Let Me Tell You a Story

December 2003

Deck the Halls                                             by Pauline Power   

A cold blast of air hit my face. Leaving the warmth of the shop, I dreaded the next hour. Patience is definitely not one of my stronger traits, and now, having just finished a day of Christmas shopping, I deeply regretted my decision to travel by bus, instead of car. Weary shoppers were already forming queues along the streets, aware that the busses would most definitely fill-up quickly. Like me, no-one seemed inclined to linger any longer than was absolutely necessary.

I checked the bus timetable. I still had 20 minutes before the next bus was due to arrive. Scanning the queue, I quickly calculated I might not even get the opportunity to embark on this bus. I then made a decision. Loaded down with various gifts, I would reward myself with some light refreshment and wait until rush-hour had abated before trying to get home. I congratulated myself on such a sensible decision. Thinking about it, I was in no particular rush, and, although I never believed I would hold such a thought, a pot of tea and somewhere to rest my tired feet would be most welcome.

 Content with my decision, I made my way towards the nearest coffee shop. With every step my bags seemed to get heavier, but I was happy – I had achieved all I had hoped and wouldn’t need to venture into the city again before Christmas.

Lost in thought, I was surprised when I felt someone stumble against me. A young boy looked up, apologised and obviously unhurt carried on his way. I however was shaken. Not by the encounter, for indeed I was not physically maimed in any way, but memories came flooding back.

A day, so like this one appeared vividly in my mind. One’s memory can indeed play tricks, yet I recall that day as accurately as any I have recently experienced.

I had been working permanently for six months – my first “real” job and I intended to treat all my family, not alone with presents I knew they would appreciate, but also each with a surprise gift. I had spent the day wandering the shops, totally at ease, with the knowledge that anything I spotted could be purchased, if I so desired.

As I strolled I imagined our sitting-room on Christmas morning. Days of Santa Clause long since over, I envisaged myself in this role, bringing both joy and cheer, and hopefully a little bit of magic to a house filled with grown-ups.  With such romantic notions in my head, I was almost oblivious to everything around me. I just needed one last gift and my shopping spree would be complete.

Aware that time was ticking by, and the shops would be closing soon, I quickly manoeuvred my way through the crowds until I arrived at my destination. As I entered the shop doors, I was vaguely aware of a boy standing to the left of the entrance, holly-wreaths in hand. With a quick smile he offered me a wreath, quoting the price and stating quickly what a bargain it was.  Critically I appraised both the boy and the wreaths. Obviously homemade and badly so at that, I simply ignored his banter and continued on my way.

Somehow though, I couldn’t remember what I had intended to buy in the shop. Try as I may, my intended purchase disappeared from my mind. It was replaced instead by the face at the door, the face I had so carelessly dismissed, a few moments before. The young boy had smiled at me, obviously a good selling technique, yet even at such a short glance, his eyes told a different story. And I, too selfish, had failed to respond.

Pauline Power 11/12/03