November 17, 2017 – Mistakes happen and this is one.

Our writing group met Monday night and we got our prompt for our December meeting.  The new prompt is Christmas story with “grappling hook” but I mentally pictured “catapult”.  On the way home from the meeting I am brain storming “catapult” and the following started to take shape and became fixed in my mind.  The next morning I drafted it and worked on it lovingly all day.

I was rudely awakened to the fact it wasn’t catapult when I mentioned to a fellow writer that I’d started.  She questioned me, and rightly so.  This is an embarrassing mistake of writing a Christmas essay with the wrong prompt – but I thought you might enjoy it anyway.

First, you have to go to the following website and watch the video – then you can read the essay.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66DVnBpnypk

Catapult with binder clips

A Christmas Story

“Celia, call him,” Jill called from the hospital bed, trussed up like a holiday turkey.  Her broken arm already set in a cast and her left leg in traction immobilizing her. 

Celia was paging through the names on the cell phone near the window.

        “What’s it under?”

        “Dead beat,” Jill snarled and looked at the ceiling overwhelmed with the situation.

        “Clever”

        “True”

        “It’s ringing  . . . Dereck, this is Celia . . . no, this can’t wait . . . Jill is in the hospital and you’ll have to take care of the boys this weekend.”

        “There is no one else!” Jill shouted from her bed.

        Celia raising her hand to shush Jill as she continued to listen then rebutted him.

“I don’t care if you do have other plans – Jill’s in hospital and has a broken arm and broken leg and maybe worse, they are assessing her for a hip replacement . . . . tough . . . YOU are the father . . . she has no one else. . . . Me?  Me, I am getting married tomorrow.”

Celia listened intently, walked over to Jill, took her hand, and smiled at her as she listened to Derek’s reasons why he couldn’t possibly do it.

Affirmatively Celia spoke into the phone,

“You will be on the 2:30 flight today.  I bought the ticket. Pick it up at the airport. Don’t you dare miss this flight.”  Clicking the phone off she leaned over wiping tears from Jill’s face.                       

“It will be okay.” Celia assured her bending down to kiss her cheek.

At the door she called, “I’ve got to go. I’ve dozens of things to do last minute, but I will fetch him from the airport and get him set with the boys.  He will be spending the Christmas holidays with them.”



        Hours later at the airport, unshaven, bedraggled, wanna-be-pop-star-persona, Derek, dropped his stressed leather overnight bag at Celia’s feet.

        “What the hell happened?”

        “She was decorating the tree and fell.”

        “Is she really that bad?” He asked concerned.

        “She told me if it had been just the broken arm – she would have been more than happy to continue to live without you – but the leg . . . .”

        “What the doctors say?”

        “Nothing yet.”

       

        Half hour later Celia unlocked Jill’s front door and three boys sitting on the sofa turned in unison to look up from a TV show. Derek, Jr., Thomas, and Andrew jumped up with the combined look of disbelief and awe as their Dad walked in and dropped his bag. He welcomed them with open arms.  They screamed with delight and ran to him.

“I’ve left the keys in the door.  I’ll leave my car for your use later as I’ll be gone.” Celia stated loudly.

Derek turned his head round to look at her, “What am I gonna  do about Christmas?” he asked.

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

As Celia was closing the door, she called.

“Have a Merry Christmas everyone.”



Two days later on Christmas afternoon, a freshly shaven Derek herded his delighted boys down the hospital corridor for a surprise visit.

        “OH, it is so good to see you, my boys.”  Jill struggled to sit up a bit more and opened her free arm to hugs and kisses from her sons.  Derek even took her hand and kissed it reverently.  Their eyes locked for a long moment.

        “A present?” Jill asked seeing a box tucked under Derek’s arm.

        “No, the boys’ gift.  They wanted you to see it.” He said quietly and set the box on the bed.

        “I thought you were dead broke, as usual.”

        “MOM – it’s the best – it’s the best Christmas gift we’ve ever had.” Her eldest son shouted.    “Yeah,” the youngest child chimed in.

        Jill asked, 

“How did you manage that?”

“Took some effort, but I finally figured it out.”

“Effort, you’ve never put in any effort in your . . . ” her voice trailed off.

“Didn’t cost anything - I found the materials in your desk drawer, craft box, and just stuff around the house.”

Out of the pocket of his jacket, his pulled a half dozen plastic bathroom cups and set them up on the windowsill in a pyramid.   Next, he handed each son a handful of ping-pong balls.

“Let’s show Mom how accurate you’ve become.”   He said as he placed the handmade catapult made from Popsicle sticks and black metal binder clips on the hospital table tray in front of her.