Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is to write a piece that involves a celebration and a weather anomaly. This week’s story was written by Phil Yeats.
In April, 2024,
he published The Body on Karli’s Beach, the third book in his
Barrettsport Mysteries, a series of soft-boiled mysteries set in a fictional
South Shore Nova Scotia town. For information about these books, and The Road
to Environmental Armageddon, his trilogy about the hazards of ignoring human-induced
climate change, visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
Christmas Dinner
Phil Yeats
He was an orphan, a misfit with a misshapen leg. He limped when he
walked and running was out of the question. It had been his reality for as long
as he could remember, living in group homes and with foster parents, but never
in any place for very long. He focused on the only thing he did well; his
classroom schoolwork.
At seventeen, he decided on a technical rather than an academic
education and graduated at 21 as a certified medical technologist. He landed a
job in the pathology lab associated with the city’s largest hospital and
progressed up the pay scale more rapidly than most. He was now 27, and he faced
a dilemma. Should he keep his eyes focused on his laboratory bench, or respond
to requests from his managers to take a greater interest in training new
recruits and low-level supervisory responsibilities?
If Kevin was to consider these additional responsibilities, he
needed to develop better interpersonal communication skills. He thought back to
high school where he enjoyed English class, especially the opportunity to write
stories. Joining a writing group seemed like an obvious move.
He arrived at his fourth meeting and Margaret, the group’s rather
overbearing leader, brought him out of his comfortable role, sitting back and
learning by osmosis, but saying little.
“Today,” she said, “we have a new prompt—a personal story about a family celebration. And since we are
starting afresh, I think we should begin with our newest member. Kevin, do you
have a story for us?”
Kevin cleared his throat as he shuffled the pages in front of him.
He’d written a story and was eager to read it, but he didn’t relish the idea of
going first. “I’ve written a story about the celebration of what is normally a
family holiday, but as you know from what I told you at my first meeting, I
have no family. This is a true story. I call it Christmas Dinner. It’s about
last Christmas, when you’ll probably recall, we had a massive snowstorm.”
Christmas Dinner
Inside the old house converted to small apartments, I found Madelyn
sitting on the floor outside my door. “Mummy’s note said I should come here for
dinner.”
Maddy was six years old, capable of reading a note if it was
carefully printed using simple, well-spaced words, and always surprisingly
happy given her less than ideal circumstances.
I couldn’t say the same for her mother, a forty something single
mother on welfare with all sorts of problems. She frequently left her daughter
in my care with little or no warning, and the social workers seemed happy with
this makeshift arrangement.
I unlocked my door, and Maddy scurried inside clutching the doll I’d
bought her for Christmas.
“Did your mum say when she’d be back?” I asked.
She shook her head before jumping onto the chair closest to my wall
screen TV. “Can I watch Sesame Street?”
The power was off, but I located a Sesame Street Christmas video on
my laptop. I placed it in front of her and retreated to my kitchen to sort out
something we could prepare on my deck using my camp stove. I soon had spaghetti
sauce heating on one burner and the noodles on another. Not quite your standard
Christmas celebration meal, but something I knew she’d enjoy.
When I had everything under control, I phoned her mother’s social
worker. I was surprised when she picked up. I described the situation and asked
for her advice.
“We’re swamped here, dealing with dozens at risk during this storm.
It’s good to know Madelyn’s safe. If her mother doesn’t return this evening,
can you look after her?”
“Tonight and tomorrow, but Thursday will be a problem. I’m back at
work Thursday at noon.”
After I ended the call, I remembered my offer to return to the lab
during the night if necessary. I had a momentary panic, but it all worked out
in the end. We had dinner rather later than usual for a six-year-old and shortly
after, Maddy had a bath (there was no bathtub in her mother’s tiny apartment)
and got ready for bed in a cot I set up in the little alcove that was usually
my home office. At three a.m., I got her bundled up and towed her back to the
hospital on a sled with broad runners I borrowed from another neighbour. She
went back to sleep on the daybed in the path lab’s break room.
At 8:30, the power was back on, and we were home for breakfast and
another twenty-four hours when I was responsible for a beautiful little girl. We
went sledding on a nearby hill and finally got around to having a more
traditional Christmas dinner on Boxing Day.
She cried when the social worker arrived on Thursday morning to take
her into care. “But I like it here with Kevin, and Mummy will know where to
find me. This was the best Christmas ever.”
Kevin placed
the pages with his story on the table and gazed at the writing group members. “That
was the day I realized I must make a serious effort to connect with humanity.”
*****
The Spot Writers:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com
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