Fly: A Christmas Story

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or televisin series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Chapter 1

I tippytoe, hunched down, tryin' like everythin' t' avoid the creaky ol' floorboards in the upstairs hallway o' my Gramma 'n' Grampa's house. Gramma tucked me in 'bout an hour 'go. She looked real tired as she knelt b'side my bed, took my hand 'n' prayed that the monsters'd leave me 'lone t'night.

I wish they would, too. I try thinkin' only happy thoughts b'fore I go t' sleep but it's too hard t' think happy right now. The bad dreams keep comin'.

I don' like wakin' my Gramma 'n' Grampa up with my screamin' 'n' cryin'. Thing is, I don' even r'member what the monsters look like in my dreams. I do know what they wanna do with me if they catch me.

Some o' them have voices that soun' like the doctor that took care o' Ma b'fore she died in the hospital.

But most o' them soun' like Pa when he's drunk a bunch o' that stuff that burns when it goes down. The stuff he made me drink a couple o' times when he was visitin'.

Never in front o' Ma 'r my Gramma 'r Grampa. A'ways out in the barn like we was hidin' somethin' we weren' s'posed t' do. The stuff makes me feel fuzzy 'n' warm.

When Ma died . . . thinkin' 'bout her last breaths makes a lump the size o' Texas come up in my throat . . . mus' be what makes the tears come out . . .

When Ma died, Gramma 'n' Grampa let me keep on livin' at their house like I'd done since I was born.

They love me but I'm pretty sure my Pa don' love me. Ma gave me his initials as a first name. H. M. stands for Harley McKeever. When Pa hits me he does it like he hates me. I don' understan' why. Maybe someday I'll do somethin' so good he'll hafta be proud o' me.

I stop 'n' hunker down by the top step. The hall railin' hides me a li'l. It's hard t' hide when yer tall for yer age. I can see the whole livin' room from where I am but that ain' why I'm here.

Gramma 'n' Grampa are real tired 'n' both o' them hafta get up t' do chores in the mornin'. Like Grampa a'ways says t' me, "The horses, chickens 'n' cows don' feed themselves." I have chores, too, but if I have a real bad night, I wake up 'n' my chores're done for me.

That should make me feel good but it don'. I wanna help Gramma 'n' Grampa 'cause they saved me from havin' t' live with Pa. 'N' 'cause I love 'em with the part o' my heart that's left over from lovin' Ma 'n' Billy. That part ain' ever gonna be filled.

They shouldn' be awake this time o' night. They should be sleepin'. 'Specially since t'morrow's Christmas Eve.

This thing I have that sometimes tells me what someone's thinkin' b'fore they say anythin' tells me they're talkin' 'bout me. That's why I'm listenin' from up here.

In my mind I see them sittin' at the kitchen table over two cups o' coffee. Both o' them're dressed in bedclothes 'n' robes. The scene is so real in my head that I feel like I'm standin' there right b'side them, invisible. It's kinda neat but kinda scary at the same time t' be able t' do this.

"The dreams're gettin' worse. Ever since his Ma died . . . " That was my Gramma's voice. It fades 'way like she can't get the rest o' the words out.

"Kindygarten ain' makin' it any better. H. M.'s smart, real smart, but he don' seem t' have a lotta friends." That was Grampa.

"Give him time. Right now, he needs somethin' t' keep his mind occupied." I hear the tears hidden b'hind Gramma's words.

She mus' be hurtin' over Ma bein' gone as much as I am.

"But the kids're home for Christmas vacation. He doesn' have a lot t' keep his mind busy right now. There are only so many ways he can help out 'round here t' help him forget this las' year. That's why I talked t' my friend las' week." In my mind I see Grampa take a gulp o' coffee 'n' push his chair back t' go t' the stove 'n' get more.

"But shouldn' his Christmas present be somethin' he can play with? Maybe a toy airplane 'r army men?" Gramma's worried but I can' figure out what it has t' do with Christmas.

When I asked Gramma t' help me write my letter t' Santa this year, she got all teary-eyed. I a'most wished I had asked for stuff the other kids were askin' for at school. But the only thin' I could think of was t' see Ma 'n' my li'l baby brother 'gain. So I asked for that 'n' she wrote it down 'n' then she hugged me like she'd never let me go.

I don' want toys 'r games . . . not even comic books. No one can give me what I want, I guess. Not even Santa.

Gramma's talkin' 'gain 'n' she sounds like she's beggin' Grampa t' rethink somethin'. "Are you sure 'bout this? Is it safe?"

Grampa answers her. "He'll be careful. He said 's long as H. M. does what he's tol' they should be fine."

In my mind I see him put his hand over hers 'n' squeeze it gentle-like.

I know there's a couple o' small wrapped gifts under the tree for me. This doesn' soun' like somethin' they can wrap. I wanna stay 'n' listen but I don' want them t' catch me outta bed. They might have me do extra chores 'cause I disobeyed.

I tiptoe back t' bed 'n' snuggle down under the quilt Gramma pieced t'gether over the las' few months. I guess that was her way t' keep her min' 'n' hands busy.

I think 'bout Ma 'n' her readin' t' me outta Dr. Suess 'til my thoughts go fuzzy 'n' I fall 'sleep. Those're the happiest thoughts I can think.