By Dave Wamsley
It was 8 p.m., eight days before Christmas. Ron Wilson's house was dark except for the twinkle of the colored lights on three-foot, artificial tree in the living room window. He had left it on as he departed, because after his young daughter's school Christmas presentation, she would be coming home with him to spend the weekend. Lisa was twelve and it had been two years since he and Kay had divorced, but they spent a lot of time together on weekends and summer trips. He was looking forward to this weekend because it would be "their" Christmas. Presents were placed neatly under the table on which the tree stood.
No one heard the sound of the glass as it broke in the small pane in the back door. The thief carefully reached through the broken glass, unlocked the deadbolt and carefully, quietly opened the door. He knew Wilson was gone. He knew there was no alarm system to tip his hand and no dog to alert neighbors to his unauthorized entry. He was there for only one reason. He cautiously made his way through the darkened kitchen and into the living room area. He had never been here before and didn't want to trip on anything unseen in the darkness. The use of a flashlight, even a small one, might be seen from the outside by almost anyone.
The streetlight on the corner lit only a small portion of the livingroom and the lights on the tree did the rest. He saw his prize, seized it and made his way back out through the kitchen. As quietly as he had entered, he closed the back door and was off into the darkness.
Duane Taylor opened the door to his son's hospital room without a sound. Nine-year-old Bobby was sleeping peacefully. The light from the nurse's station let him see enough to find his way around. He gained special permission to be here this late, well after visiting hours were over. Nurse Eileen Baxter had earlier placed a small metal stand by Bobby's bed. That's where Duane would set the small artificial tree. He would not plug in the lights for fear of waking his young son. The boy's short, but calm periods of sleep were fewer and fewer these days as the cancer progressed and continued to ravage his now-frail body.
Duane placed several glass and wooden ornaments on the tree that represented Bobby's brief, but memorable childhood. The small red elf, the one he and his mother had gotten shortly after he was born on a cold November morning to celebrate Bobby's first Christmas, was placed closest to the bed so Bobby would notice it first when he opened his eyes. The little tin horn was next. It represented Duane's work as a jazz musician. There was a bright blue wooden sled, just like the one that now hung unused in the Taylor's garage. Other ornaments represented each Christmas since Bobby was born. The one his dad had purchased just this afternoon would be given to Bobby when he awoke. Bobby's mother, Donna, and he would choose the ornaments each year and present them to Bobby when the put the tree in their living room. It was always the first thing to be placed on the tree, even before the lights went on. It was hard for young Bobby to contain his excitement as he unwrapped each new ornament every year. One time, Duane hadn't even gotten the tree to stand up straight before Bobby had hollered, "Now, Dad, can I put it on now?"
Bobby was just five in the spring of the year his mother died. Donna had always had a weak heart, but it was as big as all outdoors where Duane and Bobby were concerned. His young son wasn't quite old enough to understand all the whys of death. He only knew that his mother was gone and wasn't coming back. Then two years ago, Bobby was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Chemo would not do much more than prolong his pain. The doctor urged the treatments for there could be some positive results. For several months the pain came and went for Bobby. Duane had given up his nighttime playing job just last month to be with Bobby full time. In the semi-darkened room, Duane sat watching his sleeping son, knowing full-well that when he awoke, it could be the last time.
Ron Wilson and daughter Lisa arrived home about 9:15 p.m. Ron noticed that the lights were out on the tree in the window, but because it was dark, he really couldn't see the tree in the window. They came in through the door in the garage so neither noticed the back door and it's broken window. When Ron turned on the living room lights and looked where the tree should have been, nada, zero, zip, GONE! Tree, lights and decorations had vanished.
The festively wrapped gifts were still under the table, undisturbed. A quick check of the house showed that nothing else seemed to be missing. Lisa had gone into the kitchen for some water and discovered the back door. "DAD", she yelled, "IN HERE!"
When Ron saw the door and the broken glass, he called the police. When authorities arrived, they asked questions, took notes and a couple of photographs, but there was little they could do. They didn't think the burglar would be back. Ron explained to Lisa that he had put up the tree this year just for her because she wasn't here last year and he missed having the whole Christmas thing. They cleaned up the broken glass and, since it was almost 11 p.m., they went to bed. Tomorrow they could get another tree.
For three days Duane Taylor sat beside Bobby's bed, leaving only to eat a little something now and then. The doctor said she was uncertain if Bobby would regain consciousness or not. Duane refused to leave his son. It was now four days before Christmas and 5:30 p.m. The doctor was there, and two nurses and Duane. It was not unexpected when Bobby's heart monitor went flat-line, but the nurses had said a prayer for the little boy just moments before. They had been there through it all. He was special. Duane wept openly as he hugged his son's lifeless body then placed the latest ornament, a bright blue star with points of gold, into Bobby's hand. "Goodbye, my son," he said softly and then placed the blue star on the tree right near the top.
It was nearly midnight. Ron and Lisa were fast asleep. They had searched earlier that evening for that "just right" tree, but failed to make a decision on their three best choices. They would surely get one tomorrow. In the shadows at the edge of Ron Wilson's house, behind the hedge and unseen by passers by, stood Duane Taylor. He had hoped there was no one home, like before. He went to the back door and much to his joy, he found that they had not replaced the glass in the window. All he had to do was remove the tape and the small piece of cardboard, open the door, replace the tree and be gone before anyone noticed.
He walked quietly across the kitchen's tile floor and onto the living room carpet. He was almost done. He placed the tree right back where it had been four days before and was about to plug in the lights when he noticed that all of Bobby's special ornaments were still on the tree. He reached for them, one at a time, placing them in his pockets as carefully as he could. There were still four on the tree including the beautiful blue star when suddenly, the lights came on and Ron Wilson stood at the foot of the stairs, a small pistol in his hand, pointing it at the intruder.
Puzzled by what he saw and having the upper hand, so to speak, he said, "This better be good, because the police aren't going to believe anything less than the truth!" Duane simply sat down on the floor and began to cry.
Lisa, awakened by her father's voice, came down the stairs. Then Duane regained what was left of his pride and started to tell his story. When it was over, Ron had decided against calling the police. Lisa went over to Duane and hugged him.
Together, they put Bobby's ornaments back on the tree. Bobby would have his tree this year, right in the window for all to see.
The next couple of days were tough, making funeral arrangements and such, but Ron wanted to help this stranger who had first victimized him, and then helped him to understand that sometimes people do things not out of meanness, but out of love.
They, together, said goodbye to Bobby on Christmas Eve, but shared the next few days helping Duane cope with his loss and to get his life back in order.
Ron was able to get Duane a regular job with his company and he returned to playing music with his friends on weekends. There really is something special about Christmas he thought.
Ron thought the same thing.
And, you know, there really is, too.