A Lump Of Love

That night before Christmas, a mist hung in the air like a slithering of opaque glass. It was no substitute for a snowfall, but it would have to do. Anyways, no one could say that it wasn't cold. Breath turned into clouds and stalactites of ice formed teeth along the rims of rooftops. Someone had drawn a primitive snowman on the window frost.

But inside a boy's bedroom the temperature was cozy. He was curled up in bed, sleeping so restlessly that he effectively entangled himself in the sheets. Because as much as he wanted to be awake, this fitful sleep was his last token of good behavior. One more push for inclusion on the right list. Although, for all his force of will, it was still a miracle that he managed to sleep through the entire night. But miracles seemed to be in ample supply that day.

The moment the sun hit his face he sat bolt upright and yelled, "IT'S CHRISTMAS!" He clawed through his sheets and stumbled out of bed, bellowing his proclamation like a broken record.

"IT'S CHRISTMAS! IT'S CHRISTMAS!"

His younger brother jolted awake and followed suit. Like they have never done before on school days they tore down the stairs in their pajamas. It was a race with the Christmas tree as the finish line and for prizes the two presents that had materialized underneath it overnight.

"This one's mine!" Pokey skidded to a stop on his knees, bearing the larger of the two presents. He gave it an enthusiastic shake. "It's bigger so it's mine!"

"No it's not! Don't break it!" His younger brother cried. "Look! My name's written on it!"

Pokey stopped his shaking and read the tag attached to the present. Sure enough, the name "PICKY" was written on it in neat block letters. Pokey grudgingly glanced at his brother as if calculating the feasibility of claiming ownership anyways, but ultimately surrendered the present to its intended recipient. He picked up the smaller present. Not only was its size less impressive, but it was wrapped in bunched-up brown paper held together by a cord instead of a ribbon. Even more alarming was that it bore no tag. But ever the optimist, Pokey was not one to lose hope so easily.

"Well this one's heavier, so it's better!"

"Uh huh." Picky said dismissively. He was concentrating on the unwrapping of his own present, carefully, loathe to dismantle the package so tastefully constructed for him. "Oh my gosh!" He gasped.

"What?"

"I. Don't. Believe it!" Slowly, like precious artifacts, Picky withdrew a pair of shiny new ice skates out of the box. "They're red! My favorite color!" He stuffed a foot into one of the skates, stuck out his leg and wiggled his toes on the inside. "They fit perfectly! Oh man, I can't wait to try them out!" At this point, he noticed the silence in his brother's direction. "So what'd you get?"

Remnants of brown paper were scattered around Pokey like an aftermath. Sitting on the floor, his back was turned to his sibling and hunched as if aged. There was no cry of glee from his direction, no jubilant dance.

"What is it?" Picky glanced over his brother's shoulder. Cradled in the older boy's hands was a dark chalky lump that left smudges of black on fingers, pajamas, carpet, and everything else it came into contact with. Picky barked out a laugh. "You got coal!" He snickered. "Santa gave you coal! This is what you get for putting spiders in my shoes and cereal!"

"Shut up!" Pokey whipped his head around so fast that their noses brushed before Picky could stumble backwards. "T-this..." He held the coal to his chest. "...this is exactly what I wanted for Christmas!"