“Sleigh Bells” (instrumental)
Listen to “Christmas Memories”
Thus the weekend passed, and Julie was at school again. The December sun shone through the crispy cold air into the windows of the old classroom, which was now quiet as the students finished the English exam. Julie finished; she was rechecking her paper. Then, through the stillness of the afternoon, she heard distant music. The pencil fell into her lap, and she listened. It was a pretty melody—a Christmas song, she knew, but what was the name of it?
Her eyes wandered around the room, and her gaze fell on algebraic figures scrawled on the blackboard and came to rest on an empty desk near the front. It reminded her of a similar desk where Casey had sat in another algebra class two years ago. Suddenly she remembered the song—“Sleigh Bells,” of course! She saw an assembly gathered and there was Casey, dear Casey, in the school chorus. Julie felt that stuffy warmness of the assembly room and smelled the apple-nut-and-candy packages that the faculty members passed out to the students. The Christmas program had been good, and Casey was especially nice. There were the memories she had of Christmas of her first year in the big high school.
“Be sure your name is on your paper,” said Mr. Wesley. “Fold your papers and pass them in.” The music faded away and broke the spell. Julie glanced quickly over her answers again, and then the bell rang.
“Hark, the herald angels sing!” rang out through the clear frosty night as the solicitors went from door to door “on behalf of worldwide missions” and bringing Christmas cheer to each home. It gave Julie a warm feeling inside to know she was doing something good for others.
The stars twinkled high above the quiet brown hillside. In her mind, Julie could see a large brilliant star, and way in the distance a crude little stable where a Babe slept in a manger. She saw the humble kneeling shepherds and the virgin mother with gladness in her heart.
“Julie,” a fellow solicitor called, “Mrs. Donaldson said to finish this street down to Arcene Road, and then we’ll go back.”
“Thank you.” Julie took the literature and started on. Many of the solicitors went in two’s, but Julie was alone. Not so the Julie of three years ago. Then it was Billy Kingston—blond blue-eyed husky Billy. He was a tomboy gentleman, a ladies’ man. There was just something about that Kingston family.
Now Julie rang a doorbell and waited for an answer….
There were merry voices and the sound of laughter as Julie and Sandra and Kurt and Allen approached another house. Someone welcomed them warmly and ushered them into the living room, where Pat Boone records spun on the hi-fi. Julie felt like a puppet, pulled along with the crowd. Soon she found herself in the kitchen by the table, covered with cookies and punch. Mrs. Donaldson was so nice to treat the teenagers who gave their time on a Saturday night. The drink was refreshing, and the cookies were good.
Christmas cookies. Billy and Julie had baked Christmas cookies together. The Kingston kitchen was small, and the aromas were delightful. And Billy’s mom Norma was so sweet. Julie had spent many a day with the Kingstons—Norma, Billy, and his brother Eddy. Yes, there was something about that Kingston family….
“Well, if you’ve got to be home by eleven, we’d better be going,” Sandra’s voice broke into Julie’s thoughts. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Donaldson.”
“Yes, thank you,” echoed Julie. Numbly, she rose from her chair and headed for the door.
“Julie, what is wrong with you?” Sandra almost demanded as they worked on Christmas decorations the next day. “You’ve been acting so strange.”
“Well,” Julie’s weak voice replied, “maybe it’s just Christmas.”
“Christmas!” Sandra looked at Julie as if she held in doubt her complete sanity.
“Well, I was just thinking of grade school and Eddy Kingston. Remember how we used to decorate the schoolroom windows? And we drew names to exchange presents. And we’d always gather in Miss Blossom’s room and sing Christmas carols from those books we all got for a quarter at Sprouse-Reitz.”
Sandra softened and smiled. “Yes, those were the good old days.” In her mind, she could see the paper wreaths and candles made by childish hands and taped to frosty windows. She heard young merry voices, somewhat off key, and smelled the dampness of those week-before-Christmas mornings. “But,” she frowned, “why should memories of happy times make you so gloomy?”
“Oh, I’m not gloomy, exactly,” replied Julie. “It’s just that with every Christmas tree I smell, every song I hear, every bit of Christmas glitter I see, I relive a Christmas of the past.”
“Well, now, you just stop living Christmases past and start living this present Christmas, maybe a simple one with your family, like I said before, you rainbow-chaser.” Sandra spoke firmly but not unkindly.
“All the relatives and confusion and noise—the Christmas wrappings all over the living room and dirty dishes all over the kitchen—you call that a simple Christmas with my family?”
Sandra sighed then said despairingly, “Okay, so ‘family’ is out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Julie. “I didn’t mean to be so pessimistic. Let’s get back to work on these decorations.”
Sandra’s smile was warm and understanding. “You know,” she said as they traced and cut, “I think this banquet’s going to be neat, don’t you? Sure is too bad Kurt can’t come. Do you really think Jim Donaldson will ask me?”
“Leave it all to Cynthia Donaldson,” Julie assured her. “You don’t have to worry!”
“Don’t you think Allen will ask you?”
Julie shook her head. “The only thing that’s stopping him from taking that Sylvia Hawkins is the thirty miles between them. He’ll probably end up going with Riti.” She shrugged, but deep inside she could not forget.
Sylvia Hawkins! How had she come into the picture, anyhow? One minute she was an insignificant unpopular sophomore; the next, a capricious flirt, pursuing and being pursued by the fabulous Allen Macintosh. And Riti—what right did she have to Allen, anyway?
Suddenly a hoarse rumble broke the quiet monotonous sound of snipping scissors. The house quivered, and the sky split in two. Then watery fingers of rain tapped on the windowpane.
“Hey, it’s raining!” exclaimed Julie.
“No kidding,” was Sandra’s nonchalant reply. Then, “Ooh! I’ve got to get home. Mother and Daddy aren’t home, and the washing’s on the line and the lawn furniture’s uncovered. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Julie watched Sandra run down the wet walk and dive into her car. For a long time she stood by the screen door, watching. “Rain,” she muttered. “Why can’t it be snow?”
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