Christmas Tickings
written by: Adelino Carbonera
On the evening before Christmas Eve, Joe Bunting left the surgery late. The rain had stopped, but a cold nor’easter wind lashed the air.
He was a doctor, and he knew he had to get home without delay: he was the only one in the neighborhood who couldn’t afford the luxury of getting sick.
He also knew that Nathan was still trapped in the woods, blocked by a sudden landslide that had made the way back impassable, while his mother was alone in the old house on the alley, surrounded by boxes from the impending move, with rolled-up mattresses and bare walls, immersed in the desolation of a place that no longer belonged to her.
But Joe was not just a doctor; he was a man of deep feelings. He couldn’t go to bed, not yet.
He found her sitting in the kitchen, her hands in her lap. Only the pendulum clock remained on the wall. The ticking was still the same, monotonous and hypnotic, as it had been twenty-five years earlier when he had kissed her for the first time.
“Hi Juliette, …were you waiting for me?”
She smiled at him. “I have nothing left to do.” She looked around, then added, “This house is ugly. So dark and damp…”
She had said it a week ago. And a month ago. She liked to emphasize how the old house was falling apart and how beautiful the new one was.
Dr. Bunting placed a hand on her shoulder, silently. Suddenly, she pressed her face against his side.
“I’m so foolish,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m acting so stupid tonight.”
She had never been a foolish person. She had always been sweet and kind, full of courage. In that moment, he felt her deeply, wholly his.
“The pendulum clock will keep time even in the new house, you know?”
She nodded slightly, then looked up.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked.
Joe shook his head. “Just tired,” he said, counting the words, weary.
“I’m going home.” ‘I can’t risk having a health scare here,’ he thought.
But before moving, he held her dear head close once more. There were white strands among those black hairs. He trembled as he caressed them. ‘Wait to stop,’ he angrily told his heart. ‘Let me go visit her in the new house and let us hold onto memories there too. But now walk, forward, old fool.’
He managed to drive home and climb the ten steps. “I asked you to come home early tonight,” his wife said, meeting him in the foyer. “You know I have bridge.”
“Sorry,” Joe replied.
“It’s fine,” Mrs. Bunting replied. “I know exactly where you’ve been.”
She spoke loudly to be heard by everyone in the other room. “Come on, I’m missing a fourth for the table.”
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
The next day unfolded unexpectedly. “Come, eat something before I go,” his wife said, inviting him to the breakfast table with a tone softer than he expected. “It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”
Joe followed her, still shaken by that unexpected exchange of emotions. He had always viewed his life as a series of well-defined roles: husband, doctor, lover. But now, that thin red line dividing these worlds seemed less sharp, as if Christmas was asking him to look deeper with its weight of reflection.
They sat at the table. His wife sliced the bread; the sound of the knife sliding over the crust seemed the only noise filling the silence between them. Joe stole glances at her, realizing how little he had truly noticed lately. The small gestures, the fine wrinkles around her eyes, the wear of time he had never really considered.
“I thought I’d get you a gift,” she said suddenly, putting down the knife. “I know we’re usually not good at these things, but… this year I felt I had to.” She stood up, went to a drawer, and pulled out a small box wrapped in blue paper.
Joe took it, bewildered. He hadn’t expected a gift. In fact, Christmas had become for him just a formality in recent years. But now, with that little package in his hands, he felt guilty, and at the same time relieved by a familiar warmth.
He opened it slowly. Inside was an antique silver pocket watch, carefully restored. The ticking it emitted was delicate, as if the measured time was lighter, less relentless.
“It belonged to your father,” she said, watching him closely. “I found it in the attic, and I thought you might like to have it with you. I know how much you admired the man he was.”
Joe was left speechless. It was as if that silent gesture had melted something inside him. A watch, time, memory. The past was not just a burden, but also a chance for redemption.
“Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice cracking with emotion.
His wife smiled, a genuine smile he hadn’t seen in a long time. “Merry Christmas, Joe,” she said again, and in that moment, he understood what that celebration truly meant. It wasn’t just a holiday, but an opportunity to heal, to begin anew.
Despite everything, perhaps there was still hope. For him, for Juliette, for his wife. And as the ticking of the clock marked that moment, Joe realized that, somehow, Christmas was offering him another chance.
- Christmas Tickings - December 23, 2024
