Here’s something a little different. I wrote a short story for the holidays. I had read a very moving Facebook status telling of the loss of a family member and how this time of year is especially difficult. So many memories. It got me thinking and that got me writing.

The Gift

She sat staring at the sunlight glimmering off the water. The peaceful sound of whooshing waves rolling forward, pushing bubbly white foam towards her toes brought her back to holidays past when the sound of children splashing and laughing brought joy not pain.

The rising sun’s light illuminated the surrounding beauty but could not break through her darkness.

She counted the passing moments like breaths: one, two, three, four, five. She had learned this technique in the hospital. It kept her from thinking of the future, the unstoppable inevitable…

A dot in the sky flew towards her. She shielded the sun from her eyes. Gray wings brushed through the wind effortlessly. The bird circled above her head, something dangling from its beak. Round and round it flew. She had no food to offer. She watched.

The gull landed beside her. In its beak a long, shiny red string twisted in the wind. The bird dropped it, covered half of  it with sand and then picked it back up again; his chest puffy cotton ball white. The gull appeared proud of his treasure. Without a sound, his wings lifted his body into the air, he dropped the string, and flew off.

She watched the bird disappear over the water into the sunlight.

There sat the glistening string, bright red against the white sand.

Soon she would have to leave. They’d be wondering, worrying about her. She didn’t want to ruin their Christmas. They didn’t understand that three years felt like three minutes.

The dot returned. He was coming towards her again. She crossed her legs and leaned back, watching him circle. This time he carried a shell.

The gull landed next to the string, dropped the shell, and sat, his legs hidden by his thick body. His black button eyes gazing at her as if he was a long-lost friend.

She joined him in silence, the silver shell and red string sitting between them.

When he stood, she knew he was leaving and wanted him to stay. Strange. He was just a bird. When a gush of wind blew, he flapped his strong wings and pushed through it making his way above the crashing waves.

A voice called out behind her. A child’s voice. She didn’t like children, they reminded her…

She wanted to escape like the gull but it was too late. Beside her stood a curly-haired, brown-eyed, little boy. He waved. She waved. He studied her. That’s when she noticed the red string sitting just above his collar. The boy lifted his shell from under his shirt and held it out for her to see. She managed one word. “Beautiful.”

The boy plopped down, picked up what the gull had left and smiled. He ran the thread through the shell and tied a knot in the back. When he was done he stood, brushed the sand from his jeans and handed it to her.

“Merry Christmas.” He said.

“Merry Christmas.”  She hadn’t uttered those words since…

The boy nodded. She nodded. Then he took off running back up the beach.

She put the necklace over her head. Silence returned except for the calming whooshing of the waves. Sunlight warmed her skin.

For the first time in years she found herself curious. She scanned the sky for the bird. She stood trying to see where the little boy had run off to. They were gone. She was alone. She ran her fingers over the smooth shell, then brushed the sand from her jeans, and began her journey home. She wanted to show everyone her gift.