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Homemade
Christmas
excerpt...
“The American Dream
has become a nightmare. And I’m living it.” Mark sat on the front
porch swing with Maddy after listening to that evening’s broadcast
of the Amos n’ Andy Show. The only light reflecting over them was
the light from the living room window and a few stars twinkling in
the inky dark sky.
She tucked her feet up
under her and met his gaze. “Is it really so horrible being home
again? I couldn’t wait to finish school and come back. I loved the
children I taught every day and I had promised to teach in the city
to help lower some of the cost of school. But I couldn’t wait to get
home. I love it here.”
“It’s not about just
being home. It’s about how the entire world is right now. The stock
market is in a shambles. People are unemployed. Men begging for
jobs. Apple Annies on the street doing the best they can to put food
on the table for their families. I wanted to come home by train to
get here faster. But I didn’t have the money any more than the hobos
that jump the blinds. So, I had to take a bus.” He stood and stepped
to the railing, the only sound the creaking of the swing. “Can you
imagine how humiliating that was? After the way I used to get around
Chicago?”
“I’ve ridden on buses.
They aren’t so bad.”
But it was awful.
Especially compared to his Mercedes. “And President Hoover has no
idea of how bad things are. Why, I wouldn’t doubt if all forty-eight
states are in depression now.”
“I know we’re in a
depression, Mark. We might live simpler lives than big city folks,
but it has hit us here, too. It has affected everyone, even the
farmers.”
“I’m sure it has. Last
year after the crash, Hoover said, ‘Any lack of confidence in the
economic future or the basic strength of business in the United
States is foolish.’ And just a few months ago he touted, ‘All the
evidences indicate that the worst effects of the crash upon
unemployment will have passed during the next sixty days.’ I heard
that jive enough on the radio that I memorized it.” He moved back to
sit in the swing.
“Many people across the
country are having to file bankruptcy, but for now we’re actually
better off than most. With Johnny and Susie growing their own food,
they still have plenty to feed their family every day. Everyone’s
affected in one way or another. I pray every night the town council
can afford to keep me on as the local teacher. Shop owners have had
to lay people off and man their own counters. Do you know how that
felt to most of them?”
“Yes, I do.” He resisted
telling her about the run on the bank and all that he’d lost.
“Those people were their neighbors. Their friends.”
“I wasn’t saying big
cities are the only places that—”
She held up her hand.
“But you didn’t answer my question. Is it really so horrible being
home again?”
He took a deep breath.
Gazed off the porch into the darkness of the night. He didn’t want
to say the wrong thing, but didn’t want to lie either. “It’s not
horrible, Maddy. Just not what I expected for my life. I wanted . .
. more.”
“You wanted things,” she
clarified.
Her honesty shocked him.
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not, but it’s
true. Tell me, Mark, can you really compare the meal we had
tonight—with all the love, laughter and family—with what you had in
Chicago? Did you cook for yourself every night? Or did you eat in
some fancy restaurant?”
He thought of all the
fancy restaurants he’d dined in. At most, he was there so often,
he’d even had his own ‘table.’ “I ate out most every night.”
“Was the food better?”
He laughed. “No, not
much can top Susie or Mama’s cooking.”
She arched a brow. “Was
the company better?”
“Better? No. It was . .
. different.”
“Wealthy girls you met
in your bank?”
“Some.” He reached out
and brushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Its softness
surprised him. Made him want to pull her close and run his fingers
through it. Instead, he said, “Fishing for information? You always
were nosy.”
She swatted him lightly
on the arm and started to get up from the swing.
“Don’t go, Madelyn. It’s
nice talking to you.” He felt so alone here. Even with family
around, loneliness haunted him.
She leaned back into the
white wooden seat. “We used to talk a lot. And I always hated it
when you called me Madelyn. You know I don’t like the name.”
He chuckled. “I know.
It’s why I used it all the time. Loved seeing the expressions you
got on your face. It’s one of the few things about you that hasn’t
changed.”
She shifted in the seat
to face him. “Have I really changed that much? Or have you?”
“You’ve grown up.”
“And you grew away.”
He nodded. “Yes, I guess
I did.” He placed his thumb on the side of his face and rubbed his
fingertips across his forehead. “I didn’t mean to let things get so
distant with everyone. Life just . . . intruded.”
“And you got rich.”
He tilted his head,
watching her. “I did. Is that so horrible?”
“Of course not. It’s
what a person does with the money and how they live that matters.
What did you do with your money?”
“Do? What do you mean
what did I do with it? I bought things.”
An aha look crossed her
face as if she’d scored a major coup. “Exactly. Things. I heard you
had a fancy house and fancy car. Were you really happier in your
house than John and Susie are in this one? Did your car get you
around better than John’s plain Model T? Or did they just look
better?”
Mark sat straighter, his
hackles raised. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”
Maddy’s eyes misted over
as they met his. “Silly man. Don’t you know I always loved you?”
©2009
Leanne L. Burroughs
short story from On A Cold Winter's Night
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