My contribution to the Holiday Blog Tour is a very rushed attempt at a magical Christmas story, but I hope you enjoy it.
Sydney
drove the tight curves of the San Bernardino Mountains, her knuckles almost
white with the grip she had on the steering wheel. As she approached each turn, she slowed and
kept her eyes glued on the white broken center line, afraid that if she looked
to the right and saw nothing but the flimsy railing separating the road from a
massive drop into oblivion, she’d throw up.
She hated mountain driving and was grateful that at least, this was
California and even though it was almost Christmas Eve, there was no snow.
She had one
last delivery to make. The Christmas
season meant non-stop work for Sydney’s gourmet cookie and cup cake company. She promised Christmas delivery, even if
ordered on Christmas Eve as long as it was local. Most of her customers ordered with enough
time to ship, but every year there was someone who called Christmas Eve morning
and begged for delivery of their special cranberry oatmeal cookies or
scrumptious gingerbread men or red velvet cup cakes - that day.
She wasn’t expecting to drive up a dang mountain tonight though.
As she
turned off Highway 18 into the little town of Blue Jay she noticed a change in
the weather. A slight breeze made the triangular
flags wave at a corner gas station, and there was a distinct chill in the
air. She decided to stop and fill
up. On Christmas Eve, it wasn’t likely
she’d find many gas stations or anything else open later. She pulled the company SUV up to the
pump. “Damn,” she said, when she noticed
it wasn’t a pay at the pump station.
Everything at the station looked like it hadn’t been updated in a couple
of decades. She went into the small
convenience store and the guy behind the counter was laughing at a Sienfeld
episode.
She stared
at the TV for a moment, remembering when she lived with her girl friends in
Long Beach in the 90’s and how sometimes after work or college or dates gone
bad, they’d sit together and watch Sienfeld and eat ice cream. Those had been good times. She didn’t talk to her friends very often
anymore. After Bridget was killed in a
car accident – her date had been drunk – she and Clair had never felt
comfortable living together, and after a bitter fight, Sydney moved out.
“Hey, can I
pay for gas, please,” Sydney said.
“Oh, sure,”
the guy, distracted took her money, glanced at the fifty dollar bill, then back
at her with a frown. “How much do you
want?”
“Just put
it all on pump one.”
“Lady this
is a fifty.”
“Yeah, it’s
all I have so it’ll have to be enough.”
She went back outside and began to fill up. She crossed her arms at the chill in the air
and leaned on the side of the SUV. She
watched the numbers on the pump spin and noticed that the price per gallon was
$1.25. Narrowing her gaze, she wondered
if this was joke. It cost her $20 for
sixteen gallons of gas.
She went
back inside to get her change. “How do
you manage to sell gas so cheap?” she asked.
“It’s
actually a little high, but we’re in the mountains. Everything cost more up here.”
Sydney
laughed. “High? I paid $3.98 this morning in L.A.”
“Right,” he
said, and smirked. “Here’s your change.”
Sydney took
the money, mystified by his strange behavior, but she had to deliver these
cookies and then make a long drive home, so she left. Driving through residential roads there were
more twists and turns than on the highway, and the GPS’s change in directions
confused her. The female voice kept
re-routing. The electronic woman seemed
more lost than Sydney.
Then
surprisingly, a few flakes of snow began to fall on her windshield. She drove slowly around the bend of the street
and thicker snow began to block her view; coming down seemingly faster and
thicker the farther she went, reminding her of when she’d visited Universal
Studios with her parents and the tram went through a flood zone. Off to the sides, pipes created a sudden
rainstorm that made it appear to flood the road. This was what it felt like on this road. She wanted to look up to find out who was
shooting fakes snow at her. But the
trees and road were turning completely white.
When she reached an intersection, she was stopped by a police car
blocking the road ahead. She rolled down
the window.
“Sorry,
Ma’am, the road is closed until plowing can be done. Probably until morning.”
Sydney
laughed. “How can you need to plow, the
snow just started. And around the
corner, there isn’t any snow at all.”
“It’s been
snowing for days, Ma’am.”
Days?
“Look, I just have a delivery to make.
Maybe you can help me find the address?”
He shook
his head. “Sorry. If you turn around and make two rights,
you’ll find a coffee shop that might be open.
You can get warm and call the person you’re trying to deliver to and let
them know you can’t make it tonight.”
“I have my
cell.”
“You’re
what?”
“Never
mind.” She made a U-turn, cursing the
officer, the snow, this frustrating night, and the customer that waited until
the last minute to order the cookies.
She found
the coffee shop and after ordering a cup of coffee, called her customer. At first the phone rang without an answer,
but when she tried a second time, a man answered the phone. “Hi, I’m from Heaven Sent Gourmet Cookies,
and I’m having a difficult time delivering the cookies you ordered.”
“The
cookies, I . . . ? Sorry, but I didn’t
order any cookies.”
“Maybe your
wife ordered them, but –.”
“I don’t
have a wife. If this is some kind of
joke –.”
“It’s no
joke.” Sydney checked the phone number
to make sure she dialed right. “I’m
supposed to deliver five dozen cookies to 29658 Tulip Drive. Someone called in an order this
morning.” She hadn’t taken the call, but
her employee had been with her for five years and practically ran the business
alongside Sydney.
“That’s my
address, but I didn’t order cookies.
Where are you now?”
Sydney told
him the name of the coffee shop.
“I’ll be
there in about thirty minutes.”
Sydney
drank all her coffee and cradled her head in her hands. What a way to spend Christmas Eve. Not that she had anyone to spend it with, but
it would be nice to be home where at least it was warm and not snowing. She lifted her head and looked out at the
beautiful white drape of snow, an untouched and powdery dusting that covered
the outside. All looked fresh and clean
and magical. Maybe it wasn’t quite so bad after all.
The waitress
re-filled her cup and offered her a piece of pumpkin pie that she accepted. Moments later, a man entered the coffee shop,
their eyes connected, and he began to approach Sydney’s table. But the pie in her mouth suddenly became a
clump of cement. She couldn’t swallow
it. Sydney was looking up, into the face
of the man who killed Bridget. He was
younger, not drunk, but it was him.
“Are you
the cookie lady?”
“You’re a
sick jerk. How did you find me?”
His eyes
widened and he sat across from her. “You
told me where you were, what do you mean how did I find you?” He waved for a cup of coffee. “You’re right about those roads. I almost didn’t get through, but I took a
side street that wasn’t blocked.”
“Are you
trying to tell me that you don’t recognize me?”
He
grinned. “Nope. I’m trying to think of who might have ordered
the cookies, but I don’t have a clue.
Since you came all this way, though, I’ll take them off your hands.”
“I’m
Bridget’s friend.”
“Who’s
Bridget?” He frowned. “Look, I was very comfortable on my couch
watching President Clinton light the Christmas Tree in the White House. I didn’t need to come out here, so you might
try being a little nicer.”
Sydney
stared at him. President Clinton lighting a tree in the White House? She looked around at what people were
wearing. Thought about the cheap
gas. Something odd was happening. “Clinton was in the White House?” She asked,
afraid of his response.
“Yeah, the
news was covering it. So where are these
cookies?”
“In my
car. Did Obama invite Clinton to light
the tree?”
“Who?”
Sydney
slipped out of the booth, freaking out.
“Obama, our President.”
“Clinton is
the President, lady. What’s wrong with
you?”
She shook
her head and hurried outside. Snow
continued to fall and she almost slipped on the iced-over sidewalk. She stood beside her SUV, breathing deeply. What the hell was going on?
The guy
followed her outside, a confused look in his eyes.
“You dated
my friend, Bridget. You went out to a
party and drank too much. You crashed. She
died. You lived. Clinton left office in 2001, by the way. Our President is Barak Obama.”
He moved
closer, snow dusting his head. “What are
you talking about?” He asked, in a harsh whisper, as if afraid to hear her
response. “It’s 1996. Clinton doesn’t leave office until next year
– and then only if he fails to get re-elected.
And I don’t know who the hell Bridget is.”
Sydney’s
head spun as if blood flow or oxygen was being deprived. Had she driven though some time warp? She didn’t understand any of this. Why, of all people, was she coming in contact
with . . . “your name is Rick.”
He
clapped. “You got one thing right.”
She
hurriedly reached for the file on the driver side of her truck and looked at
the invoice. No name under customer. But the man in front of her was Rick Ortiz, the
man who killed Bridget . . . except, he hadn’t yet. She looked at him. Opened the passenger door to the SUV. “Get in for a moment.”
He seemed
unsure, but he got into her vehicle.
“Listen to
me,” she said. “Have you ever wished you
could go back in time and change something? Reverse a mistake? Fix something?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I
don’t understand how this happened, but I’ve gone back in time. In a few months, you’re going to meet my
friend, Bridget. You’ll really hit it
off with her and on the Fourth of July, you’ll go to a party, drink way too much
and get in an accident.”
“The
accident where your friend gets killed,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And how do
you know this?”
“Because
it’s already happened.”
He stared
at her, then burst out laughing. “So,
you’re from the future.”
She closed
her eyes and shook her head. Yes, that sounded crazy. When she looked at him again, he was still
smiling. “Listen, all I know is that
when I got up this morning it was December 24, 2012, and I drove here to
deliver cookies to you, and now here I am and you’re telling me it’s 1996.”
His smile
slipped. Then disappeared. “Twenty-twelve?”
“I don’t
know what is going on. It doesn’t
matter. Can you just promise me that
when you meet Bridget, you won’t drink and drive . . . ever. But especially on the Fourth of July?”
He
shrugged. “Yeah, okay, sure.”
“You
swear?”
He looked
at her like she was crazy. “I promise.”
“Good. Good.”
She sniffed the cold air. Then
reached into her bag and handed him the bill for the cookies.
He took it,
looked at it and gasped. “Eighty-six dollars and twenty-five cents? For cookies?
Lady, you’re crazier than I thought.
Is this some kind of scam?”
“It’s five
dozen cookies, plus fifteen percent delivery.
The price is on our website . . . .”
None of this was making any sense to him. It wasn’t making any sense to her. What did cookies cost in 1996? And who cared what they cost then, it was 2012! “Never mind.
Just take them.”
“Now you’re
going to give them to me for free?” He
lifted an eyebrow.
“Yes, just
take them so I can go home.” She got out
of the truck and carried the boxes around to the passenger side of the truck. When he got out, she handed him the boxes.
He took
them and gave her a twenty dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” he said, then with one last long perplexed look at
her, he turned away and got into his car.
Sydney
drove down the mountain slowly, carefully.
The snow became less heavy as the elevation dropped. After a few miles, there was no snow at
all. She was relieved when she made it
all the way down and got on the freeway.
Finally, she felt like things were back to normal. As she drove, nothing looked different. Shopping centers were the same as always with
the typical modern stores she was used to seeing every day.
When she
made it to her apartment she breathed a relieved sigh. She wanted to take a warm shower and go to
sleep. But when she opened the door, her
friends were inside having drinks and eating snacks.
“Sydney!”
Bridget said. “You’re finally here. Now, the party can really start.”
Sydney
couldn’t believe her friend was really standing in her living room. Alive.
Older. But alive. Her other friend, Clair was there too. And her employee, Darla, who ran the cookie
store so well, but who never visited her house.
They were all very at home in her apartment. Sitting on her couch. Walking out of her kitchen. Hugging their boyfriends. Then Rick walked out of her bathroom. He looked older too. “Hey, Syd,” he said. “What took you so long?”
She stared
at him. “I had a delivery in the
mountains.”
He
smiled. “Oh, yeah?” He put an arm around Bridget’s waist and
kissed her cheek. “How did it go?”
Sydney felt
like this was a dream, but sincerely hoped not.
“Get her a
drink, Rick.”
He nodded
and turn toward her kitchen.
“I’ll get
it myself,” Sydney said, and followed him.
He poured
her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
She took it and gazed into his eyes.
“I delivered cookies to you.”
He
smiled. “What?”
“Rick, I
just left you a couple hours ago. Don’t
you remember?”
“A couple
of hours ago I was waiting patiently for Bridget to finished getting dressed so
we could come over.”
“You don’t
remember me delivering cookies to you in the mountains?”
“Are you
talking about when we met? When you
brought me those cookies in that snow storm and told me that crazy story about
being from the future? Hey, you said it
was 2012.” He chuckled. “That still makes me laugh.” He pushed off the counter and headed out of
the kitchen. Then paused. “What I’ve never been able to figure out
though is how you predicted I’d meet Bridget.
Or the name of our current President.”
Sydney
gazed at him.
And he at
her. “I never did find out who ordered
those cookies and sent you to me. Maybe
it was just a Christmas miracle.”
That was
exactly what it was. Sydney’s eyes
filled with unshed tears, and she smiled. A Christmas miracle.
Be sure to follow the blog tour tomorrow with Icess Fernandez Rojas at: http://www.writingtoinsanity.com/
