I'll Be Home For Christmas
Midii licked her cracked lips as the aroma of cinnamon rolls wafted up the stairs from the kitchen. The smell curled around her, inching under the tattered quilts and urging her awake. Midii let her eyes crack open, sleep still hiding in the corner of her eyes.
"Midii! Wake up!"
Her eyes snapped open. Outside, freshly fallen slow blanketed the windowsill of the old French-style cottage. Midii yawned, sitting up lazily as her brother Nicolas pounced on her happily.
"Midii! It's Christmas!" he squealed, giggling giddily and burrowing himself beneath the blankets. "Papa's downstairs and told me to come and wake you up. He won't let us open presents or eat unless all of us come downstairs." He emerged, his russet hair tousled and standing on end. Midii grinned contentedly, hugged her brother close. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Aw, gross!" he spat, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Midii, why did ya have to go do that? Now I'm diseased." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, his jade eyes sparkling mischievously. He leapt, landing on the cold wooden floor. "You'd better hurry up!" he threatened glaring and pointing as Hans and Jean dashed down the stairs. "Or we might just beat you to all of the cinnamon rolls."
Midii grinned. "You go along, Ange," she crooned, using her own personal nickname for her younger brother. "And if I find your grubby fingers anywhere near my breakfast, you'll be sorry." Nicolas gave her a rather large raspberry, then followed his brothers toward the kitchen.
Midii watched him go, waiting until she heard arguing downstairs before prying herself from the bed. The room glistened with boughs of holly and strings of cranberries and popcorn strung together. She sighed, slipping her mother's old robe around her shaking shoulders. The fabric still trailed behind her like the train of a wedding gown, but her father had promised last year when he gave it to her that she would grow into it one day. It was her favorite gift and she cherished it, especially as how it never lost the scent of lilac that her mother had so frequently worn.
Midii made her way toward the window. The glass was frosted over from last nights freeze, and bird footprints festooned the sill. Yet other than that the white blanket lay undisturbed. "It doesn't seem real," Midii breathed. "How can something so peaceful be real?" She rested her forehead against the glass; it felt good against her heated skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind something was nagging her, like an itch she couldn't quite reach.
"Midii!"
She snapped around, looking at her father's svelte frame in the doorway. He stood six foot one with his graying mob brushing against the doorframe. He tapped his foot against the wooden floor impatiently. "Do you plan on coming downstairs, or making us all starve to death?" Midii grinned, then dashed toward him, flinging herself into his outstretched arms.
"Merry Christmas, Papa!" He kissed her on the forehead, the soft prickles of his mustache making her giggle. He swung her around in his arms enough to make her dizzy, then put her down again.
"Hop to, you," he chuckled, ushering her down the stairs and into the kitchen. Midii sighed, the smell of cinnamon growing as she neared the table. Hans looked up when she entered, his blond bangs masking his face.
"So the queen had decided to grace us with her presence," he joked, a disgruntled harshness twined with is early morning humor. His father quickly rapped him on the head.
"This is Christmas," he scolded, taking his place at the front of the table. "And you will behave. I don't want any squabbling between you two." He eyed Midii and Hans. "And I mean it." Midii opened her mouth to retort.
"I don't care, Midii," he snapped. "You will get along, if it's the life of me. You are family, and family sticks together and supports one another. Have I taught you nothing?" He shook his head, muttering under his breath about teaching younger generations the meaning of family values.
He bowed his head. "Jean, will you say grace?" Jean looked up questioningly, his sapphire eyes sparking. Frosting already smeared the corner of his mouth from when he'd attempted to sneak a lick of his breakfast.
"Ahh, kay," he said, swinging his legs underneath the table. He clasped his cherub fingers together. "Our Father, who art in heaven, give us this, give us this…"
"Day," his father supplied patiently. Jean nodded eagerly.
"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our turpasses."
"Trespasses," Midii corrected.
"Trespasses, right. And forgive us our trespasses, but deliver us from evil."
"For the kingdom and the power and the glory is yours, now and forever. Amen," everyone chorused. Hans dive-bombed his plate, stuffing close to an entire roll in his mouth at once. After an instant his eyes began to water and Nicolas had to smack him on the back before he choked.
"It serves you right," Midii cautioned, nimbly picking at the flaky layers. "You're always so selfish. See where it gets you?" Her father shot her a threatening glance, and Midii pursed her lips together tightly. Nicolas face was smug as he reached for a second helping.
"You two are always fighting," he drawled, squeezing the icing agonizingly slow across the top. "Can't we just have a Christmas where you two don't argue?" He took a large bite and then smacked his lips. Midii took a deep breath.
"I suppose we can call a truce for today," she said, exhaling. She glanced at her brother across the table. Hans caught her gaze and smirked. They had made it a game to see how far their quibbling would go before their father's entire head turned gray with stress. Every argument had been in fun, though with years of practice they had grown highly convincing. They finished in earnest silence, until every lick of icing had disappeared from the plates. Midii glanced around the table, grinning at her brothers. Suddenly they all made a mad dash for the family room.
There was the Christmas tree, its long pine branches decked with multicolored orbs that glistened with the soft, steady blinking of the tree lights. Nicolas attacked the presents savagely. He shifted through the packages, tossing them aside until he emerged with one, his name scrawled across the tag.
"Hey, Papa!" he shouted gleefully, fingers itching to rip the paper. "Can I open one? Huh, can I?"
Mr. Une nodded as Nicolas ravaged the paper and squealed. Nicolas clapped his hands happily. "Papa! How did you know?!" Nicolas held up the camera, looking through the lens and snapping a few imaginary pictures. "This is exactly what I asked Santa for!" As Nicolas continued his Paparazzi spree, Midii grinned sideways at her father, sharing in his inside joke.
"Why don't we let Midii open one?" Hans suggested, chasing after Jean as attempted to use the colored wrapping paper as a cape. "We all know that if we don't make her open her's now, she won't open it until all of ours."
"Yah! Why don't you open one Midii?" the other two chorused. "Let's see what you got!"
"I think I'll pass," she spoke quietly. She'd much rather enjoy the looks on her brothers' faces and watch the snow outside than open her own gifts.
"But, Midii! You have to open one!" Nicolas whined. Midii shook her head slightly until his cheeks puckered. He delved back under the tree and emerged with a small gift. Crawling from underneath the branches, her plopped the gift in her lap.
"Open," he commanded, situating himself next to her on the couch and snuggling beneath her arm.
Midii fingered the ribbon cautiously. "I'll open it last," she spoke, attempting to set it aside on the table.
"Open," Nicolas commanded again, a certain harshness intonated into his voice. Midii wrinkles her nose and clutched the present.
"If I open it, will you all leave me alone about it?" she joked. Her brothers nodded as she began to undo the ribbon.
Midii gasped as the paper fell away revealing the small gaming necklace. Midii ran her fingers over the small screen and frowned. She'd seen something like this before, but she couldn't remember where. "It's beautiful," she began. "How does it work?"
Her father leaned over and took the game lightly in from her hands. "Well," he started, pointing to the small reset button on the back. "This thing is state of the art. It runs off satellite waves, and therefore it never runs out of batteries." He chuckled. "You'd have to shoot the blasted thing for it to quit working!" Midii bit her bottom lip, eyes darting outside to the snow-covered front yard.
"Thank you, Papa. Thank you, all of you." Midii tucked the present into the recesses of her robe and watched as the rest of her family continued to open their gifts.
Later, after every shred of paper has been picked up from under the tree, Mr. Une disappeared into the closet and appeared with one last gift. He handed it to Midii, as Hans, Nicolas and Jean stared at the package hungrily. "What is it?" they squealed in unison.
"This was your mother's," their father spoke as Midii pulled the small cross necklace from the cotton padding inside the box. Midii felt tears spring to her eyes. She knew that her father didn't like delving into memories of her mother, that it hurt him to look at the things that used to belong to her. She always felt horrible when he looked at her with a sigh of nostalgia. Midii knew she looked exactly like her mother, and she hated herself for it. The last thing she wanted to do was cause her father more pain after her mother's death.
"But, Papa," she sobbed, feeling the cool metal. "Why are you doing this? This was mother's…why give it to me?" Mr. Une hugged his daughter tightly.
"She would have wanted you to have it," he remarked, running his fingers through her hair. "Oh, moi petite ange, you look just like her." Midii shoved away from his loving embrace.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" she screamed through tears.
"What do you mean?" he spoke quietly.
"Midii," Nicolas began cautiously.
"No!" Midii hollered, clutching the robe around her. Clutching her mother's robe around her. "I'm not Mother, but you keep acting like I am." Midii gasped. "That's it, isn't it? You keep using me…to make up for Mother's death."
Her father stood, temples throbbing. "What are you saying?" he snapped, livid. "You are my daughter, I just thought-"
"Don't lie to me anymore, Papa!" Midii moaned, stepping backward toward the front door and nearly tripping over the presents that littered the floor. "I've seen how you look at me. You're always sad when you do, because I always remind you of Mother!" Mr. Une's fists shook.
"Don't try to analyze me," he bit, coming after her.
"Stay away from me!" Midii cried, faltering through the door. She ran through the snow, feeling the bitter cold against her legs and between her toes. She could hear her father's ragged breath coming as he chased after her. Her brothers were shouting at her from the house.
"Midii! Come back!" they all screamed.
I can't go back,
Midii thought miserably, collapsing into the snow. I can't go back and cause them more pain.~~~~
Midii licked her cracked lips as the aroma of Christmas gruel and machine oil wafted from the makeshift mechanics shed. The smell curled around her, inching under the tattered, rationed blankets and urging her awake. Midii let her eyes crack open, tears still hiding in the corner of her eyes.
"Midii! Wake up!" a crude voice shouted from beside her. She sat and looked questioningly at the commander. "We're moving camp in an hour, and you need to feed the men breakfast." His jacket was worn, new holes evidence of last nights raid. "Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas," he shouted over his shoulder as he left."
Somewhere in the camp, a few rebel soldiers had tweaked an old radio and were singing along with the Christmas tunes that had survived through the years. "I'll be home for Christmas," they sang, voices harsh against the wind. "You can count on me. Pleas have snow, and mistletoe, and presents by the tree."
Midii bit her lip against the new tears, stuffing her scarce supplies into the canvas bag at her side before she rushed over to the rations tent to begin shoveling out gruel that always managed to stick in everyone's throat. As the gray goop sloshed onto the rebels' trays, Nanashi came behind her.
His eyes were blank and inquisitive at the same time, asking questions yet saying nothing at all. "Morning," Midii hummed, trying to put up the brave front she had adopted for when he was near her. "Merry Christmas." He grunted in the back of his throat.
"You should get some more sleep," he cautioned, helping her dish out the food. "Obviously you didn't get much last night." Midii frowned.
"What do you mean by that?" she questioned, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck as a sudden chill nipped at her skin. She glanced at the cross necklace she had given him last night, dangling around his own neck.
"You were talking in your sleep again," her finished, giving himself a bowl. "You wouldn't quit tossing and turning until I gave you my blanket." He trudged off into the cold to sit with is fellow soldiers.
Midii remembered fondly the blanket that had been around her when she had woken up that morning, recalling suddenly how last night she had had nothing more than a pillow and her jacket. Midii frowned, trying to figure the boy out.
The soldiers were still singing merrily, voices forming harsh discords across the camp. "One would think we weren't even fighting a war," she snapped bitterly, humming along with their words.
"Christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams. I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams."
Midii cringed, and went to help the commander pack the truck.
Within a few hours, one couldn't even tell that the previous night the clearing had housed a hundred plus rebel troops. Midii sniffed. Even the aroma of gunpowder and oil had vanished from the air, though she wasn't going to ask how that had happened.
"Alright," the commander snapped, pointing to the battalion that still laughed joyfully around the radio. "Turn that god-damned contraption off. We're leaving. Now!"
"Aw, but Chief!" one of the men protested, waving his hands. "The song is nearly over. Will a few more seconds matter that much?" The commander grumbled and clambered into the cab of the truck.
Midii hugged her shoulders, listening to their voices as her eyes scanned the compound for Nanashi.
"Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams," they continued to sing. She could hear the commander's aggravated snort from inside the truck. Midii attempted to sing along with the last refrain of the song, the words sticking in her throat along with the morning's gruel.
"I'll be home for Christmas," she sung unsteadily, her voice cracking with strain. She sauntered over toward the large van, casting one last, regretful look over her shoulder. "If only in, if only in-" She stopped, one foot on the vehicle's running board. Tears wracked her body as her dreams and memories assaulted her. She felt a warm hand rest on hers, and she looked up, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"If only in my dreams," Nanashi finished for her, lifting her into the cab next to him. His voice was barely above a whisper, yet hauntingly harmonious. She smiled for his sake, wondering if she saw a glimmer of his own smile poking through his mask.
That's right, she promised herself as she took a seat next to him. She'd be home for Christmas, if only in her dreams.