2/12- Christmas Tree- A Little Birdie Told Me

Contemporary

Now, I need to let you know we rarely buy many new Christmas decorations. We love to keep our old ones, and build our collection through our memories.

But this year is different.

It's our cousin's first Christmas, and we want to make it extra special, so while we're out Christmas tree shopping, we're also looking for the perfect bauble or decoration to gift her, so she can also make life-long memories.

I had such a decoration, and so did my sister. Mine was — no, is — a little angel that chimes when you move its legs. It's porcelain and a beautiful keepsake. My sister's is a gold star, with her name and the date of her first Christmas engraved.

We want to give our cousin, Zofia, one she'll never forget. Within the store, there are probably hundreds of decorations. My gaze can't decide where on the densely-packed and far-too-colourful walls it wants to land. Oh, my. I step closer to one of the longest and craziest wall, gulping before I take my sister's hand. It's massive.

Think of any object. Not a very, very crazy one, though there are some of those too. Like Van de Graaff generators and blenders. But you could probably find anything, if you had four days to spare looking through everything. Like movie characters. A couch. A candle. A gummy bear. Even a hand with a very rude sign.

That one I turn my sister away from, grumbling, "Not that."

"How are we ever going to choose?" She whispers up to me, mouth open in shock.

I lift her chin back into its position. "I have no clue." I had thought that more options would help. But they just create chaos.

"How about this?" My sister jumps up with a palm-sized ceramic pillow with a golden ribbon in her hand.

"Do you want her to get your laziness?" I ask, turning her back round to where she had gotten it from. Pointing over her shoulder to a little red-nosed reindeer, I look to her for approval.

"An option, but not special enough." She kisses her teeth, rummaging through the decorations far too violently for my liking.

I shoot her a pointed look. "Like your pillow?"

From the depths of nowhere, she pulls out a magnifying glass. "Maybe it'll help us find something better than your suggestions."

I don't even acknowledge her as I look past an octopus, a bear and a snowman. Why on earth is there an octopus?

"I can't reach it, but how about a clock?" She points upwards and I follow her finger.

"It's bright neon green."

"So what?" "It's stupid."

"The clock can hear you!" she moans, slamming her arms by her sides.

"No, it can't." I shake my head incredulously.

"Yes, it can!" Pausing for a minute, she cups her ear with her hand, nodding gently. "He says you're the meanest."

"Come on." I pull her to the 'different' decorations. On the walls, only baubles hang, but in the little baskets and on Christmas trees, there are different types. Ones with clips or those which hang without ribbons.

"How about a bird?" Her big eyes turn to the tippy-top of the tallest tree.

"Maybe. It's cute and all, but, uh, even I can't reach it."

But my sister isn't lost for ideas, skipping around. "A candy cane?"

"No. Too overdone."

"A Christmas tree?"

"Too much inception!"

"A--"

"Don't even try suggesting the Santa legs. She's a baby."

"Then why are we spending so long choosing a decoration?" She waves her hands in frustration, almost knocking over a barrel, which I catch just in time.

"You're right." A little sigh escapes me.

"I am?"

"Yes. It's not the decoration that matters, unless it's something stupid. It's the thought that counts. And the memories. That's the whole reason we're even getting this thing!" "Sure, sure." She waves her hand in the air impatiently. "So are we getting the bird?"

"Yes."

We ask the employee to help us reach it, and it's down a quick minute later, silver wings and all.

*

Our Christmas tree is massive. It scrapes the top of the two-meter ceiling, and even the tallest member of our family struggles to reach the top to string lights around it. But, after the employment of a handy chair, we succeed and proceed to wrap the rest of the tree in the twinkling fairy lights.

Well, Mum does. She meticulously wiggles the strings up and down and up again. Her eye for detail takes over, half of the group going to the kitchen for a snack as she keeps wiggling. The other half of the group organises the baubles out of boredom.

When everyone finally gets back to the tree, Aunt has to pull Mum away so that she doesn't keep wiggling until midnight. Admittedly, they look good, but all that time was not necessary. My sister agrees as the whole group rejoins, hanging up decorations.

Grandma fires instructions from her throne, which is in reality a chair, but whoever sits upon it has command over the whole family. I'm not exaggerating or anything. She truly is the one who told my cousin to get on the chair again to put the 'snow-covered' bauble at the top, and had a heated debate with Mum about where the green one should go. Grandma won, and it was placed back in the box so it wouldn't blend into the tree's branches.

As everyone works to fill the tree, I take a step back to sit next to Grandma. There are about ten of us (but I can't count everyone with them all moving around), plus our Uncle is joining tomorrow, so we have a significant group. Grandma and I lean against the long table, where we'll soon eat Christmas dinner, the fire burning warm and wrapping the room in a warm hug.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply to hold in a laugh. The irony of the burning wood right next to the live Christmas tree is not lost on me.

There's cake on the table—which was made in the wait for Mum—and I take a plate of it, giving one to Grandma to satisfy her sweet tooth. A quality which I earned from her.

She keeps gazing at the tree, in a way I cannot describe, except that she is content. "It's a beautiful tradition," she whispers, and I barely hear her voice over the Christmas music and chatter.

"Yes, it is." I shuffle closer, in case she's ready to give me any more of her wisdom, but she stays quiet. It's the loudest silence I have ever been a part of. Whenever she takes a deep breath to say something, she exhales even more deeply, but I can't tell what's stopping her. I look over to her, and there's a tear in her eye. A tear that is neither happy nor sad. Or maybe both.

I have no clue what she sees under that tree. Maybe a day from her childhood, or from my mum's. Maybe a long-forgotten pet, or a never-opened box. Like I said, I have no clue.

I know what I see, though. Presents that are yet to be opened, arguments yet to be had, and memories yet to be made. Decorations yet to be hung. Tens of trees that'll stand in the same spot, even when the group changes.

But there'll always be a tree.

My and Grandma's eyes meet, and we smile at each other, in a warm wetness of tears. "Don't cry." She smiles even wider. "Go have fun."

Hypocrite. I think, but don't say. She isn't, really.

From my bag, I pull out a wrapped Christmas decoration, jumping back into the friendly-familiar chaos. I show little Zofia the bird, pulling it away from her when she tries to clip her own fingers.

"No, no, no." I chuckle. "We clip it on the tree, not on you." Her big eyes watch me as I clip her symbolic decoration on a branch I had mentally reserved 10 minutes ago.

Thank you. I think to the tree. For always being here. It would have been impossible for its branch to reach out to me, right?

Thank you for reading. I hope you got a little Christmas joy from this story. Here, for anyone who wants it, is the maintenance.

If you enjoyed this story, please, please, please (I can add a cherry if necessary) like, comment, rate and share. It really helps me out and allows others to see these (hopefully decent) stories. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.