Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Judy Goldman

A Holiday Tale

I grew up on a farm in the heart of central New Jersey. We lived in a quiet, rural area. It wasn't that bad, though. Being on a farm had its advantages, although it wasn't really much to speak of, as farms go. My grandparents' aging seemed to be inversely proportional to the number of animals we had. During this particular December, the chickens and goats were long gone and all that remained were three dogs and an ever-increasing number of stray cats that people routinely dropped off at the farmhouse.

It was 1965. I was nine years old and elated to wake up to newly fallen snow, especially the week before the holiday. Momma and I got ready to trek through the snow to my grandparents' home just across the little path, where we would spend Grandma's birthday baking her sensational poppy seed cookies and apple cobbler with her.

Just as Momma and I dressed to bear the blast, the door swung open and Grandma staggered in; her right hand covered in blood. Chaos ensued as Momma helped her to the kitchen sink. I ran to the medicine cabinet to get various bandages and scissors and caught the colorless, pained look on my Grandma's face. I was terrified.

While Momma bandaged the wound, I learned that Grandma thought she would surprise Grandpa by feeding the dogs so he wouldn't have to go out in the snow. She cut her hand on the jagged edge trying to get the food out of the can.

In no time, the bandage Momma managed to wrap around Grandma's hand soaked through with fresh blood. Momma looked at me and whispered that the cut would need stitches. I donned my boots, other winter gear and headed out across the path to diplomatically tell my Grandpa what happened. I would have to help him get the car ready so we could take Grandma to the hospital.

I dreaded this. Grandpa's driving always made me nervous. Momma used to say it was because he worried a lot. I knew how this news would impact his driving.

The fresh crisp air whipped its refreshing blasts at my face as I made my way up the path. It felt good, but could not override the nausea that hit me at the sight of the trail of bright crimson blood staining the stark white snow.

I prayed hard and found the words to tell Grandpa. Then I watched as he threw his winter jacket over one shoulder and ran down the icy stairs. He tried to steady his wrinkled, shaking hands and get the old blue 63' Buick to start in the bitter cold, growing more anxious with each failed attempt. Finally, he crumbled forward over the steering wheel, arms bent, head down. I worried that he had some type of attack, but then he opened the car door and began running down to the road, slipping and sliding on the ice and snow-covered ground. There were hardly any cars out, but Grandpa and I stood there on the side of the road waving our arms wildly, trying to get someone to stop. No one did.

Just then, an old pick-up came chugging along. Grandpa had given up waving his arms, but the driver stopped right there, in the middle of the road. The biggest man I ever saw got out of the truck He wore an old khaki jacket with patches on both elbows. He had no boots to cover his worn shoes. His long hair needed to be cut. And his skin was the darkest I had ever seen.

While Grandpa and this huge dark-skinned giant stood speaking in the snow, I plowed back to my house and helped Momma get Grandma. We turned her over to the men who helped her into the front of the pick-up. My grandfather got in, too, and closed the door, and the truck drove off.

My grandparents made it to the hospital okay. They stitched Grandma's hand and this story was said and done—until Christmas time seven years later. A few months earlier, my aunts and uncles chipped in for a special 50th wedding anniversary gift for my grandparents. They redid the interior of their home, making it easier for them to get around as they got older. They saved the last surprise for Grandma's birthday; a brand new color television set.

The burly delivery man struggled getting the television through the doorway but managed to set it down gently, with one final grunt. He then turned to Grandpa and asked him if he remembered him. Grandpa apologized but said he did not recognize the man. The stooped man stood to his full height. He removed his cap and told about how seven years earlier, he drove down the very street we lived on. He had just been accused of stealing equipment from the company he worked for. He was not guilty of stealing, but he had been drinking with a few of the other workers. It was one of the other men who stole the equipment, but nobody came forward with the truth. Even though it was just before Christmas, his boss refused to pay him for the two weeks he had coming to him and fired him on the spot.

The man continued his story, telling how he was on his way home to tell his family, when he saw a man on the side of the road with a little girl by his side. He directed the rest of the story to all of us. He told us about how Grandpa had blessed him that day for helping him and Grandma get to the hospital. He concluded, by saying that less than a month after stopping here seven years ago, his entire life turned around. Alcohol was no longer a problem for him. He landed this wonderful job with a major appliance company, where he had been promoted twice already. And, he was scheduled for a third promotion next month to assistant manager. Since this job was with a major company, he was given medical benefits which helped pay for a bone-transplant operation that enabled his youngest son to walk again.

And, he had just recently become a grandpa himself. Twin boys.

He clasped my Grandpa's old hand in his big dark one, wished him and all of us happy holidays, tipped his hat, smiled a toothy grin, and made his way back to his truck, down the path to the road.

About the Author
Judy Goldman is a full-time psychiatric social worker, specializing in in-patient mental health with children. She has a MSW from Monmouth University and is licensed in both New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Judy has written research and grant proposals as well as numerous research papers. She has recently expanded her writing to include fiction and poetry. Some of Judy's work has appeared on-line at Sanitycentral.com. Judy lives along the Jersey shore with her fiancé and their three cats, Snowball, Fred and Ginger. The crew is in the process of moving to the mountains in Pennsylvania where Judy plans to spend more time writing.