small as a world and big as alone.
Whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it is always ourselves we find in the sea.
—e. e. cummings
It's Christmas eve and we’re snowbound, marooned in the country in a Victorian house that doubles as a museum.
I was supposed to drive Beth to her parent’s at-home celebration but that seems unlikely. Even if I could get the car out to the road I wouldn’t be able to see the shoulders let alone lane markings and I’d end up driving into a field.
To make matters worse, I made fun of the Victorian Christmas decorations and feel I’ve offended Beth. She defended the quaint ornaments saying ‘at least they’re real’ implying I wasn’t.
I couldn’t disguise my hurt pride.
Fortunately, Beth sees my fallen expression and quickly sets things straight.
“Oh no, Spence—I didn’t mean you—that you weren’t real. I meant my parents and my brother Trent—they all mock my views.”
“They do?”
She nods and bows her head, “Just this morning they laughed at me coming here today—said it was a waste of time.”
I felt guilty for what I had been thinking. “Why would they say that, Beth?”
She shrugs, “I suppose because I was asking them to make a donation to keep the museum open. Our number of patrons has been declining—that’s why I made a special effort to come out today—to give back to the few who have given so much.”
“That seems a good cause—why would they be so opposed?”
Her eyes flash. “Because I asked them to make a donation to Stickley House this year in lieu of presents they usually give. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’s such an extravagant waste. I mean it’s gotten to the point where I just loathe opening their designer wrapped presents and seeing those little blue boxes.”
My hand instinctively went to my jacket pocket where the Tiffany jewel box containing the present I bought for her, was still safely tucked.
Thankfully, she didn’t notice.
“Tell me Spence,” she asked, “what’s your vision—do you want the good life?”
At that moment, I just wanted to put my arms around this girl and never let go—but she opened herself to me and deserved an answer.
“If by ‘good life’ you mean the pursuit of wealth, well, I’d have to say, count me out. I’m like you, Beth—and now that I know how you feel about gifts, I’d like to be added to your list,” I blushed, “ of donors, that is.”
She threw her arms around me and surprised me with a huge kiss.
Before I could recover, there was a knock on the door.
“Who could be out in this storm?” she muttered, as she hurried off to see. I trailed behind.
An OPP officer was waiting on the porch, and behind him a huge snowplow idling, its blue lights flashing.
“Good evening, Miss—we’ve been patrolling the roads looking for stranded motorists—we saw your lights and came to check. Do you need an escort to the main road?”
She looked forlornly at me and I stared helplessly back at her.
Needless to say, we were both reluctant to leave, but Beth was concerned with propriety—it would be scandalous to spend the night alone with me.
But, needless to say, although we left, we didn’t make it to the Browning’s at home that evening. Beth phoned to say we’d been delayed.
We did, however, spend the evening talking in a local McDonald’s, getting to know each other for the first time.
That Christmas was the first Christmas my desires were met and my deepest longings fulfilled—
And it wasn’t with something packaged, purchased or put on a tree, but someone so unique and personal she fulfilled only me.
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