Author's Notes: Whoo, I'm at it again with angst! I personally don't think this is as good as "The Last Song," though. It was inspired by a song called Christmas Shoes, which I suggest you listen to. It's very . . . sweet? Sad? I don't know, but you'll get to see the lyrics momentarily. Special thanks to Diesel for being my beta and helping me come up with a better ending. ^-^
Warnings: Angst. I don't think it's as sad as "The Last Song," but if you're super sensitive, tears may fall.
Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I think you know by now that I don't own IZ, although I wish I did.
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It was almost Christmas time, there I stood in another line
Tryin' to buy that last gift or two, not really in the Christmas mood
Standing right in front of me was a little boy waiting anxiously
Pacing 'round like little boys do
And in his hands he held a pair of shoes
His clothes were worn and old, he was dirty from head to toe
And when it came his time to pay
I couldn't believe what I heard him say
CHORUS:
"Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see, she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight."
He counted pennies for what seemed like years
Then the cashier said, "Son, there's not enough here"
He searched his pockets frantically
Then he turned and looked at me
He said, "Mama made Christmas good at our house
Though most years she just did without
Tell me, sir, what am I going to do,
Somehow I've got to buy her these Christmas shoes."
So I laid the money down, I just had to help him out
I'll never forget the look on his face when he said
Mama's gonna look so great
CHORUS
I knew I'd caught a glimpse of Heaven's love
As he thanked me and ran out
I knew that God had sent that little boy
To remind me just what Christmas is all about
CHORUS
-"Christmas Shoes"
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Red Velvet Shoes
It was a morning that inevitably came every year, and it was always the same. The sun crept its way over the horizon, immediately obscured by the dismal clouds drifting in the winter sky, shading the freshly fallen snow. Everything around had a shadowed, desolate appearance and the icy wind felt as though it were carrying tiny needles through its current. If it had been any other day, none of this would have mattered, but today . . . well, today was Christmas.
Standing in a foot of snow, Dib ignored the urge to pull his trench coat closer even as a blast of frosty wind wove itself around his body. He tried to remember a time when this day brought him happiness, when the gloomy appearance didn't bother him, when the snow covered streets served as a sledding paradise. There was a time like that, he recalled, but it was a long time ago, a distant, childish memory of innocence buried in the folds of his mind; things would never be like that again. They hadn't been for years.
In his shivering hands, he held a plain white box, slightly worn at the edges, but still fully intact. He inadvertently pulled the box closer to his chest as he numbly stared at the tinsel-clad gravestone in front of him, the one he had gotten up early to come and decorate. Although the entire city was shrouded by the clouds above, the cemetery somehow seemed darker still, like its own black rain cloud was permanently hovering over. Every year, this is the way it was, and every year, Dib battled against the frigid wind to get to the cemetery so he could adorn the tombstone with gold tinsel and red ribbons, hoping to diminish some of the melancholy of the whole scene. But it never worked. Nothing could overpower the anguishing gloom that fell over the graveyard on Christmas morning.
With a ragged sigh, he let his eyes scan over the epitaph, though he knew very well what it said:
Devoted Wife, Loving Mother
Began her walk with the angels on December 21st
Dib clutched the box tighter, biting back a sob that threatened to burst out at any moment. He didn't want to remember that day, yet it never failed. The memory always came back, every minute detail flooding his mind, twisting a knife into his heart, and pounding a lump in his throat until all he could do was cry. Each time he remembered, it was just as painful as the last, and today was no different. He could recall every tiny element of that day, six years ago . . .
~ + ~
It was four days before Christmas. A little boy, around the age of five, was next in line for the cashier in a department store. The man in charge of the cash register gave an amused chuckle as he watched the child toddle up to the counter, his mop of black hair barely visible above the tabletop.
Standing on his toes, the boy pushed a simple white box onto the counter as well as a few dollar bills and tons of change. He smiled, his amber eyes wide and innocent behind large glasses. "Christmas shoes, for my mommy," he informed, then grew serious as he politely continued, "Please hurry, sir . . . Daddy says we have to get back to the hospital soon."
The cashier looked at the pile of change and sighed as he began counting every penny, nickel, and dime. Minutes passed, the people in line verbally expressing their impatience with the wait, until the man finally counted the last penny. Out of nervous habit, he scratched the back of his neck as his gaze fell upon the little boy peering hopefully over the tabletop, his sweet little smile once again gracing his features. The man frowned, turning his head away as he said, "I'm sorry, kid. You're ten dollars short."
The smile slowly dissolved. "But, I wanted mommy to look beautiful . . ."
"I'm sorry . . ."
"What am I going to do?" the child whispered sadly, fixing his eyes on the ground. "I know if I could get her this, she'd smile. She's been sick in the hospital for a really long time, and I just want her to be happy." He looked up at the cashier once more, his eyes pleading. "What am I going to do?"
"Look kid, I'm really sorry, but—" His sentence was cut short when a ten dollar bill was thrown onto the counter in front of him.
The customer behind the little boy smiled weakly as he stuffed his wallet back into his pocket, taking the white box and gently handing it over to the kid. "Go make your mommy happy."
Uttering a quick thank you and a "Merry Christmas," the boy with the mop of black hair ran out of the store, nearly slipping on the slushy snow outside. He didn't mind, though, as he was too preoccupied thinking about how happy his mom would be when she opened up the shiny white box.
In the parking lot, Professor Membrane impatiently sat in his car, massaging his temples. When he looked up, he saw his son stumbling out of the store and immediately started the engine. "Hurry up, Dib!"
Dib fumbled, nearly slipping once again, but finally made it around the car and into the passenger's side, the car instantly taking off once he was inside. After buckling his seatbelt, he grinned excitedly and turned around, thrusting the white box at the little purple-haired girl sitting in the back seat. "Gazzy, look!" he yelled, quickly removing the top to show his sister the contents. "Christmas shoes for mom! Think she'll like them?"
Gaz looked disinterested, busily sucking on the cotton candy-flavored lollipop that was quickly leaving a sticky mess of blue around her lips. "They're red," she noted. "Mom's favorite color is gold."
Dib frowned. "She'll love them anyway, you'll see . . ." His momentary sadness was quickly replaced by another grin as he tried to show his dad what was in the box. "She'll like them, right Daddy?"
Professor Membrane said nothing, his eyes glued to the road as he sped through the streets.
Tilting his head to the side, Dib attempted to get his dad's attention again, but was interrupted when the Professor made a sharp left turn on a red light, nearly causing an accident. "Daddy . . . why are you going so fast?"
"Emergency at the hospital," was the reply.
Dib sighed and placed the open box in his lap. There were always emergencies at the hospital, but everything usually turned out all right. He didn't see why this would be any different . . . He carefully lifted one of the shoes and held it in his small hands, noting the softness of the velvety fabric. They were red, size eight and a half, with no heel. He smiled, recalling how his mom didn't like wearing high heels because they made her look taller than his dad. Dib couldn't really remember how tall his mom was, though . . . she hadn't stood up in a long time. Still, he wanted her to have these shoes so she would look beautiful, as she had told him one night that she might be meeting Jesus soon . . . and when you meet someone important like that, you should look your best! Yes, Dib decided, his mom would love these shoes.
When they arrived at the hospital, Dib found that his mom had been moved to a different room. As he entered, parts of the conversation Professor Membrane was having with the doctor drifted to the little boy's ears, notably the words "code blue" and "life support." At the moment, however, this meant nothing to the five-year-old as he scampered into the room, holding the shoebox behind his back as best he could. Mommy's sleeping, he told himself, beholding her peaceful form lying still on the bed. He briefly noticed that there were a few extra machines in the room, but quickly dismissed that fact as he made his way to her bedside.
She looked like an angel, her purple hair falling delicately over her pale features, framing her face in a heart shape. Her chest gently rose and fell with an audible whoosh from the oxygen mask that lay over her mouth. Dib had become used to that, though. He slowly brought the box from behind his back and carefully placed it on the bed, unable to wait for her to wake up. As he lightly began to shake her, he imagined her opening her pretty brown eyes and smiling at him like she always did. Then he'd show her what was inside the box and she'd be so surprised, she'd pull him into a close hug and ask him to put the shoes on her feet so she could admire them. Yes, that's exactly what would happen when she woke up . . . except that . . . she wasn't waking up. Dib began to shake her a bit more frantically. "Mommy?"
He heard his dad's hushed voice from behind him. "Mommy's in a deep sleep."
"Then . . . I'll just wait until she wakes up to show her."
"She's not going to wake up."
Dib blinked. He couldn't have heard that right, could he? Who goes to sleep and doesn't wake up?
"She's going to walk with the angels now."
No, only people who die walk with the angels. She wasn't dead . . . she was just sleeping. She was breathing, so she couldn't be dead. She just couldn't be.
"You should . . . say goodbye now . . ." The professor's voice had become more than a little shaky, but he refused to let the tears fall. "Gaz, Dib . . . say goodbye."
The next thing Dib could recall was a blur of powerful emotions: disbelief, fear, sadness, the words "unplug her," and that beep . . . that long, God-awful beep. He had wiped his tear-streaked face and managed to question through forceful sobs, "What is that beep for, Daddy?"
No response.
And then they covered her and began wheeling her away.
"What happened? Daddy, where are they taking her?"
He was being ignored. His first taste of how things would be for the rest of his life.
The funeral was held on Christmas Eve, but Dib had barely paid attention to it. As he listened to Gaz whimper and cry next to him, he couldn't help but think that it was all a bad dream . . . he'd wake up and see his mom hovering over him, telling him to go downstairs and eat breakfast so he could hurry up and open his presents. Yeah, that's how it would be . . . he'd go to sleep tonight and everything would be okay in the morning. She'd be there to make Christmas good like she always did.
. . . So Christmas morning came . . . Dib woke up to see the white ceiling of his bedroom. He ran downstairs into the kitchen to find no breakfast. He ran into the living room to find no presents under a mildly decorated tree. This wasn't right. This isn't how things were supposed to be. As denial left, reality sank in and he curled into a ball on the living room floor, shuddering every so often as a sob wracked through his body. Every time he thought of how things used to be, it only brought back more memories and harder, quicker tears. For moments, he simply quivered on the floor, half hoping that someone would come into the room and comfort him, tell him that everything would be okay. But that didn't happen . . . Gaz was still asleep, and his dad was most likely diverting himself in the lab. Then Dib remembered the white box under his bed. The shoes . . . he never gave them to her.
Stumbling up the stairs and back into his bedroom, he yanked the white box from under his bed, donned a pair of mittens, a warm coat, and snow boots, and headed back downstairs. On his way out the door, he grabbed some gold tinsel and red ribbons from the tree as an after thought. If his mom was going to walk with angels, she was going to do it in her new shoes. She'd be the most beautiful angel.
The five-year-old stepped out into the cold, foot-deep snow, realizing for the first time how gloomy the sky really looked on Christmas morning. The sun was obscured by dismal clouds, causing shadows to cast over anything and everything. The snow wasn't white; it was gray and depressing. Making his way to the cemetery, he noted that it was just as bleak, perhaps somewhat darker if possible. He'd have to fix that. Setting the box down in front of the grave, he took the gold tinsel and wrapped it around the headstone, trying to make it look as elegant as his mom would have wanted it. He then proceeded to tie the red ribbons to the tinsel, hoping to lessen some of the depression that enveloped the environment. It didn't work.
He soon found himself sitting in the snow, his knees drawn to his chest as he cried to his mother's grave. "I wanted you to be happy," he choked. "So I bought you these shoes . . ."
Opening the box, he slowly pulled out the pair of velvety red shoes and set them down at the base of the tombstone. "At least you can be the most beautiful angel . . ." His face hurt from the icy wind hitting it, nearly freezing his tears, but he could have cared less. Wiping his face against his sleeve, he managed to calm himself long enough to whisper a steady, "Merry Christmas, mommy . . ."
~ + ~
The sound of his own sob knocked Dib out of his thoughts. Thinking about that day six years ago always did this to him, no matter how much time had passed or how much he tried to forget. The spirit of Christmas was buried with his mom, but the memory remained forever fresh.
A fresh, glacial wind whirled around him and he suddenly noticed how numb he'd become. "Probably going to start snowing, soon," he said, his voice sounding distant and raspy. He had a cold coming on, most likely, but it didn't matter to him. Shivering, he opened the worn out white box and pulled out the red shoes. They were older and water stained from being in the snow so much over the years, but they were still soft, still beautiful. He set them down at the base of the headstone and closed his eyes.
In his mind, he saw her as alive as she ever was, her purple hair swinging just below the waist as she jovially twirled around, showing off the exquisite red dress she was wearing. Laughing playfully, she came up to him and kissed his nose like she always used to. "Daddy and I are going dancing," she said. Dancing was something his parents did often when they had time off, before she fell ill . . .
She stood up and whirled about once more, softly tapping her foot on the ground. "And I have brand new dance shoes."
Dib let his gaze fall to the shoes she wore . . . the red velvet shoes. "You look beautiful in them."
She knelt down in front of him, their matching eyes locking briefly before she pulled him into a warm embrace. "They're the best Christmas gift I ever got. Thank you, sweetie . . ." And then she whispered, "I love you."
"I love you, too . . ." He could barely finish the sentence before his voice caught in his throat and he opened his eyes, greeted by the sight of snowflakes covering the tombstone . . . greeted by reality. He would never hear his mother's voice again or see her pretty face or feel the soft, tickling kisses she used to place on his nose. Now all he felt were the cold taps of snow numbing the soft skin on his face where kisses used to be given. How he missed her . . .
Why did he torture himself like this? His day was done. Christmas was over for him, until the inevitable holiday showed up again next year. He sighed and whispered a soft, "Merry Christmas, mom," before turning on his heel and walking away, his face frozen with tears.
-fin-
Erm, okay… now that I'm done, I don't like it. . It was sooo lame! AH! *dies*