Read Online Vinyl Cafe Unplugged by Stuart Mclean - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart Mclean
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look at it. Three times she had to wrap it again.
But Morley didn’t know any of this as she climbed into bed. As she fell asleep she was still worried about Christmas morning, about Stephanie and about the go-cart. She slept for a restless few hours, and then woke up. When she couldn’t get back to sleep, she decided to make herself a cup of tea. She was almost out of the bedroom before she noticed the ribbon tied around her wrist. Red.
It ran to the floor, into a red pile, gathered at her feet. She was still dopey with sleep. She started to gather the ribbon up, and it was only as she did that that she realized it didn’t end in the pile at her feet but continued toward the stairs. She followed it: down the stairs and past the tree and into the kitchen. By the time she got to the back door she had gathered an armful of ribbon. And she was smiling.
Dave and Morley have a pear tree in the corner of their backyard. Morley followed the trail of ribbon out the back door and across the yard to the pear tree. The end of the ribbon, the end not tied to her wrist, led to a switch fastened to the base of the tree. There was a note: Merry Christmas. I chose you. Love, Dave .
Morley flicked the switch. The most amazing thing happened.
The pear tree slowly and gracefully came to life.
Little lights began to snap on in the branches above her head and then, as if the tree had been animated by Walt Disney himself, the lights spread along the branches until the entire tree was glowing a dark red crimson, a crimson like dark wine, a red light that cast a magical glow over the backyard.
Dave woke at three and sensed he was alone in bed. He reached out his arm for his wife and didn’t find her. He lay still. He tried to will himself awake. He got up and called her name. He walked to the back bedroom and looked out the window. Morley was sitting at the picnic table. She was wearing his work boots, the laces undone, and his winter coat over her nightie. On her head was a toque that belonged to Sam. She was cradling a mug of tea between her hands. From the perspective of the bedroom she looked twelve years old.
It had started to snow—big fat flakes of snow were dropping lazily out of the sky. Morley was staring at the snow as it floated out of the darkness and into the circle of red light.
Dave pushed the bedroom window open and said, “Merry Christmas.” Morley bent down and made a snowball, glowing now as she stood in the red light of the tree, her hair wet and sticking to her forehead. She was working not so quickly that Dave didn’t have time to gather a handful of snow off the window ledge himself.
The two of them threw their snowballs at almost the same moment, and they both laughed in wonder when they collided in mid-air, spraying snow like a shower of icy fireworks through the silence of the night.
Harrison Ford’s Toes
If it comes at night, when you are sleeping, the first snowfall of the year can be an astonishing event. If you wake up on a September morning and walk to the window and throw open the blinds and find the world silent and white, you will, if you are lucky, be whisked back into a childhood world of wonder.
On a Thursday morning in late September, when she woke and saw snow on the ground, Morley stood by her window, taking it in, thinking eventually of her father and the skating rinks he used to make for her in their backyard when she was a girl. As she went downstairs to put on the coffee, she was wishing her father was still alive, wishing he could have met his grandchildren; wondering, as the aroma of the coffee filled the kitchen, if he were there, what she would make her father for breakfast.
Pancakes, said her father.
She was looking for the maple syrup when Dave appeared.
“Do you know where my blue sweater is?” he asked.
Morley had a dim springtime memory of folding sweaters and sealing them in cardboard boxes—but she had no memory of what she had done with the boxes.
This was
But Morley didn’t know any of this as she climbed into bed. As she fell asleep she was still worried about Christmas morning, about Stephanie and about the go-cart. She slept for a restless few hours, and then woke up. When she couldn’t get back to sleep, she decided to make herself a cup of tea. She was almost out of the bedroom before she noticed the ribbon tied around her wrist. Red.
It ran to the floor, into a red pile, gathered at her feet. She was still dopey with sleep. She started to gather the ribbon up, and it was only as she did that that she realized it didn’t end in the pile at her feet but continued toward the stairs. She followed it: down the stairs and past the tree and into the kitchen. By the time she got to the back door she had gathered an armful of ribbon. And she was smiling.
Dave and Morley have a pear tree in the corner of their backyard. Morley followed the trail of ribbon out the back door and across the yard to the pear tree. The end of the ribbon, the end not tied to her wrist, led to a switch fastened to the base of the tree. There was a note: Merry Christmas. I chose you. Love, Dave .
Morley flicked the switch. The most amazing thing happened.
The pear tree slowly and gracefully came to life.
Little lights began to snap on in the branches above her head and then, as if the tree had been animated by Walt Disney himself, the lights spread along the branches until the entire tree was glowing a dark red crimson, a crimson like dark wine, a red light that cast a magical glow over the backyard.
Dave woke at three and sensed he was alone in bed. He reached out his arm for his wife and didn’t find her. He lay still. He tried to will himself awake. He got up and called her name. He walked to the back bedroom and looked out the window. Morley was sitting at the picnic table. She was wearing his work boots, the laces undone, and his winter coat over her nightie. On her head was a toque that belonged to Sam. She was cradling a mug of tea between her hands. From the perspective of the bedroom she looked twelve years old.
It had started to snow—big fat flakes of snow were dropping lazily out of the sky. Morley was staring at the snow as it floated out of the darkness and into the circle of red light.
Dave pushed the bedroom window open and said, “Merry Christmas.” Morley bent down and made a snowball, glowing now as she stood in the red light of the tree, her hair wet and sticking to her forehead. She was working not so quickly that Dave didn’t have time to gather a handful of snow off the window ledge himself.
The two of them threw their snowballs at almost the same moment, and they both laughed in wonder when they collided in mid-air, spraying snow like a shower of icy fireworks through the silence of the night.
Harrison Ford’s Toes
If it comes at night, when you are sleeping, the first snowfall of the year can be an astonishing event. If you wake up on a September morning and walk to the window and throw open the blinds and find the world silent and white, you will, if you are lucky, be whisked back into a childhood world of wonder.
On a Thursday morning in late September, when she woke and saw snow on the ground, Morley stood by her window, taking it in, thinking eventually of her father and the skating rinks he used to make for her in their backyard when she was a girl. As she went downstairs to put on the coffee, she was wishing her father was still alive, wishing he could have met his grandchildren; wondering, as the aroma of the coffee filled the kitchen, if he were there, what she would make her father for breakfast.
Pancakes, said her father.
She was looking for the maple syrup when Dave appeared.
“Do you know where my blue sweater is?” he asked.
Morley had a dim springtime memory of folding sweaters and sealing them in cardboard boxes—but she had no memory of what she had done with the boxes.
This was
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