It's Christmas!
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GLAD TIDINGS TO ALL, AND ALL THE VERY BEST FOR A PEACEFUL AND HAPPY 2012 xoxo
Chapter Nine- Christmas Day
Christmas Day dawned like any other day on the island but like Christmas Day everywhere, it felt different. It was in the air, in the trees, even in the birdsong. Everything felt Christmassy.
Mr. Howell awoke to find his wife sitting on the edge of his bed in her chiffon nightgown. "Lovey," he said, groggily. "Is there something the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter, darling," she smiled. "I was just watching you sleep. Like I used to, when we were first married."
Mr. Howell yawned widely and scratched his armpit.
"Before you started doing that."
"I'm sorry, my love," he apologised. "Blasted sand gets everywhere."
Mrs. Howell leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Merry Christmas, Thurston."
"Is it that time already?" Mr. Howell replied. "Remind me to give the staff a half-day off."
"There are no staff, darling. Unless you mean Gilligan."
"Gilligan is more of a company liability," Mr. Howell chuckled.
"I didn't know what to get you for Christmas," Mrs. Howell said, sadly. "After all, we already have everything."
Mr. Howell looked fondly at his wife. Even first thing in the morning she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He smiled wickedly and scooted over in the bed. "Care to join me, Gorgeous?"
"Thurston!" she exclaimed, shock registering on her delicate features. "Whatever are you suggesting?"
"But, Lovey- it'll be even more like when we were first married." Her husband leered theatrically.
"How naughty of you to remember that!" Mrs. Howell giggled.
"Darling. How could I ever forget the way I used to fall asleep in the Boardroom from sheer exhaustion?"
"Oh, you know that's not true." Mrs. Howell smacked his leg, but her eyes twinkled merrily. Her husband pulled the blanket back and waited.
"Pretty please? With Christmas bells?"
"Oh, all right, Thurston, as you're so insistent," she said, pretending to be scandalized. "But first- I believe there's something missing."
"Besides you?" Mr. Howell watched her cross the room and pick something up from the table.
"No," Mrs. Howell smiled. "Mistletoe!" With that, she tied the biggest sprig of all to the headboard and climbed into bed beside her husband, feeling very naughty indeed.
"Happy Talk on Christmas morning! What better gift is there?" Mr. Howell chortled, and turned Teddy over so that the little bear found himself staring at the wall.
Ginger approached the Supply Hut to give the Professor his gift. Even though she'd been chasing him around the campsite for the better part of the week, she suddenly felt shy. When she tapped on the door and peeked in, he appeared flustered and stood in front of the table, as though he were hiding something. "Is this a bad time?" she asked, hesitating in the doorway.
"No! No, Ginger, please- come in." The Professor looked happy to see her, so she went in.
"I brought you a gift," she said, holding out a small package wrapped in green silk.
The Professor thanked her with a kiss on the cheek, which made her blush, although she wasn't sure why. He opened it carefully and smiled when he saw what was inside. Ginger had made him a pendant. She had taken a smooth, flat stone and threaded it onto a long strip of leather which was attached to the stone with a gold hook from one of her necklaces.
"I found that pretty stone on the shoreline," Ginger told him. "It looks grey now, but when it's wet, it goes bright pink."
The Professor's smile grew wider. "Bright pink, eh?" His eyebrows raised. He lifted the stone and ran his thumb over the smooth surface.
"And I thought that swirl in the middle looks a bit like a 'P', don't you think? For 'Professor'."
"It does indeed," he chuckled.
"Turn it over," she insisted. "Go on."
He did as she asked. On the back of the stone she had written, in the smallest of letters, 'the show must go on'.
"For when Gilligan ruins your experiments, or a rescue attempt fails," Ginger said, hoping he wouldn't be offended.
The Professor stared at the inscription. He blinked. What was this tight feeling in his chest? Perhaps there had been a drop in air pressure. "It's beautiful, Ginger," he said, softly. "It's really quite beautiful. Thank you."
Ginger let out the breath she'd been holding and clasped her hands under her chin. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it, Professor!"
"I shall wear it immediately," he promised. "As soon as I give you your gift." He turned around and revealed what he'd been standing in front of. "I'm sorry it isn't wrapped," he said. "I didn't want to damage it."
Ginger squealed, with delight and amusement. "It's a fern!"
"Yes, it's a fern," the Professor grinned. "And the reason why I picked this particular fern is because usually it grows in clusters, many of the same type of fern all together. But this one was on its own, in amongst another genus of fern that grows much more commonly. It stood out, should I say. I noticed it immediately. And the first person I thought of was you."
Ginger admired the fern. It was tall and feathery, like angel hair. The Professor had planted it in a chunky clay pot he'd found in one of the caves. "It looks so fragile," she said, stroking a finger along its fronds.
"It does, but its roots are strong. It's actually one of the hardiest ferns there is. Let's just say, it would take a strong gust of wind to knock this baby over."
Ginger laughed and threw her arms around the Professor's neck. "Are you comparing me to a fern?" she teased, bringing her lips close to his.
"Why not?" the Professor replied, with a twinkle. "After all, you know how I feel about ferns."
And then they kissed, without a sprig of mistletoe in sight.
Gilligan knocked on the door to the girls' hut.
"Come in, Gilligan!" called Mary Ann.
He went in. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, watching her tie her hair into pigtails.
"I always know when it's you," she smiled. "You have a special knock."
"I do?" he looked at his knuckles, puzzled over them for a bit, then shrugged. "I brought you something," he said.
Over the last couple of days, Gilligan had hidden himself away in his hut- not because he was avoiding Ginger this time, but because he had said he was working. He had even hung a sign on the door that said "Do NoT DISTerB" (with the 'S' pointing backwards). Now, as he stood in front of Mary Ann with his hands behind his back, she wondered if this was what he had been working on.
"Close your eyes and hold out your hand," he told her.
"No spitballs?" Mary Ann teased him.
He shook his head from side to side. "No spitballs," he promised.
Mary Ann did as he asked her to, and felt him put something in her hand. "You can open your eyes now," he said. "I'm sorry it's not wrapped. I didn't want to break it."
Mary Ann opened her eyes. There in her hand was an angel. It was about eight inches tall, made from the chunk of wood Gilligan had put aside for whittling. It had a slightly misshapen, triangular body and a rounded, golf ball sized head. He had given it a pair of stick-like arms, although one was pointing upwards and the other was sticking straight out, giving it the appearance of a little traffic cop. He had wrapped a scrap of red felt around its body for a shirt, and had cut up one of his white handkerchiefs to make a little hat for its head. Lastly, he had used some of the Professor's black ink and dotted on two eyes, but the right eye was slightly smudged, as though he had coughed or hiccuped in the middle of applying it. It looked as though the angel was winking.
"It's a Gilligan angel!" Mary Ann laughed with delight. She held it by the string that was attached to its back and twirled it around and around, watching its little arms waving as it spun.
"I thought maybe we could hang him on the tree, to keep the other angel company. That is- if you want to."
"Of course we should. He's adorable!" Mary Ann said. "But, Gilligan- where are his wings?"
Gilligan dropped his head shyly. "He hasn't earned them yet. I guess you could say he's still in training."
Mary Ann balanced the Gilligan angel on the table and stood up to put her arms around the real Gilligan's waist. Her nose reached the buttons of his collar and then there was his Adam's apple, bobbing nervously in his throat, a dead giveaway. She looked up into his blue-green eyes and smiled with tenderness and love. "It's the best Christmas gift I've ever received," she said. "And that's the honest truth."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, blushing.
"I got you something too." She tapped him playfully on the end of his nose, then opened the top drawer of the dresser and took out a small, wrapped parcel. "Be careful opening it," she said.
Gilligan took the parcel with a wry grin. "You know who you're talking to, right?"
She grinned. "I know you can do it."
Gilligan picked off the wrapping as carefully as he could. His eyes widened in delight when he saw what Mary Ann had made him.
Mary Ann had taken three pebbles of varying sizes and glued them one on top of the other. The bottom pebble was big and round, the middle pebble was middle-sized and the top pebble was the smallest, not quite round, but full of character. Once they were glued together she had painted the whole thing white, then dotted on two eyes and a smiling mouth and a row of buttons down the front. Lastly, she had added a little blue scarf and a hat made from a bottle cap, one from Gilligan's own bottle cap collection.
"It's a snowman!" he exclaimed.
Mary Ann watched his face light up. "I know how much you miss snow at Christmas, " she said. "I'm only sorry I can't give you the real thing."
"But this is better than the real thing," he laughed. "'Cause this snowman won't melt on December 26th!"
"And now I have something else for you," she whispered.
"Something else?" he uttered, nervously.
"Mm-hmm." She took the snowman from his hand and set it down on the table, then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him until his toes curled.
When they went outside to hang the Gilligan angel on the tree, they found the Skipper sitting at the table, nursing a tot of whisky from the bottle that Mr. Howell had given him the night before. He was staring at the tree, lost in deep thought.
"Merry Christmas, Skipper," Gilligan said, standing right in the Skipper's line of vision.
The Skipper blinked and looked up, breaking into a broad smile when he saw the two youngest castaways. "Merry Christmas, Little Buddy! Merry Christmas, Mary Ann. I'm sorry- I was miles away."
"Merry Christmas, Skipper." Mary Ann gave him a sympathetic smile, then held up the angel for him to see. "Look what Gilligan made!"
The Skipper let out a booming laugh as he admired Gilligan's handiwork. "So that's what you were doing in the hut all that time!"
"Yeah," said Gilligan, grinning. "And that reminds me- I have something for you too!"
While Gilligan was gone, Mary Ann sat down and peered intently at the Skipper. "You looked lost, Skipper. Are you all right?"
The Skipper picked up his whisky glass and swirled the contents. He chuckled apologetically. "Sure, Mary Ann. I'm fine. Really. I always get a little thoughtful at Christmas. It's just how I am."
Mary Ann reached out and placed her hand gently on top of his. "You know you have family here, Skipper. And we all love you, very much. You saw us through that storm- if it hadn't been for you, we would have- well, I don't need to tell you." She squeezed his fingers, noting how big they looked compared to hers. "You remind me of my Uncle George. Big, strong, tall and brave, but gentle and kind underneath. If I was going to be stranded with anyone, I would want it to be someone like you."
The Skipper raised his eyes from his whisky glass and gave Mary Ann a sheepish grin. "Thank you, Mary Ann," he said. "Thank you. Very much."
Gilligan returned. He ran across the clearing with his gift for the Skipper and skidded to a halt, spraying sand everywhere, including into the Skipper's whisky. "Here you are, Skipper! I made it 'specially for you!"
The Skipper took the hastily wrapped gift and weighed it in his hands. It was large and flat. "What on earth could it be?" he wondered aloud.
"Open it, open it!" cried Gilligan, jumping up and down. Meanwhile, the Professor and Ginger had come out of the Supply Hut to see what Gilligan was so excited about, and were soon followed by the Howells, who had dressed up for Christmas Day and looked magnificent in all their finery.
The Skipper ripped off the wrapping and held his gift aloft. It was a hand carved, varnished rectangular plaque with an uneven border going all the way around. In the top left hand corner Gilligan had painstakingly carved a crescent moon, and in the other corners he had carved three wonky stars. The inscription on the plaque read-
SNoRER OF THe YEaR
WINNeR 1966
CaPT. JONaS GrUMBy
"That's what took me the longest time," Gilligan grinned. "Getting all the spelling right."
The Skipper leapt to his feet and enveloped Gilligan in the biggest bear hug he'd ever known. "Gilligan! Why, I oughta-!"
Everyone laughed as the Skipper and Gilligan hugged, passing the plaque around so they could all admire it, chuckling over the uneven cluster of letters and the endearingly crooked little moon and stars.
"And now, Skipper, would you care to hang my angel on the tree?" said Mary Ann, when the Captain and crew of the Minnow had stopped affectionately slapping each other with their respective hats.
"Why, Mary Ann, it would be an honour to hang your angel on the tree!" The Skipper took the Gilligan angel carefully in both hands, reached up to a branch just below the cross-eyed angel and looped the string over the end so that the Gilligan angel nestled in between a glittery starfish and a fluttering hundred dollar bill. "There," he grinned, standing back. "How's that?"
"Perfect!" said Mary Ann, throwing her arms around the Skipper. "Just perfect!"
That evening as the sun set, the castaways piled the table high with food. Baked clams, fresh lobsters, roasted swordfish and crab, and mountains of steaming hot, fresh grown vegetables, with special festive fruit pies for dessert. Mary Ann swept the clearing and they brought out the cocophone and lit tiki torches all around the campsite. Every ornament on the tree sparkled or glittered or shone with the reflected light of the torches, and even the tree itself seemed to glow from within. With trailing ribbons in every colour denoting the presence of mistletoe on every branch and in every hut doorway, everyone was suddenly struck by how beautiful their little island home could be.
The castaways gathered together under various sprigs of mistletoe to hug each other fondly and wish each other a Merry Christmas. Ginger finally got her kiss from Gilligan, who took the initiative and bravely planted his lips on her cheek, making her squeal with joy. The Skipper received a kiss from Mary Ann and Ginger at the same time, each girl standing on either side of him and kissing him soundly on both cheeks until everyone else cheered and he blushed scarlet. Mr. and Mrs. Howell embraced discreetly and gently, not wishing to rumple each other's finery. Ginger wrapped her arms tightly around the Professor, and Mary Ann leaned against Gilligan, resting her head on his chest, feeling the buttons on his collar pressing into her cheek. There were choruses of 'Merry Christmas', 'Glad Tidings' and 'peace and prosperity to all', to which Mr. Howell raised his cup and said, "especially prosperity."
Much later, after they had eaten and drank their fill of Christmas dinner and Gilligan had put away three huge slices of Christmas coconut crème pie, the Professor put some music on and they danced, slowly, their stomachs fit to burst. The Professor allowed the Skipper to have the first dance with Ginger, and the Howells soon joined them. Mary Ann automatically began to clear the table, until Gilligan approached and took off his hat, clutching it tightly in his hand.
"Mary Ann, would you like to dance?" he stammered.
Mary Ann put down the plates she'd been stacking and gave him her widest smile. "Why, Gilligan! I'd love to!" she cried, fighting off the urge to throw herself bodily into his arms.
With a visible sigh of relief, Gilligan replaced his hat and led her out into the middle of the clearing. Once there, he turned to face her and put his arms out, pulling her into a clumsy embrace. She giggled as she bumped into him, and they did a sort of awkward shuffle for a few moments before both of them got comfortable. "I'm not used to this," he apologised.
"Practise makes perfect," she replied with a giggle.
They began to dance, moving in a lazy circle, not quite in time to the music. As the tree came into view, Mary Ann gave a small sigh. "Maybe I should have made my angel a little bigger," she wondered. "She looks a bit swamped by all the other, shinier decorations."
Gilligan lifted his head from where he'd rested it against Mary Ann's. He looked up at the tree. The cross-eyed angel perched on top, her chiffon wings almost luminous. In a way Mary Ann was right- there were bigger, gaudier, more obvious decorations all competing to distract the eye. But as he gazed at the angel, he remembered something his mother had once told his sister while they searched for four-leafed clovers in the grass. He smiled over the top of Mary Ann's head and tightened his arms around her. "Sometimes you just have to look a little harder, to find the things worth seeing."
Mary Ann leaned back and looked up at his face. His eyes were shining, his hair unkempt beneath his ever present hat. She reached up and brushed his untidy bangs across his forehead, gently tracing the line of his eyebrow. "And do you see it, Gilligan?" she whispered.
"I see it," Gilligan nodded.
Mary Ann hugged him tightly, her heart soaring. "Merry Christmas, Gilligan," she said.
"Merry Christmas, Mary Ann," said Gilligan.
The music played on and the castaways continued to dance. The Skipper wound the cocophone and the Howells waltzed, while the Professor twirled a laughing Ginger in an impromptu tango. Gilligan and Mary Ann swayed gently together, lost in a world of their own. On top of the tree, Mary Ann's cross-eyed angel kept her silent watch over the festivities, and two branches down, the wingless Gilligan angel swung gently in the breeze, his arm reaching up towards her.
End
