I wish… this Christmas
The road shiny with ice it invited the already nervous and erratic steps of Marie to become off-balance and with the thought of his eyes gazing down at her with love she felt her legs slip away from her and with a single yelp; grasping her bag with her life she felt her head smack against the pavement and her side ram into the floor. It’s a sign. It must be a sign. The same thought repeated itself over and over in her throbbing head. She heaved herself up and supported her aching cold body on her elbows. Gathering the presents she felt something wet on her palm. Great, now I’ll have mud on me too when I see him; how flattering. Searching frantically in her handbag, praying nothing was falling out in the dark of the night that she might still need, she felt the same wet in the nape of her neck. Finally Marie grabbed the pack of tissues and wiped her hands; yet it wasn’t mud. The warm on the back of her neck was a thick red colour on the tissue and slowly Marie felt the wooziness that accompanied the blood smeared on her palm and the tissue. Oh dear, well now at least you have a reason to knock on his door; an ice-breaker to say the least.
Marie stared down the road she knew she had to go. Brushing her trousers down with the flat of her hands that were all sorts of grubby she carefully picked herself up. As she attempted her first step on shaky, cold legs her weight plummeted to the floor again. Inspecting herself she realised why; her lovely shoes that had already caused her so much trouble had lost a heel. Great, that’s it. I’ve had it. She unzipped both boots and stood up again. Buttoning her coat to the top and sniffing her nose she once again clutched her bag and the presents under one arm and the boots in her hand. 7:45 read the display of her phone. She had sent him a text message a few days previously and had received no reply. With a great sigh of fear, nerves and encouragement she crossed the road. The cold felt damp on the soles of her sock-clad feet. I must look so ridiculous. She could see the light on in one house only on the entire street. That must be his. If it isn’t number 3 I’ll… what will I do? She ignored the thought and licked her lips. It was so cold out. It was number 3; she could see his car in the drive. She crossed the lawn quietly; almost creeping. She lured through the passenger seat window as if not sure whether it was his car. But there was Henry the frog; squished in-between the seats. He was home. A deep dark hole gaped open in her stomach. She felt queasy again. Henry the frog seemed to have crawled into her throat as she struggled to swallow.
What were you going to say when he opens the door? What if it isn’t him that opens the door? What if it’s his girlfriend? You can’t say it’s the wrong house; there are no other people at home in the neighbourhood. It’s the wrong road; that’s what you’ll say. Or no-you’ll ask whether he’s home. You just want to wish a merry Christmas and return something of his. That’s all. You’re not asking for his hand in marriage; nothing of the sort. Now pull yourself together and get on with it.
As Marie reached for the doorbell she felt a wave of nausea spread through her head. She heard it ring inside and footsteps come to the door. As the door opened her heart dropped as she saw his eyes and then it went black. She felt his arms around her ribcage as her head lolled. Then everything was dark.
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