Short Story - complete

Transcript

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Do Not Open Until Christmas By Jean Little. Gregory wished he had not learned how to tell time. Last Christmas. He had raced in and wakened mother and Daddy right away before it was beginning to be light outside. This year, he had to look at the clock on his dresser. 10 minutes for a seven, No getting up until eight o'clock. Mother had ordered the night before, Gregory had groaned, but then he had given in and agreed because she looked so tired. How was he to know he would be wide awake? At 10 past seven, he killed up again under the covers and began the long wait. Maybe if he counted, he counted to 103 times. Then he shot out of bed to check 16 minutes past seven. Gregory could not get back into bed. This time. He just couldn't. There must be something he could do to make the time pass. Then he remembered the three Gift's hidden away in his closet. He had kept them there, so his parents and Holly would not have a chance to guess at what was inside. Gregory knew all about shaking presence and squeezing them. He had been doing it all week. Now. Christmas morning had really come, and it was time to put the three presents under the tree with the others. Maybe by the time he had arranged, um, just so it will be eight oclock. He had made a pencil holder out of Popsicle sticks for Daddy, and Mother had shown him how to string pieces of macaroni into a necklace. For Holly, Holly was full, better than anything She loved dressing up and pretending she was a grown up person. Gregory grinned, hearing already how she would speak with delight when she saw what he had for her. But his mother's present was the best. As he took out the box that held it, his heart beat faster. Would she like it? Would you see how special it Waas? He had made her a bird. It had taken him a long time. He had found bits of wood, the right shape and glued them together one by one. When it was done, Daddy had led him, spray it with silver paint. The bird could not stand up by itself. But if you leaned it against something, it seemed to stand with wings spread as though it were about to fly. Gregory thought it the most beautiful thing he had ever seen carrying the gifts. He started tiptoeing across the hall. He paused at Holly's door. It hardly seems fair going downstairs without her. She would giggle, though, and waking the others. Besides, he was only slipping down for one minute. He would put the things under the tree and maybe just check to see if something new had been put with his pile of presents. There, Waas something new. It was right on top, and it was huge. Kneeling quickly to look, Gregory almost dropped his mother's bird. He was too excited to arrange the three gifts carefully, as he had meant to do. He put them down without noticing where and reach for the big box. Then, as he lifted it, testing to see how heavy it waas, he saw that one corner of the wrapping paper was loose. As he slid his finger in under the edge, he saw the sticker do not open until Christmas. But it is Christmas, really, he said out loud to the quiet room. Just this one won't matter. Cowboy boots. He could not believe it he had wanted them for so long. He had as mother before his last birthday. Even she had priced them. They're too expensive, Gregory. She had told him he had heard how sorry She waas in her voice. He had known she wanted him to have them almost as badly as he did himself. She must have found a way. He pulled them on. They felt strange on his bare feet, but they were exactly his size. Oh, beautiful, wonderful boots. He did not plan to go on and open the next president. There were so many things waiting, though. His hands reached out by themselves. A Scrabble game, a baseball glove. The package under the book felt like something to wear. Gregory skip that one. The next one, though he had wondered about for days. It had such an interesting rattle chess set of his own Gregory clothes. He had been learning to play with, Daddy said. But he had wanted a cheap one. He could take the school. He was the only boy in his class who had started to learn to play chess. He had just opened the last box when mother found him. I'm regulatory, she cried out at once. He knew he had done a terrible thing. He tried to explain, to make her listen to the excuses he had been telling himself. They say, Do not open until Christmas and it is Christmas, he stammered. You told me not to wake you. It was like being caught inside a bad dream. She was so angry and so sad. It's not the end of the world, Margaret, Daddy told her. How could he? How could he was all she would answer. Holly saved Christmas for them. She was starry eyed with wonder and excitement. Mother had to hide her anger so it would not spoil the brightness of Holly's morning. Gregory sat in the big chair. He watched the other three, opening their gift's. He felt left out and lonely. He still could not understand his mother. He was the one with no presence left open. It was his own Christmas he had ruined, not her. Then he saw her pick up the box with the bird in it. Gregory tensed, waiting, watching slowly. She ended the wrapping. She lifted the lid. Then, at last, it was out in her hands. His silver bird with its wings set for flight. Oh, Gregory, she whispered. He stared at her. Her face was shining with joy. With love, he could not move. He saw her put the bird down, gently propping it with care so that it looked ready to soar away. Then she turned and stretched out her arms to him. It's all right, she moment. The bird is so lovely. With a gasp of relief, Gregory ran to her. She hugged him exactly as if he had not stood out of his bed to later Clark. He knew then what he had done. He had taken away from her the moment of giving. He had seen the glow on her face when she opened the box and first saw the bird. But she had not shared his delight in the boots he still could not believe. We're really his. I'm sorry, mother, he said into her shoulder. Gregory, his father, said, Suddenly, here's something for you. It was the one he had not bothered with, the one that felt like clothes. Gregory's hands shook as he pulled the Scotch tape blues. He had been right. It was a pair of pajamas. They were striped ones like those he had on. They were not a bit exciting at all. He looked up with his mother and struggled to put all his joy over the cowboy boots into his face. Mother, he said, They are just what I wanted most. Mother laughed understanding Lee. Merry Christmas, Gregory, she said.