Page 26 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“And I doubt she ever will, because that’s her personality. She will not be the one who gives an inanimate object feelings. She’d be a terrible choice as someone to enter into the Kringle competition, because she wouldn’t add flair. She’d go by the book and never stray to add her own personality to it. Whereas you, my dear…you have that creative spirit. And I know in the past you’ve been burned by happenings in this town, but you can do this; I know you can. And better yet, you and I can do this together.”
Hell, when she puts it like that, she actually makes me believe I have the ability to set aside my fears and take this head-on.
“Tell me,” she continues, “how has life been?”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I cross one leg over the other.
“Any excitement? Anything taking you out of your comfort zone? Anything that removes you from whatever film you’re editing, lets you experience the sun shining, the birds chirping, the world turning around you, the stars twinkling above you at night, and the crisp winter air breathing life back into your lungs?”
“Uh…” I pick a piece of lint off my joggers. “Well, it’s been pretty busy lately with all the work I’ve been given”—a total lie, but she doesn’t need to know that—so I haven’t really had a chance to look up. I think this is the first time in months that I don’t have my computer in front of me.”
She slowly nods. “Well, let me tell you something, Storee. There comes a time when you realize that there aren’t many years left on your life card, and you start thinking back to everything you accomplished. And you start wondering…did I do it right? I don’t want you to look back on your life one day from a hospital bed and regret never taking full advantage of all the opportunities presented to you.”
“I know,” I say softly as I bite down on the corner of my mouth.
“Your sister, she’s programmed to find happiness within her confines of functionality. She finds her greatest comfort in being the robotic human that she is. She likes taking care of people, helping them, making them better; she always has. I don’t worry about her because I know that she’s found a kind of solace in her life. But you…you’re the one I worry about. I’m not sure you’ve found that inner peace. It took me a while to find it. Actually, it wasn’t until I moved into this house that I knew…this is where my peace is. I’d like you to find the same thing.”
“I love visiting you, Aunt Cindy, but I don’t think the tundra is where I’m going to find my peace.”
She chuckles. “I’m not talking about moving here, but I am talking about you finding that peace. That’s so important. And stepping out of your comfort zone and doing things that open your eyes to the world around you are the first steps.”
I sigh and lean back in my chair. “So what you’re saying to me is that if I jump into this Kringle competition feet first, not holding back, embracing the challenge, then it will set me up for so much more in life, possibly finding a sense of calm you don’t think I possess?”
“You tell me…do you feel calm?”
I shift my legs, switching which one is crossed over the other. “I mean, I was very comfortable in my chair, in my home, ready to watch Lovemark Christmas movies.”
“But were you experiencing life?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Did you have plans to celebrate Christmas?”
“No,” I reply, feeling a touch of shame.
She looks out the window of her room, toward the backyard that’s shrouded in tall pines dusted in fluffy white snow. “That makes me sad, Storee. When your parents would bring you here for Christmas, it was…well.” She clears her throat and turns to look at me again. “Those days hold my most cherished memories. Watching you girls run up and down the stairwell when you smelled fresh cookies. How we would sit in front of the fireplace, cross-stitching silly Christmas sayings to hang in the bathroom. Those late nights we would hunker under blanket forts, discussing when we thought Santa was going to arrive. I will leave this earth with those memories close to my heart. I don’t want those memories to die with me.”
“They won’t,” I say, my throat growing tight. I thought I was prepared for such a conversation, but if I’m honest, I can’t imagine my life without her in it. Even we weren’t visiting, she would continue to send us emails and letters, and we stayed in touch—just not in person. We’ve always been closer to Aunt Cindy than we were to our actual grandparents. She’s so warm and full of love…and sass. She gave us amazing Christmases, and I’m sad that I’ve let that go. Let the magic go. In some sense, to not celebrate here, to not celebrate in Kringletown is to not celebrate Aunt Cindy. And that’s not okay.
“What good are memories if you don’t replicate them, if you don’t repeat them…if you don’t share them?”
She’s right. I know she is.
I think over the last few years…and I know I’ve grown complacent in my life.
In my job.
In everything I do.
My friends asked me if I wanted to go out on Friday nights, and instead I stayed home and I worked. To the point that now…they don’t even ask anymore.
My love life is nonexistent. I haven’t even attempted to go out on a date, just sat at home, in my blanket hoodie, watching cooking videos but never cooking for myself.
I’ve found a certain comfort in not doing anything, but Aunt Cindy is right: That’s not really living; that’s skating by. If I’ve learned anything from Aunt Cindy throughout all these years of being around her, observing her, it’s that she lives a spirited, free life with no shame.
Meanwhile, I’ve closed in on myself.
And maybe…just maybe…it’s time to change that.
