The Guide

When you go into the spirit realm, the first thing you notice is how still everything is. It's like a great virtual reality experience where you can look around in all directions but everything is on pause. Nothing is moving. 

The second thing you notice is that all matter is made of light. You can see right through everything, and even inside solid objects. You can see the pocket change and wire springs in your couch. You can see your neighbor next door sitting on the couch. And it’s weird, because things aren’t translucent. They’re solid colors, but you can see through them, inside them. It’s confusing until you realize you’re not actually seeing those things. It’s more like you’re realizing them somehow. I’m not sure if that makes sense. 

You’re not looking at things. You’re just sort of turning your focus upon them in this weird decision cascade. 

But nothing is moving. Why not? 

"You have to look sideways," the guide says from your right. You didn’t even realize he was there. Except you did. You just weren’t focused on him until he spoke. But now he’s there. Except he’s not because he’s not a solid object like the floors and walls and furniture. He’s just sort of there. Sort of like a thought is just sort of there, except he’s not disappearing like a thought. He’s staring at you. 

“What?” you say. But it’s not really talking anymore than seeing things around you is looking. You just sort of wanted that word to exist and it did. It’s not like thinking. Thinking is automatic, not even really in your control. Speaking in the spirit realm is a decision that a thought should exist, out loud. 

“If you want to see things move,” he says, “you have to look sideways.” 

“How did you know I was thinking about that?” 

He shrugs. “How are you hearing this right now?” 

“Are all my thoughts out loud?” 

“No. But they’re obvious.”

You decide to look sideways. You look to the north, because that's left of you. You see that there's a spare tire and a magazine in the car the back lane. The driver is scratching his nose. There’s a parking ticket in his shirt pocket.

But it's as still as a paused movie.

"No. Not sideways that way. The other sideways." 

So you look right. South of you, you see a woman walking a dog in the street out front. But paused. You can see the dog's lunch in his belly. You can see the woman has cancer lumps in her lungs. 

"No," the guide says. "Sideways." 

He turns your head in a direction you didn't realize was there. Not north, south, east, west, up or down. Sideways. You’re not really looking in a direction, after all. Your focus is cascading through decisions you’re making. He just sort of adjusted that focus. 

Suddenly, the world starts moving. But backwards. The dog's feet move in reverse and now the woman is leading him back the way they came in a weird moonwalking step. Her hair bounces weirdly, like the ends of it are pulling the strands instead of the other way around. They go back around the corner at the end of the block and all the way down the street. Cars are driving in reverse too. Birds are heading tail-first, back into the wind. 

But now you're looking at everything that happened five minutes ago. And it won't stop. 

"How do I get back?" you ask. 

"You are back," the guide says. "You haven't gone anywhere." 

But everything is still moving in reverse and now you're looking at the world as it was ten minutes ago. Somehow, you can still see that woman and her dog, all the way down the street. The guide sees your confusion and simply turns your head back from looking sideways. Not that sideways. The other sideways. 

"That was... the past?" you ask. 

"No. It was just sideways." 

"But I was looking at things that happened ten minutes ago." 

"Except you were still right here in the now " 

"I don't get it." 

"What's not to get? Time is a notional concept. You can look east literally forever and see things in that direction. But you're still standing right here. And you can look sideways and see things that happened ago. But you're still right now." 

"What do you mean, ago? You missed a word." 

"Ago is the best word. Ten seconds ago and ten years ago are the same thing when you haven't moved from now. So you just call it ago." 

"Oh. Well what's the future called?" 

"Look sideways the other way." 

You look right again. No. That's not right. Left doesn't work either. 

He turns your head for you. Suddenly everything is moving. But now it's really weird. There are two of everything. No. Not just two. More than that. The woman walking the dog blurs at first and then seems to have four legs. The dog has eight after a slight tug that only one of the copies of that woman apparently gave the leash. 

"I'm seeing double what's wrong?" 

"Keep watching. You'll figure it out." 

The woman gets to the end of the block and suddenly explodes. Except she didn't explode. She just sort of turned into six different people. One went left. One went right. One went across the street. One turned around and went back the way she came. Two stood still, but looked in different directions. 

You release a dismayed groan trying to follow all the branches of paths the woman took at once. 

"You have to pick one," the guide says. 

"I'm trying. I can't." 

"Stop looking at everything and just make a choice." 

You choose the woman who turned back the way she came. The others disappear. But now she's splitting in two again. One walks slow. One walks faster, like she realized she has to get home as soon as possible. 

And then she splits again, and again. 

"Pick one." 

"It's too confusing. She keeps splitting." 

"Yes. She's making choices. We all do it." 

"But in the non-spirit world there's only one path to the future. It's like watching a movie. One reality as you go forward." 

The guide laughed, like you told a silly kids’ joke. 

"What you think is that one Future is simply the Now that particular brain has chosen. The future is actually branches like you're seeing when you look at the ifs." 

"The ifs?" 

"They're like the ago, except the other way. It's hard to explain. If she turns left you're in that reality. If she turns right, it's another reality. Brains can only focus on one reality. They can imagine the ifs, but they can’t go there until they make a choice. So they really have to make good choices." 

“So there’s one past, but many futures?” 

“No. There are many realities. All parallel.” 

“I don’t get it. When you look sideways, at the ago, as you call it. There’s only one reality. But the ifs are… well, there’s so many!” 

“Because you’re merely looking. In the past, you see the reality that led up to this point. But the future is all potentials, until you pick one.” 

“Like making a wish?” 

“Was it a wish when you picked which woman and dog to follow?” 

“No. I just decided. It was a decision.” 

“Yes. But it was actually more of a focus.” 

"So there are... eight directions to look in? Up, down, north, east, south, west. That’s six. And then ifs and agos. That’s eight." 

"There's also the bigs and smalls. You can look down into the very stuff that makes up atoms. And you can look at the entire universe all at once. But it's very confusing because you see everything everywhere." 

"That's another sideways?" 

"It's more of a forward and back. But not really that. It’s hard to explain with words. You have to just look there." 

He pulled my head backward a very slight bit and suddenly I could see the entire neighborhood. And I mean everything! It wasn’t like zooming out with a camera and being far away. It was just... more things all of it where I was. Everything in the entire neighborhood. I nearly screamed. 

"Stop!" I yelled in a panic. "It's too much!" 

He nudged my head forward, sort of slapping me back into seeing only the immediate surroundings. 

“What the holy heck was all that!?” I said. 

“You are consciousness. It’s just another way of looking at things. It’s just another kind of focus.” 

“But it was so many things! How can you ever…?” 

"It was difficult because you're used to being only one consciousness and focusing on only a few things." 

"That perspective is always there, all the time?" 

He nodded. "And like looking east and seeing everything east. You can just look bigger and see more things, until you see every thing." 

“And the smalls work the same way? You become a human microscope?” 

“Look,” he said. 

“Which way? I don’t know how to...” 

He nudged my head forward, except not forward. It was like he just moved my focus onto a very tiny part of the wall in front of me. I could see what looked like vast, endless mountain ranges, and I was confused until I realized I was looking at the paint on the wall. A single tiny section of the wall had so many ridges and valleys it looked like a strange alien landscape. 

Then he nudged me a little more and I could see beams of light hitting molecules of the paint. Some of the light hit the molecules and changed into heat with a weird vibrating shimmer. Others parts of the light simply reflected away, a single color instead of all of them. 

When he nudged me even close, I saw the links between the different atoms of each molecule. In science class, they’re balls connected by sticks. But they’re not actually like that. They’re actually linked by energy fields. Sort of. The atoms had bubbles around them that weren’t actually bubbles. They were clouds of particles of energy… sort of. Except it was only a few particles that were everywhere at once. And these particles, these electrons were jumping back and forth between neighboring atoms so fast, the atoms couldn’t escape each other. They became a single thing somehow, by sharing electrons in a weird buzz of energy that was like a very fast forward barn dance. Atoms swapped electrons with other atoms so fast, they couldn’t not be connected. 

And no wonder I could see through everything. Atoms were mostly empty space! The bubble-cloud-electron wall thing was see-through. It wasn’t even actually there. It was just energy. And the nucleus at the center was so tiny by comparison to the atom as a whole. It was like a fly at the center of a big spherical concert hall. Light mostly went through it all. But there was so much light, some of hit the atoms and changed to heat. Some of it hit and bounced off and eventually hit an eyeball somewhere. But the wall is so thick compared to an atom, and there were so many trillions of atoms in it, eventually all light hit something inside the wall. I guess that’s why you can’t see through walls in the non-spirit world, even though light goes right through atoms. 

The guide pulled my head back to the normal space between the bigs and the smalls. 

“Cool, huh?” he said. 

“There’s so many atoms!” I said, overwhelmed with amazement. “But wait. How come the atoms were moving like that—the electrons, I mean—but everything else is paused?” 

“Atoms are rebellious little twerps. They ignore time. That’s why those electrons manage to be everywhere at once. They always were and always will be… everywhere.” 

“Oh...” I said, not really getting it. 

“You can look right into the stuff that makes protons, too. But it’s mostly weird squiggly strings of energy. They just kind of twitch around, almost like bugs or something.’ 

“Like a lightning storm?” 

“No. It’s not electricity. It’s the stuff electricity is made of. It’s just twitchy little strands of existence. It’s smaller than light, so you can’t even really see it. It just exists. Kinda boring, actually. It’s like watching fuzz on TV. At least atoms zip around and do stuff.” 

Then I had a weird thought, as I glanced out at the next door neighbor sitting on his couch, not moving. 

"Can you look at the bigs and the ifs at the same time? Like looking... northeast? Like, see the whole neighborhood all moving through their little explosions of choices or whatever? Can you look diagonally that way?" 

"Diagonal isn't the right word for these concepts." 

"But you know what I mean. Two directions at once. But not..." 

"Yes. You can look big-if. But I don't recommend it. Only God can make sense of it. It's pretty nutty." 

“So God does exist,” I said. 

“Ultimate Consciousness is a thing, yes. It’s not a he. It’s not a she. It’s not even an it. It’s just consciousness that’s… There’s not even a word. Big doesn’t cover it. Everywhere doesn’t work either. Because space and time aren’t really...” 

He trailed of, not out of his own confusion, but out of a profound inability to put these great concepts into words. 

"So you're saying gender is not a thing here."

"When God created man, he created them in his own image. Male and female created he them, I believe the exact quote is."

"So he created men and women. Two genders."

"No. It means that the spirits were both male and female at the same time, both genders together. Male-and-female... created he... them."

"Then later he took the female part out and made a separate gender?" I asked.

"For physical procreation, yeah. You need the womb and the testicles and the other parts. And you need females to be attracted to males and vice versa, for the whole system to work. But originally, there were no genders. Adam was both he and she. It was refined later, but there's still no gender in the spirit world. This is why marriage lasts 'until death do us part', and not beyond, not here. We're all male and female combined, in our spirits, just like Ultimate Consciousness."

"God, you mean?"

"Use that word, if it helps."

“Ultimate Consciousness seems good enough of a term,” I said. “God rolls off the tongue a little better, though.” 

“Except people associate that word with an old man on a throne. That’s not really what God is. There’s not even really a throne. That was just what he showed to the ancient people so that they could understand it.” 

"So you're telling me that every spirit is both genders? Male and female together?"

"Yes. It makes all the inequality seem silly in that context. Men are literally repressing half of themselves when they keep women down and hold them back. But human brains are silly. When they're children, they get these things no problem. But the smarter they get, the dumber they get. And religious people who oppress and disrespect women would be very surprised and dismayed meeting God and feeling all that female power hitting them like a beautiful bomb."

"Would be?" I asked. "They don't meet God?"

"Brains don't. And that's where these silly judgements come from. Brains just die, and all their silly selfishness dies with them. Spirits knew the truth all along."

“Can you see God? Like is that one of the directions you can look in? Or is he at the top of the bigs or something?” 

“There’s not really a place you can go, or a direction to look in. And it’s not that he’s like, everywhere and everything, like a rock or tree, or the laughter of a child. He is an actual being. But he’s just ultimate.” 

“But people have seen him.” 

“He shows himself to you.” 

“But he’s not really a him?” I said. 

“No. God is more of an it, I guess. But that word has bad connotations, too. Like he’s just an item on a shelf, or a weird twisted creature of some sort. It’s not like that. So pronouns are better for most people’s understanding. But they also lead to confusion. It's weird.” 

"People say God is Love. Is that a better description of it?"

"Depends on your definition of Love. Some people think love is just a impulse, like the wind in a storm, blowing your soul this way and that. Some people think it's just a chemical reaction in a brain that makes them attracted to somebody. Some people think it's just some ethereal mystical force, like wishing upon a star or whatever."

"So what is it really?"

"It's good choices."

"Huh?"

"Well everything in the spirit world is choices, and focus, right?"

"Apparently."

"Well, when you choose good things, and focus on the best possible outcomes, that's love. There's not really any other way to explain it. But it's the whole reason why we have free will in the first place."

"So love is just... being nice to people?"

"No. It's good choices. Not every outcome is nice, or comfortable, or easy. Sometimes the best choices are incredibly painful, but ultimately lead to good outcomes. Human brains can't grasp these concepts because there's a big part of the brain that wants to be selfish, so you don't die and avoid pain and all that. But love is the opposite of selfishness."

"Thinking about others instead of yourself," I said.

"No. It's thinking about others as well as yourself. You matter, too. You are worthy of love and good things, too, just like everybody else. But selfishness decides that you're more important than everybody else."

"But doesn't that mean love should make you less important than others?"

"Love makes everybody equal. The stars are endless. You can't count them all. But if one part of the sky had no stars, the picture would be incomplete. This is why everybody matters. We were all created. We are all needed. We are all beautiful."

“Hey!” I said, suddenly excited. “Are there people on other planets?” 

“People?” he said with a laugh. “Not like you understand it.” 

“So slimy space slugs with eyes on their hands or whatever?” 

“Different intelligences have arisen in different forms according to the circumstances on their planets. Where gravity is heavy, their bodies are different than somewhere with less gravity. They have to be. And to get food… well, it’s just different. If it’s any consolation, your body is just as weird and creepy to them. But it’s all consciousness on the inside. Same as you and me.” 

“But are they killing each other with weapons and pollution and slavery and stuff?” 

“Some are. Depends on the circumstances of their evolution. How tough is survival? Well, when there’s more competition, creatures evolve to be more… evil, if that concept applies. Selfish may be a better word. But when selfishness becomes ingrained right into a society, then it’s evil, I guess. Human beings have ego that makes them make slaves of other men. They have to decide that they are more worthy of rights and freedoms than the other guy, for arbitrary reasons. They developed that ego out of sheer survival over the millions of years. It’s a long story.” 

“But is it objectively evil? These ego hierarchies?” 

“It’s just stupid, honestly. How much more could you get done if you all worked together instead of dividing people up and assigning ranks of worthiness and unworthiness?” 

“But we’ll eventually evolve to outgrow that stupidity?” 

“There are infinite ifs.” 

“You’re saying it’s a choice we can make?” 

“You think it’s not?” 

"Love is just good choices, I guess."

Everything was still frozen the lady was still out front with her dog. It was still that same now. I was going to ask if you can jump into the time stream in the spirit world, where everything is moving forward like normal. The guide seemed to anticipate my question. 

“If you move over there to the doorway, it's a new perspective on this same moment. But you’re still in the same now. And if you move sideways to the agos, it's a new perspective but from a different moment in the past. It’s all about perspective." 

"But if I move into the past, will I forget this now, this future perspective?" 

"Do you forget the living room if you move to the kitchen? No. You can look over and see it." 

"But this now will be a blurry future if I look at it from the past, with all kinds of double vision." 

"Ifs are very cool." 

"Scary." 

"No. Cool. You can go backward into the ago of any if and make a new choice. Time is different here." 

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” I told him. 

“It makes perfect sense. You’re just used to using those words differently. If you walk down a trail and come to a fork in the road. You can go left, walk for a while, and then later you can come back and go right. Simple.” 

"You can do that in reality," I said. 

"Which reality?" 

"I mean the non-spirit world." 

"No. Not at all. Not with time. Brains are small things, narrow things. They can't even see through walls never mind time. Once they commit to a focus, they’re stuck in it. That’s their new reality. And people focus on such terrible things.” 

"So how do I move forward?" I asked, changing the subject. 

"Which forward? East, ifs, or smalls?" 

"Let's start with east." 

He gave me a little push and I simply moved forward. I went through the wall and into the kitchen. Then I was outside my house. Then I was in the neighbor's house. 

"How do I stop?" I called back to him. Except I didn’t need to yell. It wasn’t like words were actually made of sounds here. 

"Just stop. It's like looking except with motion instead of view. You just will it. " 

I thought about stopping. But I didn't stop. I was in the next house over now. 

"You are consciousness. Just decide to stop. Don't merely imagine stopping." 

I stopped. 

"Oh." 

"Now come back." 

I decided to move back to my living room. But it was weird. Instead of drifting back I was instantly there, like teleporting in Star Trek, except more like I Dream of Jeannie. Except without the blink. 

"Whoa!" I said. 

"You are consciousness. You don't need to make your way over to where you want to go. Time works differently here." 

“Space you mean.” 

“No. It’s time. It doesn’t exist. So you didn’t have to move from here to here to here to here to here, step by step, moment by moment. You just moved.” 

“I’m so confused.” 

“Just remember, you’re consciousness, not a body. Everything makes sense that way.” 

“Because none of this is even real?” 

“It’s more real than your narrow experience trapped in your mind. You don’t have to make your way from there to here because you’re not a body that has to move. You’re awareness. Just be here, and you’re here.” 

"That is very cool." 

But then I saw myself lying on the couch. 

"Is that... me?" 

"No," the guide said. "It's your body." 

"I'm not my body?"

"You are awareness. Forget about 'I think, therefore I am'. You don't need to think to be aware. Awareness just is. You could sit here, forever just looking around, being aware of the universe, and never thinking thoughts. You still exist, right?"

"Yes. It's very quiet, without my brain constantly nattering."

"Brains are just doing their job. Trying to avoid pain and death. They have to over-examine everything to make sure they can stay safe in all scenarios."

"It sure gets annoying. All that doubt and worry and anxiety about everything all day everyday, and even in your sleep."

"It's not you that's annoyed. It's your brain being annoyed by itself, because it's own anxiety is another kind of pain. You, the true you, the spiritual you, are  just awareness."

"And male and female combined. And good choices."

"Hopefully."

“Wait,” I said. “Am I… dead?” 

“Look at your brain.” 

I looked, and I saw what looked like a little storm of electrical activity inside my head. It almost looked like the frantic, buzzy connections of the electrons in the molecules. Except all the little zaps of energy were frozen, like a paused movie, just like everything else. 

“Looks like my brain is doing something. I must be alive.” 

“Dead people’s brains don’t put on that light show. Well, not unless you lean in to the molecular level.” 

“So this is some sort of dream, then.” 

“I don’t know, honestly. Living people don’t usually pop out of their bodies like this either. Not even when they’re dreaming. Only dead people get up and walk around in the spirit world. You must be special.” 

“Am I able to go back again? Into my body I mean.” 

“Probably. Usually what happens is that lightning storm in a person’s head fizzles out, and then their spirit gets up and walks around. I always kind of thought a spirit was that lightning. But here you are.” 

“I better be able to, somehow. Or I’m basically as dead as anyone else around here.” 

“Nah. Pretty sure you’re not going to die right here, lying on the couch.” 

“I hope not.” 

“It probably has something to do with simply willing it, making the decision. Just like looking or moving.” 

“But if I do that will I be able to get back out here again? This is really cool.” 

“If you don’t know how you did it the first time, it was probably a random fluke.” 

“Well, I better at least try it. Just to see if I can.” 

“Alright. Good luck.” 

“Ummm. Before I go… who are you, anyway? Are you like, a guardian angel or something?” 

“I’m you.” 

“What? How can that be? I’m me.” 

“Well, you are going to die eventually, right? Everybody does.” 

“Yeah… Of course, but...” 

“And in the spirit world, time does not exist. You can just walk around through space and time. You can basically go anywhere.” 

“You’re me after I die? You came back in time to check up on me?” 

“Something like that.” 

“How did I die?” 

“Car accident. Well, actually you were on a bike. The cars hit each other and basically flipped over onto you.” 

“Oh. Thanks for letting me know. All I have to do is never ride a bike again.” 

“Nah. It doesn’t work like that, or nobody would ever die accidentally.” 

“But you just told me how I die.” 

“Yeah. But try passing that information along to your brain. Brains are idiots. They live in reality and they don’t even see it correctly, never mind the spirit world. Soon as you’re back in your body, you’re going to forget all about this. Your brain will start up with it’s same old bullshit, about what’s on TV, and what party you’re going to this weekend, and everything else. It’s a very narrow perspective.” 

“But won’t I dream about it or whatever, and develop a weird phobia of bicycles? Isn’t that how this stuff works?” 

“Nah. Brains are idiots. You can only get a phobia of bicycles by something scaring your brain into it. And apparently, that doesn’t happen because that’s how I died.” 

“So no moving forward to check Friday’s lottery numbers and then jumping back into my body and buying a ticket.” 

“You can definitely check the numbers. But you won’t be able to get any sort of message to your brain.” 

“How long ago was it?” 

“How long ago was what?” 

“When you died.” 

“I don’t know. Time is weird here. It doesn’t flow. It’s just a bunch of looking around, awareness. Could be 20 minutes. Could be an eternity.” 

“You’ve apparently been here long enough to figure out how to look around in all the directions, and move and stuff.” 

“Apparently it’s been a while, yes.” 

“Do you remember what day I died?” 

“March 25, 2023. Probably around 4:13 p.m. Near the corner of Marion and Traverse. You were only a few blocks from the hospital, but when a car falls on you, you’re basically done.” 

“Can you talk to souls who haven’t stepped out of their body, like mine apparently has?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s consciousness. They’re aware of everything in the spirit world. Spirits, I mean. They don’t reply, though. They’re focused on holding the connection or whatever it is.” 

“Weird. But you can’t talk to brains.” 

“You can. But they’re kind of deaf. It’s kind of like talking to a plant. You can babble on for hours and tell it to stay away from bikes or whatever. But it’s just gonna do what it’s gonna do. So no lottery win for you.” 

"So what's the meaning of life? Do you know?"

"I could tell you, but you won't remember. Besides, you already know what the meaning of life is. You're a spirit, too, just like me."

"The meaning of life is making good choices, so that everybody shares equally in good things, even me."

"More importantly," he said, "it's getting that message across to your brain, so that it makes better choices when you. the spirit, slip back into simply being silent awareness. Brains are very afraid all day every day, afraid of losing things, afraid of pain. Creating a better world takes a lot of courage. It means realizing that some pain, some loss is okay, for the greater good, for the grand scheme."

"You just told me I'm going to die in a few years, and I don't feel afraid at all."

"Why would you be? This body here is not who you are. You are awareness. You are love."

"Yes," I said.

"Yes," he agreed.

“Alright, well… It was nice meeting you. If I don’t pop right back out again, see you later.” 

"Be you later," he corrected.

I willed myself to rejoin my body, making the choice to slip back inside myself, and then

Robots Don't Lie

The puppy seemed happy. The robot made a little mechanical whirring noise as it bent over to pick up the ball. It stood up again. Then its arm cranked back, and with a mechanical thump sound, it launched the ball across the yard. The puppy barked happily and ran at his awkward stumbling pace to fetch it.

It got to the ball, snatched it up in its mouth and scampered back to the robot, dropping it on the ground in front of the mechanical boy with its dead, unblinking eyes to do it all over again.

The puppy ran. I watched. Its leg seemed to be healing. It seemed happy.

The robot boy looked nothing like me. Its skin looked rubbery. It's hair was obviously a wig. Its eyes were balls of glass that never blinked, never looked left or right, just stared straight ahead. It had this weird smile that almost looked painted on. I guess its all my mom and dad could afford, after all the funeral expenses.

The robot may be kind of ugly, but at least it had somehow taught the dog to play fetch. That's more than I could do. I threw that ball so many times, my arm was aching, and all the puppy would do was bite at my pants, and run around in circles. I was frustrated.

Then when Jake Hoffman and his buddies rode by on their hover bikes and started teasing me, it made me feel even worse. "You suck, Miller! That dog is smarter than you are! Give up, loser!" Then they all laughed.

I didn't say anything. I just picked up the ball and threw it again. The puppy bit my leg this time, instead of my pants. I gasped, and they all started laughing.

"What a fag! He screams like a little girl just over a dog bite! Wait til we tell everyone at school!"

Then they rode off.

Stupid dog! Stupid fucking dog! This time I threw the ball as hard as I could. It went right over our side fence, over the neighbour's front fence and bounced into the street. And you know what happened? This time the stupid puppy ran for it. He bolted before I could even catch him. He chased it right into the street.

I heard the squeal of tires, and a horrible scream of pain. I ran, and there was the little guy, dragging himself across the pavement, still trying to go after that stupid ball. I'll never forget the sad howling crying sound it was making. The woman in the car started screaming at me, too.

"You fucking idiot! Why don't you watch your damn fucking dog! I nearly hit a parked car! Fucking moron! Asshole!"

And then she got back in her car and drove off. I picked up the puppy and hurried into the house calling for my mom.

Well, there was over ten thousand dollars in vet bills. It set us back quite a bit. We nearly lost the house. Mom and dad wouldn't even talk to me for days. I heard them arguing about it, too. "I never even wanted that fucking dog! It was him who wanted it!"

Well, I didn't want it any more. I was sorry I'd gotten the stupid thing.

I got beat up at school, too. People said I probably broke the dog's legs myself. And then the rumours started circling, around and around, that yes, it was true. I beat the hell out of a puppy and broke both its legs. It didn't matter that that's not what happened at all. People just like to hate.

Even the teachers gave me dirty looks. Everybody loves dogs. And they didn't bother to find out of the rumours were even true.

Then one day my dad confronted me. "It wasn't really a car, was it? Just be honest." I tried to explain to him again about the woman in the car, driving off. I told him exactly what she said, what she looked like. He told me he'd asked around the neighbourhood. Nobody had seen anything.

"Well fine, then! I did it! I kicked the dog and broke both it's legs! I kicked it as hard as a speeding car! I might as well just admit it since nobody believes me anyway!"

"Uh huh," Dad said. And he walked away.

I died on October 17, 2084. I left a note saying, "I don't care if anyone believes me. It was a woman in a car. She was blonde. She drove away. But I don't even care anymore. You can all go to hell."

The puppy is doing well, now. It's got a weird little stumbling limp. But it's doing well. He's gotten so big, too. I come back to check on it now and then. I'm glad it finally learned to fetch, even from the ugly-looking robot they got to replace me.

Jake Hoffman and his buddies rode by again on their bikes like they usually do. They threw rocks at the robot like they usually do, only this time, the robot tipped right over and hit the ground with a clang. It couldn't get back up. I think they broke it. They laughed and rode away.

Dad fast-forwarded through hours of footage the robot had recorded, hours of the robot simply throwing the ball to the dog. Over and over and over again, never getting bored, never getting frustrated. Fast forward. Fast forward. I watched him. He seemed angry. He wanted to find out who was throwing rocks at the robo-boy.

He stopped on footage of a blonde woman stepping into our yard. She got out of her car and walked over to the dog. She looked down at it, and then stooped down to pet it. "I'm glad you made it," she said. "Damn, stupid kid should watch where he's throwing his ball."

Then she noticed the robot standing there and jumped a bit, startled. She hurried back to her car and drove off.

Dad cried for a long time. He hugged the robot and said sorry over and over and over again. The robot just stared at me with that weird, painted-on smile. But I wasn't even mad. I guess things are gonna be okay now. Robots don't lie.

A Girl and Her Shoes

There once was a girl named Apple. She lived in a far away land where every child was given $100 on their thirteenth birthday. They gave you your money once, people said, and that was all you would ever have. When her thirteenth birthday came around, she put her money in her purse, and cherished it for many years, not spending a single dime of it.

But then one day while walking through the market, she saw the most beautiful shoes she'd ever imagined in a shop window. Her heart nearly broke she wanted them so badly. She went into the store but the shop keeper stopped her in the doorway.

“Let's see your money!” he said. She showed him. And so he let her look at the shoes.

She looked at the beautiful shoes for hours and hours. And finally she went home, but she thought about the shoes all day and all night. They were so beautiful, and the shop keeper told her it would feel like walking on air when she wore them. She was so excited, but they would cost nearly everything she had! It made her sad to think her money would be all spent, and she'd be broke and poor for the rest of her days.

But in the end she decided that with shoes that beautiful, it would be worth the cost. So she went down to the store and asked to buy them.

"Are you sure?" the shop keeper asked. "You won't be able to return them."

"I'm sure. I love those shoes. They're so beautiful. I will treasure them forever."

So the shop keeper gave them to her, wrapped in a beautiful box, and she went out of the store already feeling like she was walking on air before she even put them on. She sat down by the road, took off the shoes her mom and dad had given her, and put on her brand new beautiful shoes. Her heart was all aflutter. Her mind was all giddy with excitement. She put them on and looked at her feet. She felt so beautiful she was scared to even walk.

People passing by admired her shoes. "They're so beautiful on you!" one lady said. Another man told her they made her look radiant. But one old woman told her they looked very expensive and she hoped they were worth the cost.

"You only ever get $100, girl," the old woman told her, poking in the direction of the shoes with her cane. "After that, you're poor forever!"

Apple did not care. "These shoes are worth it!"

After a while she got up and began walking home. The shoes felt magical. She felt like every step was on a soft fluffy cloud, and she was so happy, she danced and pranced and skipped all the way home, singing joyfully to herself about how much she loved her new shoes. 

But after a while one shoe ripped. "Oh no!" she said, horrified. So then she walked along more carefully. But then the other shoe ripped as well. She began to cry. She was scared she was damaging the shoes, and she thought about taking them off, but she realized that she'd left her old shoes, the ones her mom and dad gave her, back in the street by the shoe store. She couldn't go home barefoot! And besides, what's the point of even buying shoes if you couldn't even wear them? She would just have to be careful.

So she walked carefully along. But with every step she took, the shoes got more and more ripped and torn. They were getting dirty now too. She walked along crying. "What have I done? What have I done?"

By the time she got home, her shoes were nothing but tatters and rags. They had completely broken up on her. The last of the threads fell away and she was forced to stumble along the last mile completely barefoot. Her feet were dirty and sore and all she could do was cry. "I'm such a fool. I'm such a fool. I bought those shoes just because they were beautiful, and they fell apart so quickly. And now I've lost everything. I'll be barefoot forever. I'm such a fool."

She ran in the house and went straight to her room. Her mother came in, and saw her crying so brokenly. Apple didn't want to tell her what happened. She was too ashamed. But her mother saw her dirty, bleeding feet and she quickly figured it out for herself.

"Don't worry, Apple. You're still a beautiful girl. I will always love you."

Her father came in with a basin of water and washed her feet. He put bandages on her cuts and kissed her goodnight.

"It's so nice to have such a beautiful family, but I'm still gonna be barefoot and broke for the rest of my life." And she cried herself to sleep, feeling miserable and bitter.

The next day, her friend Floyd came to visit. "Why are you so sad?" he asked. And she told him the story, still feeling angry and cheated. Floyd asked her one simple question.

"How much money do you have left?" he said, smiling.

And then he gave her a hug and left, without waiting for her to answer.

She went to her room and looked in her purse. She was absolutely astonished and over-joyed to discover that she still had $100 deep down in her purse. She wept with joy, feeling refreshed and renewed. Floyd had somehow known it! How had he known? Then she told her dad and her dad said, "Tomorrow, we'll go into town, and you can buy some new shoes."

She went to bed, beaming with excitement.

The next day, since she had no shoes, her dad carried her into town. It was a long walk and very tiring, but he didn't mind. He was more worried about whether her feet would be hurt. He put her down at the shoe store and wished her luck. Then he went home again, very tired.

"Ah ha!" said the little old lady. "Barefoot, I see! Foolish girl! Now you're broke and you'll have dirty feet for the rest of your days. Ha!"

Apple knew she was not broke. She still had her $100 deep down in her purse. She didn't tell the old lady that. She didn't argue at all. She just went back into the shoe shop.

"Why bother going in there?" the old lady said. "You're broke! You'll never be able to get a nice pair of shoes! And even if you got cheap shoes, your feet are all dirty now. You'll only mess them up!"

Apple went in anyway. Her father had washed her feet, and she still had every penny of her $100.

“Let's see your money!” the shop keep said. She showed him. And so he let her look at the shoes again.

This time she spent all day shopping. She'd learned that the most beautiful shoes were not necessarily the best quality. There were so many styles, but she could not tell how much quality was in each pair. She definitely did not want to make the same mistake. She still had her $100, but every pair was very expensive. So she looked at each one very carefully.

Finally at the end of the day, she selected a pair that wasn't quite as attractive but looked to be more durable. The shop keeper put them in a box for her and she walked out, happy, but not as excited as when she'd bought her first pair of shoes.

"The first day, I was dancing and prancing, not being careful at all. Maybe it was partly my fault those shoes fell apart. I'll be more careful this time."

Still, she thought, a girl should be able to dance and prance as much as she wanted in a good pair of shoes. Isn't that what they were for?

She put them on and started walking. The old lady saw her with new shoes and scoffed at her.

“You only had a few dollars left. Those shoes must be terribly cheap! They'll fall apart before you even get home, and you'll have dirty, tired feet all over again! And now you're surely penniless! Ha! Silly girl.”

The shoes did last longer than the last time, but they were too tight on her and they began to hurt her feet after a while. And just like last time, they began to fall apart on her. They at least got her all the way home though. But she knew they would not last. She was very sad again.

But the next morning when she woke up, she realized she still had every penny of her $100 deep down in her purse. It  was a strange mystery.

She headed back to town, knowing she would need to shop for shoes again by the time she got there. Sure enough, the shoes fell apart on her by the time she got to town, and the old lady saw her with dirty tired feet again. This time she just shook her head, laughing.

"Soon, your feet will be all ugly and used up, and you won't even be able to fit a nice pair of shoes!"

Apple ignored her, remembering how her father had so carefully washed her feet.

“Let's see your money,” the shop keep asked. She showed him, and so he let her in once more to look at shoes.

“Twice now you've sold me very expensive shoes, and twice they've fallen apart on me. This isn't a very good store.”

“It's the only shoe store in town. Take it or leave it.”

She had no choice but to go in. This time she took a pair of shoes that were maybe not so pretty, but they looked comfortable and durable, and they were still pretty nice looking. The shop keep boxed them up. And this time, the girl went to a quiet stream to wash her feet before putting the shoes on. But while she was washing her feet, another girl with prettier feet crept up, stole her shoes, and ran away.

“NO!” Apple cried, dismayed. But there was no hope for it. The shoes were gone. She cried for a very long time. She began walking all the way home barefoot. But because she was taking so long, her father realized something was wrong and went out to meet her. He found her stumbling along crying, with wounded, dirty feet. He carried her all the way home. Then he washed her feet and hugged her.

When she looked in her purse before falling asleep, there was her $100, deep down inside. She smiled and drifted off into dreams, though her feet were very sore.

Floyd came to visit again the next morning. She told him all the crazy stuff that had been happening with her shoes and her money. “Every time I buy a new pair of shoes, I think I'm gonna be broke the next day, but when I check again, I still have my $100. Why is that?”

“Haven't you notice that the shop keeper just asks to see your money? You don't actually lose anything by buying lousy shoes each time. You're still worth just as much as you were before.”
That's very strange, Apple thought.


“But the old lady said-”

“That old lady is just mean. Don't listen to her. All you have to worry about is choosing a good pair of shoes so your feet don't wind up broken and sore.”

“But how do you know which shoes are good quality and which shoes are crappy? You can never tell just by looking at them, and you can't try them on before buying. It's like you just have to take a wild guess! It's so scary! I don't even wanna do it anymore!”

“Take as many guesses as you need to. You're still gonna be worth just as much each time some crappy pair of shoes falls apart on you. Some day, you'll find the perfect pair.”

“I don't want a perfect pair. I just want a pair of shoes that will get me all the way home without hurting my feet.”

The next day in town, she saw the girl who had stolen her shoes. The girl was sitting on the road side crying because the shoes she had stolen had fallen apart on her and her feet were all dirty and injured. At first, Apple wanted to point and laugh and tell her it served her right for stealing someone's shoes. But she realized if she did that, it would just mean she was mean, just like the old lady. And besides, all this girl wanted was a nice pair of shoes to put on her dirty tired feet. Apple knew exactly how that felt. She felt bad for the girl in a way.

“Look in your purse,” Apple told her. “Way deep down inside. You still have your $100, you know. You're not broke. You don't have to go stealing someone else's shoes.”

The girl looked, and sure enough, there was her original $100. She was over-joyed and she hurried away to buy new shoes. Apple smiled and continued along to get some shoes of her own.


“Let's see your money,” the shop keep told her. Apple showed him the $100, and he let her in once more to look at the shoes.

When she came out again, there was the old lady, scoffing.

“Ha! Back again, silly girl!? How many times are you gonna keep trying? You're obviously not very bright. And your feet are gonna be all ugly and dirty and all used up in the end. Ha!”

But then Apple looked down at the old woman's feet. She wasn't even wearing any shoes herself! Her feet were all ugly, and dirty, and all used up.

“Look in your purse, you mean old Lady!" Apple told her. "You still have your hundred dollars. You can still go buy yourself some shoes. You don't have to be mean to everyone else just because your feet are hurting. Just go get some shoes!”

But the woman was old and bitter and she didn't even bother looking.

Apple put her new shoes on and walked away feeling glad she had a friend like Floyd. She knew that no matter how many times she tried a new pair of shoes, no matter how many times they fell apart on her and left her sore and tired, she would always be worth just as much as she had been before. Feet could be washed. Cuts and bruises would heal. And she would still have her $100. Maybe she would find the perfect pair of shoes one day, maybe she wouldn't. But she would always be the same girl deep down inside, and she would always keep trying again.

The Muddy McCluddys

Clim McCluddy and his twin brother Clem were fighting. First they were fighting over toys, then they were fighting over food. Then they were fighting over a chair. Then they were fighting over a pillow. It was really silly. Finally when they broke down into shoving and hitting each other, their father had had enough.

“Outside you two! It's time for a dunk in the mud!”

“No! Father!” they chorused in dismay. But father was angry and determined that they would be dunked in the mud.

Behind the house was a deep gulch of icky gray mud. Father marched them out there and pointed.

“In you go!”

“Why do we have to get dunked in the mud every time we fight!? Why does everyone in this village do this to their children? It's cruel!”

“Get in the mud and roll around and I'll tell you.”

They groaned, but they tiptoed into the gulch up to their ankles, hiking their pant legs up to their knees.

“No, no,” father said. “All the way. Dunk right in, head to toe.”

“But father!” they chorused again. “Can we at least take our clothes off first!?”

“No. In you go, clothes and all” father said. And he pushed them in one by one with the toe of his boot. They sank down until they were completely covered. Then they sat up gasping, covered head to toe with icky gray mud.

“Gross!” Clem groaned.

“Yuck!” Clim agreed, slinging a great goop of mud from his fingers. It splattered on Clem's arm.

“Hey! Stop it!” Clem shouted, and slung some mud back at him. “This is all your fault! If you hadn't-”

But right then, father burst out laughing a loud, boisterous laugh and the boys hushed their bickering.

“What's so funny!?” Clem demanded.

“Look at you two! You look ridiculous!”

 And he laughed some more. The boys looked at themselves, and then at each other and and let out a few chuckles of their own. Soon they were laughing riotously and flinging mud playfully at each other until even father was splattered a bit. Eventually they calmed down.

“Now, I'll tell you the story of why our village sends fighting children to wallow in the mud. Sit there and listen carefully.”

Father sat on a stump and lit his pipe.

“It was many hundreds of years ago, before your grandfather's grandfathers were even born. The villagers were constantly bickering with one another, just like you two. One man was mad about his neighbour's barking dog. Another was mad about his neighbour's goat who had gotten into his garden and eaten all his crops. There seemed to be no end to the disputes around the village. Every little thing seemed to make the people angry. And the angrier they got, the less and less it took to make them even angrier still. Soon they were falling into fist fights over a mere sneeze in the wrong direction, or a certain hair style someone didn't like, or somebody sitting in someone's chair and using their spoon at the dinner table.”

“Like Clem did to me!”

“Quiet boy, and listen.”

“Yeah, shut up, Clim!”

Father took a puff of his pipe and continued.

“One day, a shop keeper started selling red tunics, which was what they called sweaters in those days. They were very fine and comfortable, and made a person look very sharp. Once a few people had bought them, they became very popular. Soon every villager had to have one. But the tailor had only made a hundred of them before running out of red dye. So he locked his shop up and began busily working on yellow tunics because he had plenty of yellow dye left. After a few weeks, he opened his shop again and made a lot of money selling the yellow tunics. And all the people who never got to buy a red tunic, now bought a yellow one, until every villager had either a yellow or red tunic. And then the real fights began.”

“How did different colours of sweaters cause people to fight, father?” Clim asked.

“There you go again, interrupting!” Clem chided him.

“Well, now that everyone had either one colour tunic or the other, each colour began to feel like they were part of a team, and they began to ridicule and belittle and harass the people of the opposite colour. They decided that they were superior just because their tunics were dyed a certain colour, even though the tunics were exactly the same in every other way.”

“That's dumb,” Clem said.

“It is,” Father agreed. “But they didn't know it at the time. They were so used to being angry. And so tensions between the two sides mounted day after day, week after week, month after month, until one day a man with a yellow tunic became so enraged, he grabbed a hold of a man's red tunic and ripped it in half. Now, these tunics were very expensive you see, and very precious. Soon the man with the ripped red tunic and the man in yellow were scrapping full out. Then others in the town square joined in. Red people attacked yellow people, and yellow people attacked red people. It was an incredible brawl. Then people from all over the village heard the commotion and came running to see what had happened. When they say the reds attacking the yellows, they joined in, fighting, screaming, cursing, even clobbering each other with tools and furniture. Eventually the whole village was involved, and there wasn't a man woman or child who weren't attacking somebody. Even little babies in their little baby tunics were pushing and shoving each other. Many people were badly hurt, but their anger kept them coming back for another attack. The fight lasted half a day, from morning 'til supper time.”

“Wow!” Clem said. “That's way worse than me and Clim!”

“So where did the mud come in?” Clim asked.

“I was just about to get to it. You see, God looked down on the village and saw the horrible state it was in. So much anger. So much hate. So much violence. And all for nothing. So he sent a great rainfall. There was a mighty clap of thunder and the rain came pouring down like never before. But still the people fought, and now they were fighting in the mud and rain, rolling around and around, punching, scratching, pulling hair, biting, and breaking things. It was a great mess.

“But after a while, everything got so muddy, that nobody could see what colours the tunics were any more. Everything was completely covered in gray slop, even people's faces. And when they could no longer see which man was their enemy and which man was their friend, they had no choice but to stop the fighting. It was then that they realized how silly the whole fight was. There was really nothing so wrong about the other person except that they'd decided the other team was bad based on nothing more than a colour. Other than that colour, they were all exactly the same. And now that the colours were all covered up, they all stood confused, and feeling quite silly.

“After a while, the village elder started to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell over a bucket and splattered into the mud on his behind. Then he laughed some more. Soon everyone in the village was laughing until they had tears in their eyes. And they rolled around in the mud, like animals, laughing and slinging great gray glops of mud at each other, man, woman, and child. And in the end, they all went down to the great river and helped each other wash the mud off, and when each man uncovered someone with the opposite colour tunic, he gave him a big hug, tended to his new friend's wounds, and invited him to supper. Then they rebuilt the village and the elder gave a great speech about how God has show them true humility. Everyone agreed.

“Eventually the tunics were all worn out and faded away, but the story remained, as well as the tradition. And to this day, when children begin fighting, they are sent to go sit in the mud, and be drenched in it from head to toe to remind them that there is really no difference between one person and the next except the prejudices we each hold in our own minds. There has been peace in our village for over 400 years, and it's all thanks to a great rain shower that drenched us all in sloppy gray mud.

“Now do you understand why children are sent to be dunked in mud when they bicker?”

“Yes, father,” Clem admitted. He apologized to Clim. Clim apologized in return. Then they went down to the great river and helped each other wash. They hugged and promised to share their toys and food and chairs and pillows from now on.

They fought a few times in later months and years, and father always sent them back to dunk in the mud until they learned how silly it was for one person to feel like he's better than another. They eventually learned that we are all equal, especially when we're covered head to toe in icky grey mud. And when everyone is equal, there is nothing to fight over.

Waterbot

 Waterbot rolled down the street looking like a tall white garbage can. He had three legs underneath the great white cylinder of his body. The wheels negotiated the cracks and bumps in the walk well enough, but now and then Waterbot could feel a bit of his precious cargo spill inside him. He was old.

He stopped on each corner, calling out, offering water to passing humans. "Water here. Clear, clean, cool water.  It's free. It's delicious. Water here!" Most had their own drinks. Others jostled him aside as they hurried on their way. And it was raining.

"I'll take some water," one young man said. His friend tugged at his arm, urging him on to whereever they were headed. Waterbot stopped, opened the front doors in his chest with a soft  hydrolic hiss. He reached in, plucked up a paper cup and filled it from a faucet that seemed to come from beneath his neck. Then his arm extended outward and he offered it to the man.

"Here you go, sir. Delicious, clear, clean, cool water! Free of charge."

"I changed my mind," the young man said, and threw the water back in Waterbot's face. He crumpled the cup and threw that in Waterbot's face too. Then he strutted off into the crowd. Waterbot extended a hose from his left side and vaccuumed up the crumpled cup.

"Water," he called. "Delicious, clear, clean, refreshing water. Free of charge. Who wants water?"

"Out of the way, stupid bot!" an annoyed-sounding woman said. She shouldered him so hard in her haste, he nearly fell over. He corrected his balance though, and resumed his call. "What a waste of electricity! Nobody even drinks water anymore! Why are we paying taxes for this nonsense?"

"Delicious water," Waterbot said. "Would you like some water, miss?"

"No! Get out of my carsin' face!"

Waterbot rolled on.

And then he saw a couple of young men in an alley. He paused and turned toward them.

"Delicious clean, clear water, gentlemen. Would you like some water?"

"Sure," one of them said. "I'll take some." And then he laughed.

Waterbot rolled toward them, scanning the path for obstacles as he went. When he reached them, he opened his chest and began to repeat how delicious and clear and clean the water was as he reached for a cup. But one of the boys kicked him right off his legs. His gyrosensors tilted and he struggled to right himself, but the lateral force exceeded the gravitational pull on his counterweights, and he tipped over. He hit the pavement with a crash. His precious water began bubbling out of his storage tank, pouring out onto the dirty concrete of the alley, which washed from black to grey as it passed over.

"I request assistance, sir. I seem to have fallen," Waterbot said.

"Here's your assistance!" the boy said, and he began kicking and stomping Waterbot with his heavy red boots. His compainion laughed and joined in.

"Stupid bot! Who needs your carsin' water!"

Then they grabbed up two-by-fours and laid into his external structure with those as well.

"Please, sir," Waterbot said. "You'll harm my external structure." And then he added. "Set me upon my wheels and you can have some delicious, clear, clean, cool water. Free of ch-"

That's when a swing of the man's club smashed out his voice box. The rest of his requests and offers came out sounding like record scratches played through a tin-can telephone.

By the time they were done, Waterbot was destroyed. They walked off laughing, wearing his paper cups like devil horns.

The technician found Waterbot the next day after a brief search. He was the last of a discontinued model from a cancelled program. The tech stood over him for a brief sentimental moment, wondering why there was a lump in his throat.

"Ah, well. You did good service, Waterbot," he said by way of a eulogy. Then Waterbot was swept up into a crate and hauled off to be recycled into something more useful to society than a robotic water fountain.

Little Santa

The alarm clock, for some reason, did not go off on Christmas morning and Candace leapt from her bed in a panic at ten minutes after ten. “Oh my God, I slept in!” she gasped, and after that one brief moment of foggy revelation everything else was rush, rush, rush.

She had been up until 2:30 in the morning trying to get everything ready for the family get together that was planned for today. People would be arriving at noon and she still had plenty of things yet to do. Of course Josh had been no help at all the night before. He had been constantly pestering her with “How do you spell this, and how do you spell that?” for some last minute letter he was trying to write to Santa. After spelling out about 20 or so words for him she had snapped at him to leave her alone.

“Josh! Enough already! Can’t you see I’m busy here? Santa won’t even get this letter until after Christmas, so if you’re asking him for any extra toys you’re wasting your time. ”

“I was just writing to thank him, momma,” Josh said. He had a confused look on his face, as if he thought she should have known that. Suddenly Candace felt a little guilty, and that made her even more irate. She didn’t need to feel guilty on top of everything else.

“Just spell it however you want. Stop bothering me with every little word.”

It was a little bit later, that she noticed Josh come in from outside at nine o’clock at night. She hadn’t even noticed him leave.

“Josh! Where have you been? Outside by yourself at this time of night!”

“I just had to mail that letter, momma.”

“You know you’re not supposed to leave the house without permission, especially this late at night!”

“The mailbox is just down the street. I also went to say goodnight to Timmy and Tommy too. They were just watching out the window for Santa and-”

“You know you’re not supposed to play with them. Their mother doesn’t like you hanging around there all the time.”

“But momma, they’re my friends!”

She sent him immediately to bed. With so much to do she didn’t have time to argue with him.

“Santa doesn’t come if the kids aren’t asleep. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. ‘Night, momma,” he said, and dragged his rumpled little teddy bear by one hand off to bed.

Now it was Christmas morning. Now it was a mad rush to get everything done in time, and her first thought was that she would go downstairs and see that Josh had already mangled all his presents open and left a big mess all over the living room floor like he had done last year.

“Josh! You better not have gotten into your presents already. What will the family think if none of the presents under the tree for you are from me?”

She remembered being embarrassed last year about that. Though nobody said anything, she knew what they were thinking, and she over-explained how Josh had already opened all his presents before they’d even gotten there.

Josh was laying in front of the Christmas tree, filling in one of Santa’s boots in a coloring book with a black crayon. The presents were untouched.

“How do you spell ‘believe’, momma?” Josh asked, glancing up from the page he was working on.

“Who said you could plug the Christmas tree in? That’s very dangerous, Josh. You know you’re not supposed to play with the plugs.”

“I was just trying to help, momma. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got so much to do. I’ve got so much to do!” Candace muttered over and over to herself as she hurried out of the room.

“Momma! How do you spell ‘believe’?”

“Not now, Josh. I told you last night I don’t have time for that. Just spell it like it sounds.”

So for the next hour Candace rush, rush, rushed around, trying to get everything ready in time, trying to beat the clock, trying to make everything perfect before that first ring of the doorbell announced the arrival of the first in-laws. She knew it was next to impossible to get everything done in time, and she really wished she had some help. She was so stressed out that she once again bit Josh’s head off for incessantly hollering “Ho, ho, ho! Ho, ho, ho!” up and down the halls in his jolliest little Christmas voice. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”

“Josh! Shush!” was all she could say. “If you’re not going to help me, you could at least go and play somewhere and stop driving me nuts!”

“Can I go see Timmy and Tommy?”

“No! I told you already, their mother doesn’t like you over there all the time!”

“But it’s Christmas! I have to see my friends on Christmas.”

He was getting upset now.

“We have people coming over in twenty minutes and you’re not going anywhere. Now go and get dressed! Hurry!”

“Can I go and see them later?”

“No, Josh! I just finished telling you we have people coming over. How would that look if you just left us all and went to play with your grubby little friends?”

“They’re not grubby!” Josh retorted indignantly.

“Josh, I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. I’ve got so much to do, and you’re not helping me at all. Now just get upstairs and get dressed before I get really angry.”

“They’re not grubby. It’s not nice to call people mean names like that, and you should-”

“Josh! Now!” Candace hollered, teetering at the end of her patience.

Tears burst from Josh’s eyes and he turned and ran up the stairs.

“You’re mean like the Grinch!” he told her without looking back.

“Yes, that’s why I got you those stupid little presents, isn’t it! Maybe I should just take them back to the store! You won’t even play with them anyway!”

The presents she had gotten him weren’t even really a surprise. He picked them out himself at the store the week before. He lifted each one off the shelf with big bright eyes and said, “Momma, can Santa get me this for Christmas?”

“Why would you want that? You don’t like those kinds of toys?”

A shopper jostled past Candace in the aisle, impatiently grimacing at her as though she were merely an obstacle in the path, and not even a human being. Her cart was knocked sideways and bumped into Josh’s arm. He rubbed at it unconsciously, but didn’t really seem to notice.

“Excuse me!” Candace snarled at the woman. “Some of us are trying to shop here. How rude!”

“Go to hell,” the woman muttered under her breath, but Candace heard her and for a moment she wanted to take that stupid toy Josh was holding and hurl it at the woman’s fat and ugly head. Some Christmas spirit!

“Please, momma. Can I please get this?” Josh whined.

“You won’t even play with this thing, Josh. I know you won’t!”

“But Timmy and Tommy love these things!”

“Oh, well that explains it. You just have to get everything Timmy and Tommy like, don’t you? I suppose if they jumped off a bridge you’d jump off with them.”

“No, momma. Timmy jumped off a bridge last week and I didn’t do it too.”

“That figures,” Candace muttered. “I don’t know where their mother is half the time and I honestly think…”

Josh didn’t even hear the rest. Candace had absent-mindedly tossed the two presents into her cart. He grinned ecstatically to himself and kept quiet so she wouldn’t change her mind.

She had thought of arguing the point with him. It seemed like a waste of money to buy him presents he wouldn’t even play with, but she let it go. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about picking anything else out. It was one less worry she had to deal with, and if he didn’t like it on Christmas morning that would be his own fault.

Candace thought about that day at the mall as she rapidly tidied up the living room. Josh’s coloring book and crayons were all over the floor. There were pages ripped out of it with little dedications scribbled across the top of each one. “Dear Tommy, I hope you beleev in Santa this yeer. Hes really real. I saw him at the mal with momma. Love, Josh.” Another one said, “Dear, Timmy. Santa will bring you a presint this year. I jist no it. Love, Josh.”

“Yeah, right,” Candace muttered. “Santa doesn’t visit kids with negligent alcoholic mothers.” Then she yelled, “Josh, come get these pictures you left all over the place. Now! And take your crayons upstairs with you.”

Josh came down gathered up his pictures and crayons, and sullenly slinked back up the stairs.

The first ring on the doorbell came shortly after 12:00 PM. The first guests were admitted and sat down, while Candace hurried around getting the last few things in order. She had not even taken a moment to have any breakfast, and she didn’t think Josh had either. Candace turned on a CD of Christmas music, and fetched them a cup of hot chocolate and eggnog.

“The place looks wonderful, Candace darling. I just love this time of year, don’t you?” her mother-in-law called from the kitchen.

“That’s easy for you to say, you old crone,” Candace muttered under her breath. “Don’t offer to help me or anything.” But out loud she called back, “Yes, it’s wonderful isn’t it?”

“I honestly don’t know why Douglas left you. You’re such a wonderful person.”

Then Candace heard her father-in-law mutter, “Gwen, shush! You don’t need to bring that up at a time like this!”

“Why not,” Gwen bickered back. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Quiet. She’s coming.”

They both went silent and smiled broadly as she entered the room. Candace put on a phony smile of her own, and decided she couldn’t wait until the rest of the family got here. She couldn’t stand her parents-in-law at times.

“Well at least I still have you two,” she grinned at them, setting a tray of dainties down on the coffee table in front of them.

“Well we’re not going anywhere,” Gwen announced cheerfully.

“Lucky me,” Candace smirked. Then she headed back into the kitchen hoping to avoid anymore awkward moments.

Josh came in and presented them with pages that he had colored himself, with similar dedications on the top of each one. Candace could hear them reading and laughing as they read each one aloud.

“Dear Gandma. ‘Gandma’. Isn’t that adorable? Dear Gandma. I hope you like this picture. I collared it myself. Oh, collared. That’s adorable, isn’t it, Jack? Collared. How adorable.”

“Mine says, dear Grimpa.”

“Oh ‘Grimpa’. How adorable.”

“Dear grimpa. Santa sed you give good gifts. He likes when you help him out. Love Josh. And look, Gwen. There are a bunch of little elves making toys. That’s wonderful, Josh.”

Candace rolled her eyes. How phony can you get? She thought to herself.

“Momma wouldn’t help me with the spelling. I’m sorry of there’s any mistakes.”

“I was very busy, Josh,” Candace interjected from the kitchen. “You know that. I had to get everything done myself, you know.”

Her face was flushed hot with embarrassment. “What kind of mother will they think I am? I don’t even have time to help my son with his spelling. Well if they’re so upset about it they can get everything done all by themselves next year and see if they have time to look after every single little trivial thing Josh needs all day long!”

Of course, nobody had even said anything, but she knew what they were thinking in their hearts. They’d made such a big deal about Josh not having any presents from her last year, asking over and over again if there was anything under the tree from mom. “He damn well opened them all before you even got here. I’m sorry I couldn’t watch him every single moment of the day. I’m a terrible mother, okay!”

Candace stopped her train of thought. She was getting madder and madder and she had to force herself to calm down. Thankfully, the doorbell rang again and she was distracted from the inner turmoil of having her motherhood put on trial by these folks who had no idea what being a single mother was all about.

More and more guests arrived. Josh’s uncle Alex showed up with his latest girlfriend Darla. Max and Christine, Douglas’ brother and sister-in-law arrived, and finally Dennis and Phillip, Darla’s two teen-aged sons walked through the door. The pile of presents under the tree grew. Candace rolled her eyes and dreaded the clean up she would have to do afterwards, all by herself once again no doubt.

“Wow! There’s so many!” Josh beamed. “This is great!”

“Easy for you to say, kid,” his uncle Alex grunted. “You didn’t have to pay for it all.”

“And you won’t have to clean it all up after,” Candace added.

“Now, now, let’s not complain,” Gwen chided them. “We should be grateful for the blessing we have.”

That was easy for her to say, Candace thought. She had the most money to blow on Christmas, and the least cleaning to do. In the real world people struggled for their “blessings”.

“Santa told me Christmas is not even about presents,” Josh piped in. “He says friends and family is most important of all.”

“Fine. We’ll just take all your presents back to the store then, Josh,” Uncle Alex replied.

“No way!” Josh objected, and there was an eruption of laughter.

Finally everyone was settled and they began the opening of presents.

“Now you didn’t go ahead and open all your presents already like you did last year, did you Josh?”

They just had to bring that up, didn’t they? Candace grimaced inwardly.

“Nope,” he grinned. “Not even one.”

The presents were passed out one by one and for a brief moment Candace was filled with a little bit of holiday cheer. The carols played softly and the family was unified in the sharing of gifts. Perhaps all the trouble was worth it after all, Candace thought. The peaceful Christmas moment passed quickly however when Josh was offered one of the presents “from Momma”.

“I don’t want to open that one right now,” Josh said, and he passed a present to Uncle Alex instead. “Here you go, Uncle.”

“Sheesh. I never heard of a kid who refused a present before,” Alex muttered.

Candace on the other hand was not so cheerful about it. The hint of aggravation began to grow in her heart as she wondered if Josh would cause any problems for her like he did last year. “Great,” she thought. “He picks out presents he doesn’t even like and now he doesn’t even want them. Crazy kid. This is all I need: another reason for them all to think I’m a bad mother.”

The pile slowly got smaller and smaller, and the mess got bigger and bigger. Dennis knocked over a lamp throwing a basketball he’d gotten, and Darla spilled a glass of wine on the carpet with nothing more than a simple “Oops, clumsy me.” Candace hurried around here and there, cleaning up spills, re-righting fallen lamps, and stuffing shredded wrapping paper into a garbage bag, and they all simply passed things to her, as though she were a mere servant, and not the hostess. She was also running in and out of the kitchen as well, checking on the dinner periodically at the same time, and fetching beverages and dainties for the guests as well. They shouted orders at her like some sort of waitress or something. Imagine treating someone like a petty servant on Christmas day. How indignant, and not a single one of them offered to help in anyway. She began to grind her teeth at this, but kept up her phony smile.

“Here’s another one for Josh, from Momma. You want this one, Josh?”

“No. Not right now. I’ll open it later.”

“Open it now, Josh. Everyone wants to see what momma got you.”

Momma wants everyone to see what she got you, was what she really meant, but Josh refused to let her off the hook of embarrassment.

“Can’t I open it later? It’s a special one.”

“Open it now, Joshy,” Candace said, now with an edge of impatience in her voice.

“Here. Here’s one for Grampa Jack,” Josh offered, trying to change the subject.

Jack took his present and the focus turned to him while he opened it. Candace however turned a sideways glance at Josh, accusing him of humiliating her with her eyes.

“Look, momma,” Josh said nervously. “Grandpa got a watch!”

“Actually,” Candace said. “I didn’t notice any presents that you got for anyone else, Josh. What did you do with the money I gave you?”

“I made everyone pictures, momma. Santa says gifts you make yourself are more valuable than anything you buy in the store. It’s the thought that counts.”

“A department store Santa said that?” Alex chortled. “I bet he was fired after the first day.”

“What did you do with the money then, Josh?” Candace asked again.

After an tense silence Josh confessed, “I spent it.”

“Well that’s a fairly selfish way to be at Christmas,” Gwen said. “You’re supposed to think of others before yourself, Josh. Don’t you know that?”

“What did you spend it on?”

Josh remained silent. He was almost pained with the thought of confessing anything more.

“You spent it on yourself, didn’t you, Josh?”

“I guess so,” Josh sighed. “Sorry.”

He seemed more confused than sad, however, and Candace was curious as to what he had bought. She hadn’t noticed him carrying anything out of the mall that day. It was a hectic day of course. There could have been a U.F.O. flying over head and she would have missed that too.

“Well a person’s entitled to spend a little on themselves now and then,” Uncle Alex said. “I got myself a new bowling ball last week.”

“Can we get back to the presents now?” Phillip groaned.

The pile got smaller and smaller, and Candace grew more and more tense as she hurried around trying to stay on top of the mess. Finally there were only two gifts left and Josh still refused to open them.

“Those are the only two left, Josh. You have to open them now.”

“I don’t want to,” Josh said. “I want to save them for later.”

“We’re opening the gifts now, Josh. Open them now.”

“Later,” he said, and then quickly added, “I want to play with the Choo_Choo Uncle Alex got me. See? It makes a funny noise. Isn’t that adorable, hey? Choo! Choo!”

There was an awkward silence as they all looked from Candace to Josh and back at Candace, and then at the Choo-Choo. Candace was flushed with internal rage and she could swear she felt their gazes upon her, judging her.

She such a terrible mother, he doesn’t even want the gifts she got him! Imagine that!

“I’ll check on the turkey. Josh can open it later, if he wants to. Or never. I don’t care.”

She hurried out of the room. She was near tears, and her hands were shaking, but somehow she fought it off. She took a couple of deep breaths and forced herself to just focus on the turkey. Just get through this. She could deal with Josh’s incensing antics later. This was definitely the last straw. She had a good mind to take those stupid $40 ‘Talking Trucks’ back to the store the very next shopping day. He obviously didn’t want them. She had been right all along. She never should have let him pick out his own gifts.

Somehow she managed to get supper on the table, denying drink requests shouted from the living room periodically. Her guts were burning with resentment now.

“Candace, darling, will you bring me a glass of Brandy?”

“I’m really very busy right now, Gwen. You’ll have to get it yourself.”

“I’m a guest, Candace dear. I will not serve myself in your house. It’s simply not proper.”

Candace felt like screaming at her, “If you want a drink get up off your lazy butt and get it yourself, you miserable old crone! I am not your slave!” but instead she simply said, “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. If you want me to fetch every little drink for you it will be twenty minutes and the food will be burned.”

“I’ll get it for you, Grandma,” Josh offered.

“I’m sure you would, darling Josh, but you should not be handling liquor at your age.”

“I’m sure he could handle it better than you, you old lush,” Candace muttered to herself.

“Let him get it, Gwen. He can handle it. It’s not like he’s gonna drink the stuff. You better not anyway, kid,” Alex Laughed. Alex himself already had a bit of a slur in his voice. Candace cringed as she recalled him throwing up in the fireplace the year before.

“There’s some milk an’ cookies fer ya, Santy,” he had babbled. There had been an eruption of laughter, but it had been Candace who had to clean it up. She hadn’t found it funny at all.

Josh came into the kitchen. “Choo Choo!” he shouted, startling Candace from her reverie. “Where the brandy, momma!”

“Josh,” she hissed angrily, instantly dousing his Christmas cheer with the intensity of her tone. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing not opening your presents in front of everyone. How could you embarrass me like that?”

Josh stood frozen, almost panicked. Finally he spoke.

“Sorry, momma. I just wanted to save them until later. Why do I gotta open ‘em now anyways?”

“So that everyone can see you open them, and they won’t think I’m a bad mother.”

“Santa says Christmas is not about what you get-”

“I don’t give a damn what Santa told you. Santa’s not a hardworking single mother with a horde of judgmental in-laws hovering over her every move like a bunch of god damned vultures.”

Josh was not entirely sure what she was talking about, but he could tell by her tone of voice that she was very upset, and that she was talking more to herself than to him anyway. He said nothing in reply.

“The brandy is on the counter. Take the bottle to Grandma and she can fill her own glass if she needs it so badly.”

“Momma, please don’t be angry. It’s Christmas,” Josh said.

“It may be Christmas for all of you, but for me it’s just another day of work.”

Josh reflected on this for a moment and then offered, “You’re doing a good job, momma. Everyone is happy.”

Then he took the bottle from the counter and carried it under his arm to the living room.

“I’d be happy too, if I had a slave to wait on me hand and foot,” she sneered to herself.

Josh was right though, in one way. It was Christmas and she should be happy about having family over. She wasn’t though, and she began to feel guilty and ungrateful once again. Then she felt angry that she felt guilty, and she felt even worse. She slammed the turkey down onto the center of the table in the dining room and all heads turned to see what the big fuss was all about.

The bitterness melted from her face back into the phony smile she had plastered on all day.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said sweetly, rebuked back into good cheer by their critical gazes. Then she strode back into the kitchen to fetch the stuffing and potatoes.

There was a mountain of food and it looked like a veritable banquet set before them. They praised her for all her preparations but she was already too upset to be encouraged by their kind words. If they were really so thankful you’d think they could have lifted a finger to help her, she thought angrily, but smiled, nodded, and politely thanked them.

Then Josh continued causing problems for her. He piled his plate high with enough food for two of him, and he sat there jabbering away with everyone, not touching a bite of it.

Candace was beyond stressed by this time and could not eat either. She sat there staring at the mountain of turkey, potatoes, corn, peas, and stuffing on his plate, already deciding that it was sure to go to waste, without a single bite of it being touched. She was so upset she could not even speak to him about it. She just sat there, sipping her cold coffee, and trying to fight off the cold sneer that wanted to spread across her face. Then her eyes wandered from one guest to another, hearing their inane chatter, but not really listening. It all seemed so phony, and she began to feel as sad as she was angry. She began to feel like Christmas had been robbed from her. The one time of the year when she was supposed to be happy no matter what was going on--it had been stolen from her by this ravenous pack of hyenas.

“Josh, aren’t you gonna eat your supper?” Gwen asked him.

Josh looked down at the pile and picked at one little carrot with his fork. Then he glanced at grandma, saw she was no longer watching, and dropped it back onto her plate.

Candace said nothing. She was too tired now, mentally, emotionally, and physically to fight with him about it. If he didn’t eat he would go hungry. Too bad for him.

She didn’t eat either, however. Her stomach was knotted into a ball of tension and she thought that if she took one bite she would throw up all over the table. She just sat there, glancing from one guest to another, with a façade of a smile, pretending she was enjoying the holiday festivities. She felt robbed though, and she was very bitter.

And Josh wouldn’t even touch his food.

“Josh, dear,” Gwen said again. “Eat your supper now. It’s not good to be wasteful.”

“Yes, Josh,” Candace added. “Why don’t you eat? Or are you going to be difficult again.”

“First he doesn’t want her presents, now he doesn’t want her food,” Uncle Alex sniggered, stuffing half a turkey into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of beer.

“Yes, eat up, Josh,” Grandpa Jack said. “You’ll make your mother feel bad.”

Suddenly Candace felt the attention turned back onto her. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m saving it for later,” he said meekly, as though expecting a rebuke.

There was another awkward silence. Somebody coughed, and a fork clinked against a plate.

“Well you should never force a child to eat. It’s not healthy,” Darla commented.

“Why did he take such a mountain of food then?” Gwen asked. “It’s wasteful.”

“He can take as much as he wants. We’re not in the third world here, you know!” Alex replied.

A bit of an argument started between them all and Josh and Candace just stared silently as it played out. Eventually Josh reached up to quickly eat a mouthful of food, hoping to cool the tension in the room, but he dumped his tumbler of apple juice over into the potatoes in the process. The conversations ceased all at once.

“I’m sorry,” Josh stammered.

“Go to your room, Josh,” Candace said. Her tone was flat and emotionless, as though she knew he would mess up somehow.

“Now, now, Candace, It was just an accident. That’s all.”

“He’s not eating anyway, he might as well go to his room.”

“He doesn’t have to go to his room. It’s Christmas for God’s sake. Give the kid a god damn break!”

“Please don’t use that kind of language in my presence. It’s not proper!”

“Can we all please just calm down. Let’s not argue like this. Please.”

“Well I don’t need to be told what kind of language I can and can’t use.”

“I don’t need to sit here and hear that kind of language.”

The conversation escalated like that and soon people were outright yelling at each other. Candace finally snapped.

“Josh! Go to your ‘goddamn’ room before you ruin Christmas for everyone! Now!”

Josh’s face curled up into a look of fear and heartbreak. He slid his plate off the table and carried it away with him from the dining room.

“There now. The problem has been removed. Can we all get back to eating?” Candace sneered. There was a lot more she wanted to add, but she restrained herself.

“Honestly. The kid didn’t’ have to be kicked out like that. It’s Christmas for God’s sake.”

Candace ignored him however and finally dug into her own plate of food. She had been robbed of Christmas, but at least she would enjoy the meal she worked so hard to prepare.

The conversation split off into various subjects among pairs of guests, but Candace just kept to herself, focusing only on her food, and the notion of a hot bath and a glass of wine after everyone finally left. The food was gradually consumed, cheer slowly returned to the table, and eventually everyone had completely forgotten about Josh.

“Are you planning on leaving any more milk and cookies for Santy this year, Alex?” Jack joked.

There was a chorus of laughter. Jack raised his glass. “Let’s hope not.”

Dinner was eventually finished and the group sat around sipping brandy, beer, and eggnog while Candace cleared the leftovers away, by herself once again. They complimented her on the meal once again, but she shrugged it off internally and busied herself with the cleaning.

“You should check on Josh, Candace,” Gwen suggested, as though she were just standing around doing nothing. “He’s been gone for almost twenty minutes now.”

Candace bit her tongue, resisting all the bitter comebacks she could have offered to that ‘suggestion’, and simply dropped what she was doing and went to check on Josh. She was sure she would find him playing with his Choo-Choo, or picking at his food, or coloring in his coloring book, or simply sulking, or even sleeping. Meanwhile there was cleaning to be done and nobody else made a move to help her in any way.

Josh was not in his room. He was not in her room either. He was not in the bathroom and he was not in the living room or kitchen. Surely he was feeling bitter and wanted to get back at them all by hiding, drawing attention to himself by making them all worry about him. He was not in the basement, or any of the closets.

“Have any of you seen Josh?” she said, poking her head into the dining room.

“He’s probably taken his presents and gone up to his room to open them I bet,” Grandpa Jack smiled. “He can’t hold out forever.”

Candace glanced behind her. His two little presents were indeed gone, but he was not in his room.

“I can’t find him. I’ve looked through the whole house.”

“Perhaps he took his toys out in the yard. What did you get him?”

“Talking Trucks,” Candace muttered as she turned to head for the back door.

Josh was not out in the back yard or the front yard, but Candace did notice his boots and his coat were gone. She slapped her hand immediately to her forehead. Suddenly she pieced the mystery together. Of course, it was so obvious. He’d unwrapped the presents while they were eating dinner, and had decided to take them to Tommy and Timmy to show off the cool new trucks he’d gotten.

“I told that little brat not to go anywhere!” she sputtered to herself, tugging on her own coat and boots. “He’s really in for it this time.”

“Where are you going, Candace?” Gwen asked, strolling into the hallway in shock. “You have guests.”

“Josh has run off to visit his little friends down the street. My guests will have to wait while I go and bring him home.”

“Honestly. You’d think you could control that boy. It’s Christmas day! He’s done nothing but defy you all day! He’s ruining Christmas. Honestly! It’s Christmas and you’re running out on your guests!”

Candace could hold back no longer.

“You know what, Gwen? Why don’t you go sit your fat ass down and drink your beloved brandies? I’ll be back to wait on you hand and foot after I get my son.”

With that she stormed out, without even closing the door behind her.

“Well, I never! Of all the insolence!” Gwen shouted. “I go out of my way to come all the way down here, and this is the treatment I get? It’s simply not proper. Come on Jack, we’re leaving!”

Candace did not even hear it, however. She was already halfway down the street. She had a bone to pick with Josh. One by one her guests left, taking their gifts and handfuls of dainties with them.

Candace was fuming. The little flakes of snow that fell from the leaden sky melted on her face almost with a hiss. What would she do to him? Ground him? Spank him? Confiscate every single toy he’d gotten that day? He had absolutely no excuse. All her preparations, all her hard work, stress, and worry was all ruined. It was a big catastrophe.

She looked down and could see his boot tracks in the freshly fallen snow, wandering down the sidewalk between the tracks of a sled. Had he taken his sled too? What was this kid thinking? Was he planning on going tobogganing with those grubby little runts as well?

“Not today, Joshy. You’re in nothing but trouble today.”

She was nearing the corner where Tommy and Timmy lived. Her boots crunched in the snow as she passed the mail box where Josh had deposited his letter to Santa the night before.

She stopped in her tracks for a moment. There on the ground was Josh’s letter. It was fluttering, half-buried under a small pile of snow. It did not have a stamp and was not even in an envelope. She saw his handwriting on it though: Santa Claus, North Pole. Please send this fast. Candace snatched it up, unfolded it and read it.

Dear Santa,

Its me Josh. We talked at the mal and you said that you did not have enough helpers. Remember? Anyway I jist want to say thank you for the presints I got. You are doing a grat job. Love, Josh.

Ps. Please help momma to under stand what you said about helping. She has been vary mad a lot. I don’t want to get in truble.

Helping? What did he mean by that? Why would he get in trouble for being helpful? If anything he was in trouble for taking off on his family on Christmas day, when she had specifically told him he was not allowed to. It was getting dark now too, and that made it even worse. Candace stuffed the letter into her pocket and rounded the corner.

What she saw around that corner, in front of Tommy and Timmy’s house, brought her instantly to tears.

The two kids were sitting excitedly on the front steps of their little apartment building and Josh stood in front of them. He was dressed in a little Santa suit, standing next to his little red sled, and he had a red pillow case over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground and Candace could hear his little voice through the muffling snow fall, trying to sound deep and resonant, “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! Have you been good this year Tommy and Timmy?”

“Tommy jumped off a bridge, but I told him not to!” Timmy said.

“That’s okay, Tommy. I heard you’re a really good friend, so I brought you a present anyway. You shouldn’t make your mommy worry like that, though.”

“Do you have one for me too?” Timmy asked.

“Why yes I do, Timmy my boy, and it’s your favorite thing in the whole world!”

“Talking Trucks! Talking Trucks! Is it Talking Trucks?”

Candace leaned against the building she stood next to, almost wanting to fall down.

“Why don’t you open the presents and see?”

The little Santa reached into his sack and pulled out two carefully wrapped boxes. He gave one to each of them.

“Hey this says ‘To Josh, from Momma’”, Tommy commented.

“Oh sorry,” the deep little Santa voice said. “One of the elves must have put the wrong tags on there.”

Josh ripped the tags off and stuffed them back into the bag.

The boys tore the wrapping away and squealed in unison.

“Talking Trucks! Talking Trucks! They’re really real!”

The looks on their faces was pure joy, joy that Candace had never seen in all her life. They jumped off the steps and ran around in circles hoisting the gifts high in the air as they went and chanting “Talking Trucks! Talking trucks! Yay!”

Then they gave Josh a great big hug. Then they danced around some more.

“Ah thanks, Josh! You’re the best friend ever!” Tommy said. “You’re the best!”

He turned the toy over and over in his hands, admiring it as though it were the greatest thing in the universe.

“My name’s not Josh. It’s Santa!”

“Oh. Sorry, Santa,” Tommy grinned.

“I brought you some food too, guys, if you’re hungry, and some candy from my stocking, uh, I mean, from a stocking that some little kid didn’t want. Here you go. You can have it.”

The two boys sat on the stairs with their Talking Trucks close by their sides, and the little Santa served them one at a time from the plate of food that he had his sled. He had even brought little paper plates and napkins and forks.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s a little cold.”

If the boys had any complaints, they didn’t say so. They dug in ravenously, grinning and chewing, and looking up and down from Josh to the piles of food in front of them.

“This… is… great…Josh!” Tommy mumbled between gulps.

“You’re the best, Josh!” Timmy added.

“I’ve got to go now, guys. Please don’t tell my mom about this. I’ll get in so much trouble. I’ll just tell her I lost the trucks or something.”

Candace broke down crying right then. She could not believe that her incredible little son would think he might get in trouble for all of this. He’d sacrificed his own presents, planned and thought through this whole idea probably for weeks, and now he had executed it, making his two little friends the happiest kids on earth. This was the most generous and thoughtful act she’d ever seen and she was more proud of him than she’d ever been his whole life. How could he possibly think he would get in trouble for it?

As if in response to her thoughts, Tommy asked, “Why would your mom get mad? Wouldn’t she be happy you were sharing?”

“You don’t know my mom. She’s very grumpy about giving things away. She says we can’t afford it. So I had to give these to you secret.”

Candace stepped away from the building she was leaning against and began walking toward her son.

“Josh,” she called out. Her voice cracked with emotion. Tommy and timmy snatched up the gifts and hid them behind their backs.

Josh turned around in surprise. “Momma?” he said. Though they hid the Talking trucks behind their backs, he knew he could not hide what was going on from his mother. He ran to her, waving his hands as if he could somehow block her view. “Momma, don’t come over here. Don’t look. Please. It’s a secret! You can’t see! Please don’t look.”

Candace did look though. She looked at the food, the stocking full of candy and treats, the piles of shredded wrapping paper and the red pillow sack. She saw the quiet awe and fear on the two boys’ faces.

“What are you doing, Josh?” she asked sadly.

Josh saw her tears and feared he had broken her heart with this little stunt. He feared he had ruined Christmas. He began to cry as well.

“Please, momma. Don’t look. I’m sorry. It’s just that Tommy and Timmy don’t have anything at all. They can’t even see their momma on Christmas ‘cause she has to work all day. They had no presents and no supper and I just felt awful. Please don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Josh,” Candace said weakly. She dropped to her knees to face him, but he couldn’t look her in the eye.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, and didn’t eat, and made you feel bad. I’m sorry for everything. It’s just that when I asked Santa why he didn’t visit Tommy and Timmy last year, even though they were good, he said he couldn’t get to every house all the time. He said that’s why he needed helpers. He said I could be a little Santa and take some presents to them for him. He said that. He really did. Please don’t be mad.”

“So you planned all this from the start?”

“Yeah. I picked out presents that I knew they would like, and I took the Christmas money you gave me and bought a Santa suit. It was on sale, so I was lucky. It was normally $69.95, but there’s a big rip in the bum. I had to sew it. I hope you’re not too mad at me. I just wanted to be a good friend. I wanted to help Santa.”

“I’m not mad, Josh. You’ve done the nicest, most sweetest thing I ever saw. I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry you had to lie, and sneak around, and do this all in secret. I’m sorry. I haven’t been a very nice person. Can you forgive me?”

“You’re not mad?” Josh asked with confusion that made her feel even worse.

“No. Not at all. You’ve done a wonderful thing here. I’ll bet your friends are the two happiest kids on earth right now.”

“I guess so,” Josh smiled. “They were dancing around and everything. I was so happy, but I was scared too.”

“You were so brave, Josh,” Candace said. Then she added, “Thank you.”

“What for?” Josh asked, confused once again.

“Thank you for reminding me what Christmas is supposed to be all about.”

She hugged him tightly to herself, sniffling and sighing, almost drowning in the pride and joy she felt.

“Thanks, Josh,” Tommy said timidly, feeling it was now safe to speak.

“Yeah, thanks, Joshy!” Timmy added. “I am the happiest kid on earth. Really I am. Don’t get him in trouble, please Miss Josh’s Mom.”

“Momma?” Josh said hesitantly.

“What, my dear?”

“Can Tommy and Timmy come to our house for Christmas? I don’t want them to be all by themselves.”

Tommy and Timmy were silent, but obviously excited.

“I think that would be okay. As long as their mom says it’s okay.”

“Maybe their mom could come too,” Josh suggested. “Maybe we could give her a gift too, cause she didn’t’ get anything either.”

“She didn’t?” Candace asked the two boys.

They shook their heads. “No. We’ve hardly got money for the rent. She had to work on Christmas day so we wouldn’t get kicked out. She works really hard, but there’s just too much bills.”

Candace thought for a moment. Then she scribbled a note with their address and the situation, and Tommy ran into the house. Then they went home.

When Angela, their mother, arrived at the door an hour later she was ushered into the house with much ado. She was fed and entertained, while the boys played with the talking trucks. Candace waited on her and the boys hand and foot, but she didn’t mind so much. It was a joy to see this hard working single mom smile on a day she’d thought would be the most depressing of her life.