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Christine's Gift:
A Phantom of the Opera Gift of the Magi
Megan Lerseth
Christine Daae had been fourteen years old the last time she'd had a good Christmas. Her father died the November she was fifteen, and God knew she had no close friends. Her companion in the ballet chorus, Meg Giry, and Meg's mother usually went visiting relatives, so Christine couldn't spend it with them. But here she was, eighteen years old now, and ready to spend the holidays with her music teacher and lover Erik.
It was actually a few nights before Christmas, to be honest. Erik hated sunlight, so they made it a sort of ritual to go window-shopping in the latest hours of the night.
It didn't take Christine very long to discover her problem. She had absolutely no idea what to buy Erik for Christmas. At first, she had considered one of those exquisite porcelain masks one uses to decorate one's home, until she realized that a) that would be extremely offensive and b) most of those masks were very feminine anyway. Erik, for his part, was equally worried what he'd buy her. He already pampered her so much; there wasn't much else she could want. Was there?
So, to return to the story, Christine and Erik were walking down the streets of the Paris shopping district one December night, each of them trying to figure out what they'd give the other and hoping for clues.
Christine stopped in front of a jewelry shop. She stared at the display for a moment, then grabbed Erik by the wrist and yanked him over. "What on earth-" he began. "Look." Christine pointed to a small gold comb with a large gap in need of a jewel. "I see it," said Erik in a sort of bored tone. "Isn't it lovely?" "It needs a stone."
Christine smiled. "Have I ever shown you my amethyst?" Erik stared. He watched Christine reach into her pocket, and she pulled out a huge jewel the same color as her eyes. "I found it under my pillow in the first inn I stayed in in France." Christine beamed. "Papa said that a very grand lady must have left it there." "It's as big as an egg!" Erik exclaimed. "I know!" Christine squealed. She held her amethyst up to the window and squinted. "It would fit perfectly in that comb." She frowned slightly, and sighed "But it's not as though I need a comb, my hair is so plain." She gestured vaguely at it: the mass of tightly curled, dark brown waves flooding down her back.
They walked on a little further, and Erik stopped in front of a music shop. He looked into the window for a few minutes, and then he said, "What I really need is a new case for my violin." Christine nodded in agreement. Erik's violin was antique but in beautiful condition, but his case was scratched and bruised beyond recognition.
"If the case is bad, it might start hurting the violin, and that's the last thing I want to happen," he continued. "You get twenty thousand francs a month from the management," Christine pointed out. "The cat has to eat," Erik replied.
The next day, Christine sat in her flat, counting her money. "Hmm.. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight." Her face fell. Twenty-eight francs. Not nearly enough for the violin case.
Christine felt terrible. What could she do? Her clothes were all plain and out of style, her hair wasn't worth selling, she didn't own anything of good enough value. Or did she?
"The amethyst!" Christine exclaimed. She reached into her pocket and looked at the one tangible remnant of her life with her father and smiled.
Christine threw on her cloak and her scarf and headed off to the nearest pawnshop.
"Do you buy jewels?" Christine asked. The woman behind the counter stared somewhat blankly. Christine reached into her pocket and pulled out the amethyst. It looked more beautiful than ever.
"Now we're talking!" the saleslady replied, and Christine left the shop with three thousand and twenty-eight francs.
Christmas Eve arrived, and Christine was nearly bursting with excitement. She waited for Erik on the edge of the underground lake, as planned, holding the box containing the violin case behind her back. Erik and the boat gradually emerged from the mist.
"Merry Christmas, Erik." said Christine. "Merry Christmas, Christine," said Erik. He helped her into the boat and rowed off to the lair.
"Are you ready for your present?" Christine asked sweetly. Erik sat down. Christine passed the box to him. He opened it quickly. His face lit up- then it sank. "Oh, Christine," he sighed. "Here- why don't you open your present." It was not a question.
Still puzzled, Christine opened the tiny box- and she, too, sighed.
It was the comb she had wanted. The comb that she had hoped to set the amethyst in. "Erik," Christine muttered. "I sold the amethyst to buy you your violin case."
Erik perked up a bit. "You did?" "Yes," Christine moaned, feeling stupid.
Erik began laughing. Christine looked up. "What is so funny?" she demanded. "I sold my violin to buy you that comb!" Erik explained.
Christine tried very hard to be horrified, but she began laughing as well. "Merry Christmas, Erik!" Christine exclaimed. "Perhaps the money I have left over can buy you back your violin." "Perhaps," said Erik. "Or perhaps not."
Christine smiled at him, and then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
This was the best Christmas Christine had ever had.
Finis
A Phantom of the Opera Gift of the Magi
Megan Lerseth
Christine Daae had been fourteen years old the last time she'd had a good Christmas. Her father died the November she was fifteen, and God knew she had no close friends. Her companion in the ballet chorus, Meg Giry, and Meg's mother usually went visiting relatives, so Christine couldn't spend it with them. But here she was, eighteen years old now, and ready to spend the holidays with her music teacher and lover Erik.
It was actually a few nights before Christmas, to be honest. Erik hated sunlight, so they made it a sort of ritual to go window-shopping in the latest hours of the night.
It didn't take Christine very long to discover her problem. She had absolutely no idea what to buy Erik for Christmas. At first, she had considered one of those exquisite porcelain masks one uses to decorate one's home, until she realized that a) that would be extremely offensive and b) most of those masks were very feminine anyway. Erik, for his part, was equally worried what he'd buy her. He already pampered her so much; there wasn't much else she could want. Was there?
So, to return to the story, Christine and Erik were walking down the streets of the Paris shopping district one December night, each of them trying to figure out what they'd give the other and hoping for clues.
Christine stopped in front of a jewelry shop. She stared at the display for a moment, then grabbed Erik by the wrist and yanked him over. "What on earth-" he began. "Look." Christine pointed to a small gold comb with a large gap in need of a jewel. "I see it," said Erik in a sort of bored tone. "Isn't it lovely?" "It needs a stone."
Christine smiled. "Have I ever shown you my amethyst?" Erik stared. He watched Christine reach into her pocket, and she pulled out a huge jewel the same color as her eyes. "I found it under my pillow in the first inn I stayed in in France." Christine beamed. "Papa said that a very grand lady must have left it there." "It's as big as an egg!" Erik exclaimed. "I know!" Christine squealed. She held her amethyst up to the window and squinted. "It would fit perfectly in that comb." She frowned slightly, and sighed "But it's not as though I need a comb, my hair is so plain." She gestured vaguely at it: the mass of tightly curled, dark brown waves flooding down her back.
They walked on a little further, and Erik stopped in front of a music shop. He looked into the window for a few minutes, and then he said, "What I really need is a new case for my violin." Christine nodded in agreement. Erik's violin was antique but in beautiful condition, but his case was scratched and bruised beyond recognition.
"If the case is bad, it might start hurting the violin, and that's the last thing I want to happen," he continued. "You get twenty thousand francs a month from the management," Christine pointed out. "The cat has to eat," Erik replied.
The next day, Christine sat in her flat, counting her money. "Hmm.. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight." Her face fell. Twenty-eight francs. Not nearly enough for the violin case.
Christine felt terrible. What could she do? Her clothes were all plain and out of style, her hair wasn't worth selling, she didn't own anything of good enough value. Or did she?
"The amethyst!" Christine exclaimed. She reached into her pocket and looked at the one tangible remnant of her life with her father and smiled.
Christine threw on her cloak and her scarf and headed off to the nearest pawnshop.
"Do you buy jewels?" Christine asked. The woman behind the counter stared somewhat blankly. Christine reached into her pocket and pulled out the amethyst. It looked more beautiful than ever.
"Now we're talking!" the saleslady replied, and Christine left the shop with three thousand and twenty-eight francs.
Christmas Eve arrived, and Christine was nearly bursting with excitement. She waited for Erik on the edge of the underground lake, as planned, holding the box containing the violin case behind her back. Erik and the boat gradually emerged from the mist.
"Merry Christmas, Erik." said Christine. "Merry Christmas, Christine," said Erik. He helped her into the boat and rowed off to the lair.
"Are you ready for your present?" Christine asked sweetly. Erik sat down. Christine passed the box to him. He opened it quickly. His face lit up- then it sank. "Oh, Christine," he sighed. "Here- why don't you open your present." It was not a question.
Still puzzled, Christine opened the tiny box- and she, too, sighed.
It was the comb she had wanted. The comb that she had hoped to set the amethyst in. "Erik," Christine muttered. "I sold the amethyst to buy you your violin case."
Erik perked up a bit. "You did?" "Yes," Christine moaned, feeling stupid.
Erik began laughing. Christine looked up. "What is so funny?" she demanded. "I sold my violin to buy you that comb!" Erik explained.
Christine tried very hard to be horrified, but she began laughing as well. "Merry Christmas, Erik!" Christine exclaimed. "Perhaps the money I have left over can buy you back your violin." "Perhaps," said Erik. "Or perhaps not."
Christine smiled at him, and then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
This was the best Christmas Christine had ever had.
Finis