0 comments/ 16240 views/ 1 favorites Christmas Presents - Nice By: wife2hotblk Jill sat forlornly outside the modest two story farmhouse. She watched as the snow fell more rapidly. Her clear blue eyes followed a single flake on its random journey towards the ground. She felt like that snow flake. Her whole life had been at the mercy of life's random winds. She knew that she was totally pathetic. It had been almost three years since her husband Peter was killed by a road side bomb near Baghdad. But here she was at her formers for the holidays...again. The sad truth was that she had no where else to go. Christmas with them was as close to family as she had ever known. She had never known the man, who fathered her. The stark reality was that her prostitute mother had no idea, which of the dozens of regulars it was either. She remembered little of the drug-addicted shell of a woman that had once been her mother. Her only memories, if you could call them that, were of a string of foster homes and institutions that had cared for her physical if not emotional needs. It was not until she had finally landed in the state home for children that was barely three miles down this bumpy rural highway that her young life took on any thing resembling good at all. That was all thanks to Peter and his parents, Shelly and Rick. She would remember it until her dying breathes -- the first time she met him. It was on the bus to school. Like most of the other children from the 'home,' her clothes were out-of-style hand-me-downs from some Christian family trying to assuage their guilt by passing on what the lord had given them. But those clothes were a clear sign announcing to the other children on the bus that morning that she was the unplanned, unwanted and abandoned child of a whore. Children were always so cruel and these were no different despite their Christian, small-town upbringing. From the moment that she has stepped on the bus that first morning, she was the center of their vitriolic taunts. But after a life-time in foster care, Jill was almost numb to the abuse. She had sat silently alone on the brown high-backed seat as the bus seemed to hit each pot hole on that country road. She supposed she was an average enough looking young woman of fifteen...almost sixteen. Her hair was long; mostly because the state provided only enough money for a hair cut once a year. She usually found it easiest to keep it pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail. At a time when most girls her age primped and preened for hours in front of a mirror, Jill was lucky to catch even two or three minutes in front of the one in the large dormitory bathroom that she shared with three dozen other girls. Even then she was likely to spend most of her time helping one of the young children prepare. She definitely was not fat; although she always got three meals a day, there was little junk food that most other teens survived upon. Of course, her portions too were strictly controlled...as was everything about her young life. She smiled as she remembered the flutter in her stomach that morning when she had heard the deep smooth voice ask, 'Is this seat taken?' Ironically, she had been watching the snow fall then too. She had turned her head to see the most beautiful guy she had ever seen. She knew, of course, that boys were not supposed to be called beautiful, but sometimes that was the only word that fit. Guys like Brad Pitt and Matt Damon simply could not be called handsome; they were beautiful. So too was the young man that stood next to her awaiting her answer. She had not even been able to find her voice that morning; instead she simply shook her head and scooted over even closer to the window. He had said his name was Peter. From that moment until he graduated that summer, he had taken the seat next to her. He was the running back on the high school football team. He was also the senior class president and an honor student. But above all else he became her best friend and protector. No one dared say cruel things to his friend. Funny thing was that the whole school knew that they were a couple before she did. Jill had just assumed that Peter's kindness was friendship and true Christian charity. Within a week, his mother had spoken to her social worker and gotten permission for her to study at their house some times. For the first time, she could remember Jill fell madly in love...with Shelly's home cooking. But still, she remained completely clueless about the true feelings that Peter held for her. It was not until the day after Christmas, when Peter borrowed his dad's old pick-up to take her out for a drive, that she had any hint. He had driven her almost an hour away to the mountains. They had chatted about school and studies as he negotiated the sometimes tight curves. When they reached the top of the snow capped peak, he had pulled the truck over at the look-out. Tears filled Jill's blue eyes as she remembered how nervous he had seemed as he fumbled in the glove box until he brought out a small black box topped with a gold bow. The silver heart necklace inside was the most spectacular present that Jill had ever gotten. It was her turn to be nervous as Peter bent to latch it about her neck. He had been so gentle as he lifted her ponytail out of the way and brushed his fingers across her cheek. It was then that Jill experienced her first real kiss. On her sixteenth birthday. From that moment on they were a couple. When Peter graduated, Jill and his parents sat on the front row as he delivered the Valedictorian speech. Shelly had even received permission for Jill to spend that weekend with them. Of course, Peter could have gone anywhere to college, but Jill was never sure if it was her or the farm that kept him at the community college in the next town over. That summer was the best of her life. She spent long summer days working alongside Peter and his parents on the farm. She had learned to milk a cow and can tomatoes. For the first time in her life, she felt secure. But as with all good things, it did not last. She would never forget the day that changed everything, most people would not...September 11th, 2001. She had arrived at school that morning blissfully ignorant of the events that would change the world forever. But by homeroom word was spreading through the school about things that were unfolding thousands of miles from their small country town. During first period, the principal came on the loud speaker and announced that school was dismissed for the day. She and the other children had gathered in the living room to watch their lone television as pictures of the unthinkable filled the screen. Jill had in the end drawn one young girl away and out onto the porch swing. The child's small body had shaken with huge sobs as her fears and pain flowed from her young soul. It seemed in that moment that a cruel world became even crueller. Jill had not seen Peter until that weekend, but that was not that unusual since he was busy with college and helping his dad on the farm. But when he picked her up from the home that Saturday morning, Jill knew something big was happening. She could see it in his eyes. He drove her back to their mountain. It was there that he told her. While she and the farm might have been enough to hold him there before, things had changed. He had a duty. He had joined the marines. But even then, her Peter had taken care with her. Pulling another small black box from the glove box, he had slipped a small diamond ring on her finger. 'Will you do me the honor of being my wife?' he had almost whispered. As with that first morning on the bus, Jill had only been able to nod. Things moved fast after that. Within a month, Peter had arranged for Jill to be emancipated and to live with his parents until she completed high school. He was sent to far off California for training. Jill was never sure who cried more at the air port her or Shelly. For Christmas and her birthday, they had all travelled to California to watch Peter once again graduate from basic training this time. On her eighteenth birthday, Jill and Peter had stood before a justice of the peace. With only his parents present, they had made solemn promises. 'For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Forsaking all others until death do we part.' After a brief honeymoon at Disney Land, Jill and his parents had caught another plane back home. Peter had stayed there for further training, but within three months his first assignment came...Afghanistan. It was, of course, the duty that he felt bound to serve from that fateful morning, but still it filled Jill with fear. By the time that she walked across the stage to receive her diploma, the most important person in her world was thousands of miles away in danger and under fire. The next five years were pretty much more of the same. Jill had taken up Peter's former mantle; enrolling in the local community college and staying on the farm to help out his parents as much as she could. There had been little doubt what she would study. If Peter felt a duty to serve his country, then Jill felt equally bound to serve its children as the very social worker that she had once despised. As marriages went, theirs was pretty unusual...except for the military that is. They spent more time writing, emailing and speaking on the phone than they spent together. Three tours of duty, two in Afghanistan and then one in Iraq. But they tried to cram a life time of loving into those rare times when they were together. Unfortunately, it made the very thing that they both wanted most, children of their own, hard to accomplish. Jill shivered, whether from the cold or the memory of that last Christmas. They had fought. Peter had decided to re-up as it was called. He tried in vain over the weeks to convince Jill that his duty was not over, that there was much more work to be accomplished. But all that she could think of was her personal pain of more time apart. When she had seen him off at the air port, she had not even responded with the same warmth to his kisses. She would never forgive herself for that. Even though over the coming weeks, they had sorted out their differences and forgiven one another, Jill would always regret no making the most of those final brief brushes of his lips upon hers. When his flag draped coffin had arrived home three months later, she had begged and pleaded for one more taste of the only lips she had ever known. But the mortuary and finally his parents had convinced her that it was best not to see the scarred remains left by that roadside bomb. So she had only those last childish moments to remember forever. Tears were streaming unchecked down her cheeks by then. Fate did it again to her as she saw the curtains pulled back and Shelly's austere face peek out at her. She barely had time to brush her face with the back of her hand before they were running through the snow to scope her from the confines of her battered old car. She collapsed into the arms of the closest things she had ever known to parents. And despite all of her resolve to be strong for them...and Peter, she was sobbing and shaking almost immediately. She had no idea how long the three of them stood there in the cold, hugging and crying. It seemed like a lifetime, but was probably only moments. It was not until Jill drew back and wiped her eyes and snotty nose on the back of her coat sleeve that she noticed there was someone else standing on the porch. He must have been about the same age and she and Peter. But his distinctly African-American features would stand out in an area with few minorities. Shelly saw the directions of her eyes and explained, 'That is Damran Williams. You remember Peter talking about him, don't you? His best friend from the Marines. He contacted us a few months back after his last tour of duty. He said he just wanted to meet the fine people that had raised Peter.' Jill could once more only nod at those words. It felt like a knife was ripping through her chest, making breathing difficult. It was another reminder of how unfair life really was. Why was this man standing on the porch when what was left of her husband was buried at the top of their mountain, which she could barely glimpse in the distance? Why did her life hurt so much? Shelly must have glimpsed Jill's pain as she wrapped her arm protectively about her shoulders. 'Sweetie, remember he's an orphan like you were. I always thought that was why Peter and he were so close. Peter saw the same pain in him that he had in you. We just had to invite him for the holidays...for Peter's sake. You understand, don't you?' Jill could almost hear Peter saying the exact same thing. As odd as it might seem she probably knew more about this man than any one else in the world. She and Peter had spoken often about him. She knew too that Damran was the last person to speak to her husband. She knew that he had rushed forward despite orders from their sergeant when the bomb went off. She knew that he had cradled her husband's head as he drew his last breathe. She felt small, petty and selfish, but she did not want to face the pain of meeting this man. Not now. Not after the dozens of times Peter had asserted that he could not wait for Jill to meet Damran. Worse yet, she did not want to share her family as she had come to think of Shelly and Rick with a stranger, even one with whom she shared such a close bond. But she drew a deep breath and forced herself to smile as Shelly pushed her forward. 'Damran, I'm sure I don't need to tell you who this is,' Shelly bubbled over. Jill extended her small hand as again words failed her. But if she hoped for a formal introduction, Damran had other ideas. His much larger and darker hand enveloped hers as he pulled her into an embrace much the same as she had shared moments before with hers. Jill's world tilted on its axis then. She was not sure if she could describe the feeling, but she knew it well. It was the safety and security that she had only ever felt with Peter. As much as she loved and adored Rick and Shelly not even they could offer that feeling. It was as if a part of Peter was with her now, as ridiculous as that sounded. The rest of that day was a blur as Shelly pushed her into the large, homey kitchen for final preparations. They caught up on her job and life in the city...if you could call her existence that. Since she had lost the baby that had been her husband's final gift to her just two weeks after his funeral, Jill had thrown herself into saving as many children as she could. Obviously cruel fate had decided that she would never have any of her own, so it was the best she could do with her life. She was exhausted as she slipped beneath the crisp cotton sheets in the room that had once been Peter's and finally theirs. But try as she might, she simply could not quiet her restless mind. It was always the same; the questions, the regrets, the what-if's of life. But most of all, it was the chest tightening sense of a life-time of loss. Her mother...her childhood...Peter...their baby. It seemed sometimes too much to bear. In the end, she had given up and tip-toed down the stairs to the kitchen for a cup of the hot cocoa that she knew Shelly still kept in the cabinet above the stove. But she stopped cold as she entered the kitchen. He was there already. Sitting in Peter's chair with his large, dark hands wrapped about a mug steaming with what she could smell was her cocoa. She half turned to run back up the steps when his deep Southern voice filled the dark night. 'You couldn't sleep either?' he asked. Jill stopped and faced the unknown; this man with whom she shared so much but who was a virtual stranger. Crossing the cold kitchen tile, she wished she had remembered her slippers. Peter was always reminding her of them. But since his death, she rarely thought of them at all. Looking down at her bare feet, he laughed, 'Peter always said you didn't have the good sense to come in out of the rain...or wear your slippers on winter nights.' Jill found herself smiling despite her resolve to not like this man. 'Well, he said you had more courage than brains,' she replied. 'Guilty as charged,' he replied as he pulled out the chair that had been hers across from him. It was as if he knew...everything. Although she supposed, he well might have. What did men talk about late at night when danger and death hung in every shadow? Would something as mundane as dinner around the kitchen table have been worthy of such a solemn conversation? She took the seat that he held out for her and watched as he rummaged through the cabinet above the stove for Shelly's special homemade cocoa mix. He opened the fridge that was probably too big for just an older couple and took out the fresh milk. She watched as he heated it a pan on the stove, stirring the powder in slowly. The silence might have seemed uncomfortable to some, but it was the same type of mundane routine that she had enjoyed so much during her brief marriage to Peter. It spoke volumes of safety and comfort that was hard to find in this fucked up world. Companionable silence, when words simple were not necessary. Damran broke the spell as he placed the mug in front of her. His back was turned as he made his way round the table, but the catch in his voice said it all. 'You may think I'm crazy. But sometimes Peter comes to me...in my dreams,' he whispered as if bearing his soul and waiting for another rejection. It reminded Jill of the dozens of adoption fairs they both must have been forced to attend. Dressed up in your best second-hand clothes, trying hard to be just perfect as you watched the younger and cuter children being scoped up by couple after smiling couple. Although you always promised yourself you would not be disappointed by the rejection this time, you still ended up crying yourself to sleep in the dark. But not this time. 'I don't think you are crazy at all,' she offered. 'Sometimes I can swear I feel him with me and hear just what he would say.' She clutched the mug until her knuckles were white as she fought back tears. But when she finally had drew the courage to look up into the man's face, she saw her fight was for nothing as she watched huge patches of wetness trail unchecked down his dark skin. If he could be brave enough to share his pain, she supposed she could risk a little in return as she felt the first drops begin their journey down her cheeks. His voice was barely audible as he whispered, 'I need to tell you about the one tonight.' Jill tightened her grasp on the mug until she feared it would break, but she nodded her head; knowing that by doing so she was opening them both up to almost unspeakable pain. He looked into his own mug as if seeking some vision in a crystal ball. But his voice spoke of his convictions of which he knew. 'He was playing catch on a football field with this little boy. They were laughing and having the best old time. Then he saw me and he picked the boy up and put him on his shoulders. The two of them came over to me.' He stopped and looked up slowly to meet her clear blue eyes. Those eyes had stared out at him so many times over the past five years. He knew that the picture of her high school graduation was tucked inside the worn leather of his wallet on the bedside table upstairs. He had always wondered how it would be when they finally met. What was it like to finally meet the person that you had known for so long? Had loved for almost as long. But he knew that this dream tonight was just for her. It was so different from the others that had over the months and years both haunted and comforted him. So he ventured even more into the unknown, 'I don't know how much Peter told you about me, but I'm assuming if it was half as much as he told me about you then you know about my brother.' Christmas Presents - Nice Jill nodded in silence. As a former foster child and a social worker, it was still one of the worst experiences she had heard. Damran had been barely four and like many boys that age he had wet his bed. His older brother had been trying to help him clean it all up before their mother came home drunk again. But it was not to be. She had walked in on the two of them. She had immediately begun to beat Damran about his head and shoulders with the heavy purse she carried. His brother had stepped in between them to protect the younger child. That next blow had sent him flying through the air. He had landed against the wall and broken his neck instantly. Of course, the foster system had taken in young Damran as his mother sat on death row for the murder of his older brother. What had always shocked Jill was that in all their years of friendship, Damran had never told Peter the name of his brother; always referring to him as simply 'my big brother.' He claimed to not even remember it anymore. But Jill knew enough about trauma and children to know that he could not forget that easily. His next words haunted even her. 'Peter became an older brother to me too.' He rang his large hands as he stared at them, refusing now to look her in those clear blue eyes. 'I miss them both,' he whispered as tears streaked faster down his dark cheeks. Jill could only nod at the shared pain she heard in the broken timber of his voice. 'My dreams aren't happy. Usually, they are about that day. I can relive each moment like it was in fucking slow motion on a damned IMAX screen.' He held his breath, 'I fucking hate those.' Looking up then, 'But sometimes, we just talk. The two of us just walk and talk like we used to.' As if it suddenly had just occurred to him, 'You do know how much he loved you?' Jill silently nodded as the tears streamed faster down her face now. 'But tonight was different. It was,' he paused as if searching for just the right word. 'It was nice. And I know he wants me to tell you about it,' he said as if apologizing for breaking a favourite vase, instead of her heart. The silence hung like a thick fur coat about them, enveloping each in its soft warmth, taking their minds far away. Finally, Damran cleared his throat and began again. 'Tonight, in my dream, Peter was playing with the cutest little blonde boy.' Looking directly into the clearest, bluest eyes he had ever seen, he said, 'He had blue eyes, just like his momma.' If the pain of the past three years had not been enough, that moment surely broke Jill's heart forever. She had not even told Peter that she was pregnant when he died. It was another of the many regrets with which she lived daily. She knew then that Damran's dream was quite real. As much as it hurt her, she pleaded, 'Please continue.' 'We, the three of us this time, walked a bit. Peter and I would talk when the kid ran ahead of us old men,' he smiled at the memory. 'He said that he knew you missed the boy, but that he needed him more. He said he was so alone with us or his folks.' Jill had never seen such a manly man cry so hard and so free. Damran made no attempt to hide the tears that glistened on his dark skin or the catch in his deep, smooth Southern accent. He did not even shy away from the gulps of air that she knew meant he had cried so hard that he had the hiccups. It was a phenomenon with which she was quite familiar over a lifetime. As if reading her mind, he said, 'You know I never used to cry. Not since that night.' He did not need to explain what night. It was part of their shared history as former foster children. 'I figured tears never fixed nothing anyway. So I got angry instead. I got so angry that I almost went to prison for beating this kid within an inch of his life at school.' He might think that he was telling her something new, but Peter had long ago shared the story with her. He had actually said something about how the Marines got some of their best men that way. 'But the judge must have seen something in my sorry black ass because he gave me the option of enlisting instead. He said that it would make a man of me or kill me.' Staring at some invisible thing on the kitchen ceiling, he philosophized, 'He didn't tell me it would do both.' He finished with a huge exhale. Jill once again could only nod her head at the wisdom of Peter's friend. Words never seemed to come when she needed them most, especially the important ones like 'I understand...I'm sorry...or I love you.' But she did what she could then; reaching across the table she clasped his large dark hands in her much smaller and paler ones. They sat like that for several moments in silence. Each caught up in their own thoughts, but sharing so much in common. Finally, Damran broke the silence. 'Anyway, I just needed to tell you how happy they both seemed...father and son.' Pulling his hands from beneath hers he engulfed hers inside his then. 'I thought it might...comfort you...somehow,' he finished. With huge tears slipping down her soft cheeks to mix with the wet snot she knew was dripping from the end of her nose, Jill could only nod. But then for a single moment, she found her voice; the voice that had betrayed her some often. It was in that moment that she could almost feel Peter's strong hands on her stooped shoulders. It was as if he gave her the words. 'That was just about the best Christmas present anyone ever gave me,' she muttered looking at the symphony of color that was their hands entwined upon the kitchen table. It was Damran's turn to nod silently. Both seemed to know that the moment was over. That the reality of the dawn breaking through the window dressed in red gingham curtains for Christmas was once again upon them. Jill stood slowly, saying 'I better try to get another hour of sleep or so. Things start early on the farm.' Damran just nodded as he collected their mugs and the pan from the stove. He took them to the sink and washed them; shaking off her offer of help with 'You get your sleep. We can handle this.' Jill was uncertain if he had meant to use 'we.' Was it a simple slip of the tongue? Or did he too sometimes feel Peter's presence so strongly that it was almost as if he was still there? She pondered those thoughts as she slipped back into the bed that they had once shared as man and wife. She smiled as she closed her clear blues eyes and prayed for them to come to her in a dream too. But if they did, she could not remember it when she woke up several hours later; rushing into the kitchen with words of apology on her lips. But Shelly had dismissed them all with a simple, 'No worries. Damran and I have been chatting while he helped me cook.' It was odd that after the special moments they had shared around that same table, but Jill could feel that same jealousy that this man was interloping with her family. But she knew that sometimes human emotions were beyond explanation and accepted this weakness in her human state as nothing more than that. The rest of that Christmas Eve passed easily in the busy work that was farm life. More than once Jill found herself working along side and laughing with Damran. It was as if they shared not only Peter, but a lifetime of pain. That evening as the four of them gathered around the kitchen table to eat dinner was hard for Jill. She knew that Rick and Shelly found great comfort in their prayers, in believing that Peter was in heaven somewhere. But Jill had always found it impossible to place blind faith in a god that would allow the kind of pain she had endured as a child, the scars that she knew Damran shared, and the things that should never happen to innocent children, but did...all too often. The final blow to any semblance of faith she might have garnered from them was the morning that she had awaken in writhing pain and a pool of blood. The loss of that final part of Peter was more than her soul could manage. It was a testament to the love that they shared that Rick and Shelly had never condemned her for the anger that they watched grow in her every day after that. It was a tribute to Peter that Jill had kept most of that anger hidden inside from their watchful care. But in the end, that difference alone had driven her to seek a solitary place for herself two hours away in the big city as they called Indianapolis. Some days she was grateful for the independence and life she seemed to slowly be building there. She had even managed to make a couple of close friends at work. She knew that one of them, Mark, hoped that one day it might be more than just friendship. But Jill doubted that she would ever be able to trust another man enough to allow herself to fall in love again. She would never find that same safety and security that she had so briefly found in Peter's arms. Other days were a constant battle not to pick up the phone and dial the number that she knew by heart since she was fifteen, a number she knew had not changed in thirty years since Rick and Shelly had begun their life on the farm that had once been his uncle's. She missed them terribly. They were the only family she had in the world and she ached to run home to them again. And once a year that was just what she did. Each Christmas she ran home to the familiar safety of this farmhouse and these people and for a time felt the same loving security that their son had given her so briefly. But this year, she found herself sharing it with a stranger that seemed more like a best friend and brother. She was proud when she made it through another long winded 'blessing' by Rick. Sometimes she thought the man was a frustrated preacher. He could go on for minutes when he said prayers. But Shelly always signalled him with a solid kick across the table. Jill knew this because a couple of times she had missed and caught her shin instead. Dinner was a companionable experience for the most part, but on occasion they all paused in mid-bite as one of them would pronounce how very much Peter would have liked this or that. It felt good to be surrounded by the people he loved and who had loved him. But it hurt too; almost as fresh as that horrible day when those men knocked at the door. They did not even have to say the words. Their uniformed presence alone told the story. Peter was dead. After dinner they had all piled into the old pick-up truck and headed into town. They would all endure the Christmas Eve service at the small Lutheran church where Peter had been baptised...and buried. Pastor John had held onto Jill's hand as she tried in vain to slip quietly out after the service. Like Rick, he seemed to have an endless supply of words. How was she doing in the big city? How was work? They all missed her. She always had a home there. It seemed that he would never let her go until Damran interjected himself. 'You must be Pastor John. Peter told me so much about you and this church,' he said as he extended his large black hand towards the older man. Jill sent him a thankful smile as she finally managed to slip out into the cold, clear night. The snow had stopped it seemed, at least for the moment. But she knew that it could and would begin again at any moment. It was just the way the winds of life worked. She stood alone and stared up into the dark night sky at the stars. She looked for it; the Christmas star, some ray of hope in this forlorn world. But all of the stars seemed the same; none of them offered more than a glimmer of light that she knew had travelled hundreds and thousands of years to reach this single moment in time. It made her and her troubles seem insignificant somehow. What did one lonely person matter in the grand scheme of the universe? She did not have long to ponder the imponderable truths, because she could hear them approaching. Rick, Shelly and Damran were sharing another laugh. Once again, she fought back the unexplainable jealousy that she should have to share them with this stranger. But she forced a smile to her face as they approached. They were all lost in silence on the drive back to the farm. Jill was for the first time that she could remember trying to figure out an excuse to escape the familiar tradition of opening the presents around the tree. It was something she had done with these people for almost a decade, but this year it seemed too much for her to bear. When they finally reached the farm and began to disembark from the tight confines of the old truck, Jill protested that she should probably just go to bed. She had a headache, she half lied. But Shelly and Rick would have none of it as they tugged her into the entry way and tossed thick coats aside. Damran offered to help Shelly with the hot cocoa and cookies that they had made earlier. They insisted that Jill just rest on the sofa. So she had spent what seemed like an eternity alone as they worked in the kitchen and Rick brought in more fire wood for the night. It was not the first time that she had been alone. It would not be the last. But it was one of those time when she was not simply alone, but lonely as well. Lonely, Jill had discovered was something that you could be in a city full of people or the top of a mountain. It was a condition of the soul that had plagued her most of her life. Only for those brief years with Peter had she found togetherness. She came back to reality as she was covered by the dark shadow that was Peter's best friend and the last person to see him alive. The man really should not be so tall and over bearing she thought as she accepted the hot mug of cocoa and a cookie from the tray. Rick kicked snow from his boots in the hall as he shook more from his coat. Crossing the living room, he piled a couple of logs onto the fire that roared in the fireplace. He placed the arm full of other logs in the bin next to the mantle. Jill looked over his head to see the silver frame that held her wedding picture. Next to it stood a black and white photo of what she knew were Rick and Shelly on their wedding day. The mantle was littered with other pictures as well. There was Peter's christening and his graduation. Her favourite was the one of him receiving his Eagle Scout award from the governor. There were also pictures of her graduation. And in the center of the mantle sat a glass case that held the triangular folded American flag that had made that final journey with Peter from Iraq to where he lay beneath the old oak out back. Damran followed her clear blue eyes where they rested on the flag that he had personally draped over the casket that held the remains of his best friend, the second brother that he had lost in this life. When Jill finally felt his gaze upon her and looked up, he had merely nodded his head in silence. Then it was on to the business at hand, opening Christmas presents. First, it was Rick to open the bubbling foot bath that Jill had picked out for him, remembering that his toes bothered him during the cold winter. They had been broken when Peter was a child when a bull had stepped on his foot. Next, it was the shawl that she had crocheted for Shelly. The two of them always exchanged handmade gifts. They seemed to recognize that they meant more somehow. It must have been a girl thing they joked. Then it was Jill's turn to open the big box that she discovered contained a magnificent quilt. Shelly brushed her hand across the patchwork reverently as she said, 'It is made out of some of Peter's old things that I found in the attic last summer.' The whole proceedings stalled for a time as they shared memories. This square was from his christening gown. That one was from his Cub Scout uniform. This one was his football jersey. Both women were a blubbering mess as they held one another with the precious quilt between them. Rick broke the spell with a proclamation, 'At this rate it will be New Year's before we get the rest of those damned presents open.' He chuckled as he passed a package to Damran. 'It ain't much son, but I hope it fits.' Damran opened the box to find a red and blue sweater with the Corps emblem knitted on its front. Jill wanted to scream then. She did not know if Shelly had spent hours and days knitting another. For all, she knew it might even be the one that his mother had gifted to Peter that last Christmas. But somehow it felt...wrong. And yet incredibly right at the same time. She used the back of her hand to wipe away more tears and snot from her swollen face. There were other presents as well. Shelly had knitted Rick another scarf. It was their shared joke, a scarf for every Christmas they had together. It was a tradition that Jill and Peter had begun as well. There was a photo album for Rick and Shelly from Damran. Most of the pictures were ones that Jill had on an external hard drive. Hardly a day passed without an email and picture from Peter. There were gifts that she would have forever, those words of love and photos of him or the two best friends. Finally there were only two boxes remaining under the tree. Jill choked back tears as she knew that one contained her scarf to Peter. She kept that tradition even now. They ended each of these Christmas nights by trekking out in the snow to that big old oak tree. Together the three of them draped the plain white cross that bore his name and the words Semper fidelis with that scarf. Then they laughed and cried together before slipping away to bed. This year Jill knew that this odd tradition would be shared with another; a stranger and a friend. It felt almost like that first night when she had stood naked before Peter. She felt that her whole existence resisted upon his acceptance of her, blemishes and all. So too she felt that her soul rested upon this man understanding this scared right. She was tempted to just leave it unopened under the tree this year. She could sneak out to the tree alone tomorrow perhaps. But it was Damran that reached for the red and green parcel. Shaking it, he pronounced, 'This one is for Peter. I bet it's another scarf...again this year.' Jill felt hot tears racing down her face again. Those were the exact words that Rick and eventually Peter would proclaim in jest each Christmas. How had he known? Did he understand there significance? But then she saw his smile and tears and she knew that he truly understood. But instead of handing the neatly wrapped package to her, he reached back under the tree for the small gold foil wrapped one that remained a mystery. 'Hmmm...this one says it is for Jill.' He held out the small gift without any mention of whom it was from. Jill frowned as she looked down at the gift. It was the exact same size as those others...first her necklace and then her engagement ring. She wondered at what it contained, but somehow feared opening it. Her slim fingers trembled as she pulled away the glittering bow and paper. Her breathe caught as her worst fears were confirmed, a tiny black velvet box. She was not sure she could manage to lift the lid as both Shelly and Rick encouraged her to open it, open it. When her fumbling fingers finally managed the task, she stared at the familiar object. It was just like the golden Corps ring that she had scrimped and saved to purchase for Peter that last Christmas. She lifted it to the light as she examined it from each angle. There was a deep dent on one side as if some powerful force had shattered even its precious face. She frowned then as she looked inside. The writing was clear. The inscriptions read to P. J. from J. J. Semper Fidelis. She felt her heart pounding in her throat as she grasped the ring in her trembling fingers. She looked up into the dark face of the man, whom she knew shared her husband's final moments. 'But how?' she whispered. 'They said they could not find it. That the explosion must have destroyed it.' Damran nodded as he watched the beautiful young woman bend her golden head to kiss the ring. 'I know. But I had this dream the night before I shipped back home. I knew I had to go back...there.' They all knew where there was, that roadside half a world away where Peter gave his life. Christmas Presents - Nice Brushing tears from his face with the back of his hand, he continued. 'Anyway I was walking along the road and I saw something shimmering in the field. I knew I was not supposed to leave the road.' The unspoken message was clear of landmines and hidden bombs; that they must always be on the alert. 'But I had to.' Shrugging his broad shoulders as if it meant nothing he finished, 'I found that half buried in the dirt.' Jill could once again only nod at the magnitude of this gift. She had been wrong before. This was the gift that would last a lifetime. Not the ring, but a friendship that would risk everything to bring this token home. That night ended as the others had with the four of them trudging through the snow to that old oak tree. If they could have seen with the soul rather than just human eyes, they would have seen the handsome man with the blonde boy sitting upon his shoulders just beneath its branches.