw me his face turned the perfect color of Christmas red as he said,
"What are you doing here?"
I didn't say anything. I was afraid that no matter what I said he was going to punch me. So instead I stuck out the present toward him and looked down.
"Have you finally lost all your marbles freckle face?"
I was a statue in warm clothes. I couldn't get myself to say anything, so I just waited for him to take the gift with my arms outstretched. I knew he would be mad from the embarrassment of me seeing him here at his run down house. I just hoped he would take the gift from me and open it before deciding to give me my own, in the form of a white wash. The snow would be pretty cold if he smashed my face into it. His narrowed white eyes, breaking up all the redness in his face, never left mine as he grabbed the box from my hands and started unwrapping it.
"You think you can get out of . . ."
He started to say as he pulled away the wrapping. Then he saw the box.
"Is this some kinda joke?"
He opened the box and saw that the game system really was inside. He looked up at me in disbelief.
"What's wrong with you man, you're giving me a V.R. Super Cube?"
I nodded.
"Are you serious?"
After he said that, I‘ll never forget the strange thing that happened. It was something I didn't think could have happened in a million years. Blair Thompson started to cry. Real tears fell out of his mean eyes to the cold gray pavement below. I was still of scared at what he might do, even though my mom was watching from across the street in her minivan. He could really get me before she could come and interfere.
"Why would you; what are you . . ."
He looked back at the box, and then at me.
"Don't hit me," I said, "but I was in Gamers' Place when you and your mom came in yesterday. I sort of overheard your conversation and thought that I would give you mine."
"But I’m always picking on you. Why would you do that?"
"I heard about your dad. I never knew. That's gotta suck worse than being bullied."
At first he stiffened, and I grew scared of a beating, but then he relaxed a bit and said, "Yeah, it does."
We stood there in silence for a little while. He looked down at the box again.
"You're really giving this to me you freak?"
"Yeah," I said carefully, and then his expression changed. He
wiped his drying tears away.
"I don't know what to say man," he said.
Dang! He had never called me man before; only stupid mean nick names. My heart soared. I became instantly brave and said,
"How about Merry Christmas? Oh, and I promise not to bully you anymore."
He laughed. It surprised me; maybe even more than I had surprised him when I gave him the gift.
"Only if you never tell a soul that you saw me cry. Deal?"
He reached out his hand. I shook it and said,
"Deal!"
"So have you played one of these before?"
"No," I said.
"Do you wanna?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Then let's go get it out of the box already!"
"Ok," I said, and tuned back to my mom.
"Mom can I stay for a while?"
"Sure sweetie. I'll be back around eleven to pick you up for lunch at Grandma’s."
“Ok,” I said.
I turned back to Blair who was laughing at me.
"What?" I said.
"You're such a nerd Sanders. Come on."
We played all morning. It was the most fun I'd ever had on Christmas morning.
THE END
About the Author
Dan first started writing stories in elementary school, where he and a friend would skip lunch and recess once a month to eat in the library while hearing all about the new books on the shelves. His love for reading, as with visual art and music, has now extended into creating his own fiction. He is also a huge fan of podcasting, and all of his stories are available for free in audio. He works as a digital artist and lives in Washington State with his beautiful family of five.
Thank you for reading my short story A Dark Climb. For more about me check out my website where I blog about my writing journey, write and podcast book reviews, and have links to many more free stories both in eBook and audio book formats: www.DanDanTheArtMan.com
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