"Oh," Henry said, "that's a nice one." He was shopping for a new charm for his Anna's bracelet. He looked
at the price tag and frowned. "Will it be on sale anytime soon?"
"No, sir," the jeweler said, fake smile fading a little. "But I assure you, this is a quite reasonable price."
Henry stared at the charm, a little silver piano. Classy. Would represent all those piano lessons Anna
hoped to take someday.
"In fact," the jeweler continued, "this is one of the lowest priced items we have." The man growing more
impatient by the minute, hoping to release himself from this deadbeat and go wait on a customer with money.
Henry didn't notice. His eyes were locked on the piano, glistening in the fluorescent lights. A couple hundred bucks, might
as well be a couple million. "You sure it won't be on any kind of sale between now and Christmas?"
"No." Cold now. "Not in the next two hours."
Henry left the store empty handed, a sad sack padding through slush on the sidewalk, wet snow collecting on his
shoulders. Avoiding eye contact with any of the people he passed. People with money. People with jobs. Men able to buy
Christmas gifts for their wives.
Henry squinted against snow and thought of Anna. His Anna. She stuck with him through the bad times. Through his
getting fired. Through his long unemployment. Through the growing pile of bills, the growing number of calls from creditors.
He felt in his pocket for the watch his grandfather gave him, his last treasure in this world. Checked the time. It was getting
late. Anna would be home from work soon. She had found part-time work during the holidays, but that would be over soon,
too. Her next paycheck would be barely enough to catch up on the utilities.
But she never accused him, never pointed out how he had failed her, had failed his responsibilities. How in a moment of
raw anger he had popped Mr. Simmons in the mouth and got kicked out the door and out of his job, lucky the old man
hadn't pressed charges.
"You just need to watch your temper, Darling," Anna had said after she got the news. "Violence never gets you what you
want." But she stayed with him. She kept him.
Henry looked in storefront windows, marveling at the presentations of the season, wincing at his inability to give Anna the
Christmas she deserved. He looked at his watch again, reading the inscription on the back. Good things come to those
who wait. It held his name, too, Henry Martin. The finish was scratched, the chain broken, but the watch still held
sentimental value. The most valuable object he owned.
Making a decision, he took account of his bearings and made a beeline for the pawn shop two blocks over. He had passed
it several times the past few weeks, considering, debating. Well, now it was Christmas Eve; the time for debate was over.
Reaching the big window labeled NEW FOR OLD, Henry looked at the objects in the window, abandoned musical
instruments and luggage and jewelry, none as classy as that silver piano. Henry entered, grasping the watch in his pocket.
"You got in just under the wire," a friendly voice said, crackling with wisdom and maybe a little too much Christmas cheer.
"We were about to close up shop for Christmas Eve."
An old man appeared from the back room and stepped up to the counter, shoulders hunched a little. "How may I help you?"
Henry slapped the watch on the counter, proud grin on his face. "I need some money for Christmas."
"Yes, doesn't everyone." Chuckling, the little old man walked around to Henry's side of the counter. He picked up the item,
held it lightly in his palm, flipped it over and carefully checked the gold-flecked surface. He looked at Henry and smiled. "I
can give you thirty dollars."
Henry gulped. "I need more."
The little old man shrugged sympathetically. "That's the best I can afford right now."
Henry could feel his blood rising. He fought it. For Anna. Controlled his voice. For Anna. He looked at the little old man and
tried not to throttle him. For Anna. "I need at least two hundred bucks for this."
"I am sorry, son, but even if times were better, this not worth two hundred dollars." The man put the watch back down on the
counter. "Look, it's Christmas Eve, so I can offer you fifty dollars, but that's really all it's--"
"Don't insult me."
"Son, please don't--"
Henry grabbed the man by the collar and shook him. "Stop calling me that!"
"Let go of me!" The little old man flailed his arms. "I'll call the police!"
Henry lost control, grabbed the nearest blunt object, something off the counter, started smacking the man on the face, on
the head, on the back of his neck as he went down.
Stricken with a sudden awareness -- he was in a public place, during business hours, anyone could walk in any minute
and see the old guy bleeding on the floor -- Henry panicked. Lurched for the door, stopped and turned for the register,
blinked for a lifetime, ran behind the counter and opened the register. Clutched as much cash as he could, stuffed the fives
and tens in his pockets and ran for the door. No idea whether his victim was still breathing.
The salesman at the jewelry store was bored to see Henry back. But everything smoothed out when Henry started counting
out fives and tens, when he had the necessary two hundred dollars and even a few bucks to spare for wrapping.
Henry made it home after dark, a few minutes behind Anna. He entered quietly, listening. There was a rustling in the
kitchenette, so he stepped lightly to the bedroom, where he emptied his pockets. He placed the little box into a drawer, he
stuffed the crumpled bills into the sock drawer, he reached for his watch...
He didn't have it. He had left it back at the store.
Henry felt the breath rush out of his lungs, the room spinning, sat on the edge of the bed. The watch was at the scene of a
crime, the scene of a robbery, maybe the scene of a murder. For all he knew, the watch had the old man's blood spattered
on it, his own name engraved on it for all the world to see.
"Honey, you in there?" Anna at the bedroom door, popping her lovely head in. "Dinner is about ready."
Henry sniffled and nodded, rising for the door.
"What is it, Sweetheart?" She put arms around him, kissed him on the nose.
He fumbled for words. "I just love you so much."
She smiled that little smile, took his hand and led him to the kitchenette table, where there was bread and lasagna. More
food than the table had seen in months.
Henry forgot his troubles, was agog. "Where did all this come from?"
She was tossing a salad in a big bowl. "I got paid today."
"You must have hit the jackpot."
She stopped, smiled and resumed tossing the salad. "I also got a bonus." She put some salad on his chipped plate. "For
Christmas."
Henry stabbed at his salad, stuffed lettuce in his mouth and started chomping. Troubles lingering on the fringes of his
consciousness, he pushed them aside, continued eating as she left the table. This was marvelous.
Suddenly, a small wrapped packaged dropped on the table in front of him. For a moment, he thought it was the box he had
just hidden. Evidence. "W-what's this?"
She laughed. "It's your Christmas present, dear." It was good to hear her laugh.
Hands shaking, he dropped the silverware. "But it's not Christmas yet."
"I couldn't wait," she said. "I was too excited."
He forced himself to clutch the box, hold it, nervously tore at the wrapping. Opened the box.
A gold chain.
"For your watch," she said, kissing his forehead. "I know how much you love that old thing. As soon as I got my bonus, I
knew what I had to get you."
He was searching for words, searching for an explanation, searching for an alibi when he heard the pounding at the door.
It was almost as loud as the pounding of his heart.
He walked through a haze across the living room, heard Anna's voice from faraway, a life sentence away, asking who
would be knocking at this hour on Christmas Eve.
He knew.
Henry opened the door to men in uniform with grim faces. "We hate to bother you on Christmas Eve." Behind the group the
flashing of lights. "Is there a Mrs. Anna Martin at this residence?"
Henry's heart stopped.
He heard his wife's voice from behind him. "I have to confess something, Henry." He turned and saw Anna starting to tear
up. "I've done something just awful..."
at the price tag and frowned. "Will it be on sale anytime soon?"
"No, sir," the jeweler said, fake smile fading a little. "But I assure you, this is a quite reasonable price."
Henry stared at the charm, a little silver piano. Classy. Would represent all those piano lessons Anna
hoped to take someday.
"In fact," the jeweler continued, "this is one of the lowest priced items we have." The man growing more
impatient by the minute, hoping to release himself from this deadbeat and go wait on a customer with money.
Henry didn't notice. His eyes were locked on the piano, glistening in the fluorescent lights. A couple hundred bucks, might
as well be a couple million. "You sure it won't be on any kind of sale between now and Christmas?"
"No." Cold now. "Not in the next two hours."
Henry left the store empty handed, a sad sack padding through slush on the sidewalk, wet snow collecting on his
shoulders. Avoiding eye contact with any of the people he passed. People with money. People with jobs. Men able to buy
Christmas gifts for their wives.
Henry squinted against snow and thought of Anna. His Anna. She stuck with him through the bad times. Through his
getting fired. Through his long unemployment. Through the growing pile of bills, the growing number of calls from creditors.
He felt in his pocket for the watch his grandfather gave him, his last treasure in this world. Checked the time. It was getting
late. Anna would be home from work soon. She had found part-time work during the holidays, but that would be over soon,
too. Her next paycheck would be barely enough to catch up on the utilities.
But she never accused him, never pointed out how he had failed her, had failed his responsibilities. How in a moment of
raw anger he had popped Mr. Simmons in the mouth and got kicked out the door and out of his job, lucky the old man
hadn't pressed charges.
"You just need to watch your temper, Darling," Anna had said after she got the news. "Violence never gets you what you
want." But she stayed with him. She kept him.
Henry looked in storefront windows, marveling at the presentations of the season, wincing at his inability to give Anna the
Christmas she deserved. He looked at his watch again, reading the inscription on the back. Good things come to those
who wait. It held his name, too, Henry Martin. The finish was scratched, the chain broken, but the watch still held
sentimental value. The most valuable object he owned.
Making a decision, he took account of his bearings and made a beeline for the pawn shop two blocks over. He had passed
it several times the past few weeks, considering, debating. Well, now it was Christmas Eve; the time for debate was over.
Reaching the big window labeled NEW FOR OLD, Henry looked at the objects in the window, abandoned musical
instruments and luggage and jewelry, none as classy as that silver piano. Henry entered, grasping the watch in his pocket.
"You got in just under the wire," a friendly voice said, crackling with wisdom and maybe a little too much Christmas cheer.
"We were about to close up shop for Christmas Eve."
An old man appeared from the back room and stepped up to the counter, shoulders hunched a little. "How may I help you?"
Henry slapped the watch on the counter, proud grin on his face. "I need some money for Christmas."
"Yes, doesn't everyone." Chuckling, the little old man walked around to Henry's side of the counter. He picked up the item,
held it lightly in his palm, flipped it over and carefully checked the gold-flecked surface. He looked at Henry and smiled. "I
can give you thirty dollars."
Henry gulped. "I need more."
The little old man shrugged sympathetically. "That's the best I can afford right now."
Henry could feel his blood rising. He fought it. For Anna. Controlled his voice. For Anna. He looked at the little old man and
tried not to throttle him. For Anna. "I need at least two hundred bucks for this."
"I am sorry, son, but even if times were better, this not worth two hundred dollars." The man put the watch back down on the
counter. "Look, it's Christmas Eve, so I can offer you fifty dollars, but that's really all it's--"
"Don't insult me."
"Son, please don't--"
Henry grabbed the man by the collar and shook him. "Stop calling me that!"
"Let go of me!" The little old man flailed his arms. "I'll call the police!"
Henry lost control, grabbed the nearest blunt object, something off the counter, started smacking the man on the face, on
the head, on the back of his neck as he went down.
Stricken with a sudden awareness -- he was in a public place, during business hours, anyone could walk in any minute
and see the old guy bleeding on the floor -- Henry panicked. Lurched for the door, stopped and turned for the register,
blinked for a lifetime, ran behind the counter and opened the register. Clutched as much cash as he could, stuffed the fives
and tens in his pockets and ran for the door. No idea whether his victim was still breathing.
The salesman at the jewelry store was bored to see Henry back. But everything smoothed out when Henry started counting
out fives and tens, when he had the necessary two hundred dollars and even a few bucks to spare for wrapping.
Henry made it home after dark, a few minutes behind Anna. He entered quietly, listening. There was a rustling in the
kitchenette, so he stepped lightly to the bedroom, where he emptied his pockets. He placed the little box into a drawer, he
stuffed the crumpled bills into the sock drawer, he reached for his watch...
He didn't have it. He had left it back at the store.
Henry felt the breath rush out of his lungs, the room spinning, sat on the edge of the bed. The watch was at the scene of a
crime, the scene of a robbery, maybe the scene of a murder. For all he knew, the watch had the old man's blood spattered
on it, his own name engraved on it for all the world to see.
"Honey, you in there?" Anna at the bedroom door, popping her lovely head in. "Dinner is about ready."
Henry sniffled and nodded, rising for the door.
"What is it, Sweetheart?" She put arms around him, kissed him on the nose.
He fumbled for words. "I just love you so much."
She smiled that little smile, took his hand and led him to the kitchenette table, where there was bread and lasagna. More
food than the table had seen in months.
Henry forgot his troubles, was agog. "Where did all this come from?"
She was tossing a salad in a big bowl. "I got paid today."
"You must have hit the jackpot."
She stopped, smiled and resumed tossing the salad. "I also got a bonus." She put some salad on his chipped plate. "For
Christmas."
Henry stabbed at his salad, stuffed lettuce in his mouth and started chomping. Troubles lingering on the fringes of his
consciousness, he pushed them aside, continued eating as she left the table. This was marvelous.
Suddenly, a small wrapped packaged dropped on the table in front of him. For a moment, he thought it was the box he had
just hidden. Evidence. "W-what's this?"
She laughed. "It's your Christmas present, dear." It was good to hear her laugh.
Hands shaking, he dropped the silverware. "But it's not Christmas yet."
"I couldn't wait," she said. "I was too excited."
He forced himself to clutch the box, hold it, nervously tore at the wrapping. Opened the box.
A gold chain.
"For your watch," she said, kissing his forehead. "I know how much you love that old thing. As soon as I got my bonus, I
knew what I had to get you."
He was searching for words, searching for an explanation, searching for an alibi when he heard the pounding at the door.
It was almost as loud as the pounding of his heart.
He walked through a haze across the living room, heard Anna's voice from faraway, a life sentence away, asking who
would be knocking at this hour on Christmas Eve.
He knew.
Henry opened the door to men in uniform with grim faces. "We hate to bother you on Christmas Eve." Behind the group the
flashing of lights. "Is there a Mrs. Anna Martin at this residence?"
Henry's heart stopped.
He heard his wife's voice from behind him. "I have to confess something, Henry." He turned and saw Anna starting to tear
up. "I've done something just awful..."
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| "Henry's Gift" |
| Originally published at INFUZE ... December 2005 |
© 2005 Chris Well
StudioWell
| ©2009 Chris and Erica Well |
STORIES and ART
