| General Fiction posted December 20, 2024 |
  |
A True Lesson for Everyone
The Christmas Spirit
by Begin Again
"Class, please remember that your holiday assignment will be worth fifty percent of your grade. Please take the project seriously." Mrs. Walker walked down the classroom aisle, stopping occasionally to chat with a student, nodding, and offering encouragement as she went.
When she reached the back of the classroom, she loomed over Travis's desk, noticing the blank page before him.
"Have you decided on anything, Travis?"
The young man ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding eye contact with her. "Not exactly."
Mrs. Walker raised an eyebrow. "It shouldn't be that difficult. The season is for caring about others, so I've asked you to do something kind and hopefully life-changing for a stranger. That seems simple, right?"
Travis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You see, Mrs. Walker, doing something like that takes money my family doesn't have."
Mrs. Walker paused, considering his words. "Being kind doesn't take money, Travis. Kindness comes from the heart."
"Uh —well, I'll be working at my dad's shop during Christmas vacation. For free, of course." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can't that count as doing something kind?"
"Helping your dad is admirable, Travis," Mrs. Walker replied gently. "But the assignment is about helping a stranger — doing something that will bring joy to both of you."
"I know just about everyone in town, Mrs. Walker. Does it have to be a stranger?"
"The idea is to show kindness to someone who wouldn't expect it because they don't know you." She thought for a moment and smiled. "What about Mr. Henshaw? The man in the cottage at the edge of town?"
"That old man won't talk to no one. I went there once, selling candy for the football fundraiser, and he slammed the door in my face."
"That's why he would be an excellent choice, Travis. You could remind Mr. Henshaw what the season is about. Give him a little cheer."
"Do you want me to fail this class? I'll probably get shot at or something just as bad."
"I don't think he's that bad, Travis. He's just a little grumpy after losing his wife. Maybe you can change that?" She patted Travis's shoulder. "I think he would be the perfect fit for the assignment."
*****
Travis stood in front of Gregory Henshaw's cottage the following day with a small evergreen tree. It wasn't the grandest tree, but it was full of potential, its branches neatly tied together and smelling faintly of pine. He had spent the morning at the tree lot, chopping down a few small trees for Mr. Jackson, the owner, in exchange for the one he now held. It wasn't much — just a few hours of work and a couple of dropped saplings — but it had earned him the tree, which was enough for now.
Travis stood in front of Gregory Henshaw's cottage the following day with a small evergreen tree. It wasn't the grandest tree, but it was full of potential, its branches neatly tied together and smelling faintly of pine. He had spent the morning at the tree lot, chopping down a few small trees for Mr. Jackson, the owner, in exchange for the one he now held. It wasn't much — just a few hours of work and a couple of dropped saplings — but it had earned him the tree, which was enough for now.
Travis wasn't sure why he felt so nervous — maybe it was the assignment or the worry of being rejected. He had no idea how Gregory Henshaw would react to the gesture. Would the old man slam the door again, or would he take one look at the tree and dismiss him altogether? His heart pounded in his chest as he knocked on the door, his fingers trembling slightly.
No response.
For a moment, there was only the sound of Travis's breathing. Then, he knocked again, this time with more force, hoping to break the silence that seemed to stretch forever.
Finally, after a moment, the door creaked open. Gregory stood in the doorway, his gruff face framed by the dim light from inside. His eyes narrowed as if questioning why a young man would be standing there with a tree. "What do you want?" Gregory asked, his voice gruff.
"I — uh — I brought you a Christmas tree," Travis said, holding it up awkwardly. "It's just a little one, but I thought — maybe it could brighten up your place for the holidays."
Gregory looked at the tree, then back at Travis, his expression unreadable. There was a long pause before he spoke. "You take your foolishness and get on with you. I don't take a hankerin' for people to be bothering me."
Travis stood there, frozen. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but certainly not this cold rejection. He had hoped that maybe Gregory would at least consider it, but the man was having none of it.
"I just thought — you might like it," Travis muttered, feeling foolish. "You know, Christmas and all. It's supposed to be a time for —"
"I don't need it," Gregory growled, his voice low and gravelly. When Travis didn't move, he snarled, "What in tarnation — boy, didn't you hear me? I said I don't need no Christmas tree!"
Travis took a hesitant step back, clutching the small tree like a lifeline. "I just thought — it might bring some cheer, you know? Christmas and all —"
"Cheer?" Gregory barked out a laugh, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Gul durn it, boy — cheer ain't got no business here! Christmas was done and gone for me a long time ago. Now git!"
Before Travis could respond, Gregory reached out, snatched the tree from his hands, and tossed it off the porch. The little tree landed unceremoniously in the yard, its branches splaying against the dirt.
Travis's mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at the tree, then back at Gregory, who stood there with his arms crossed, scowling like he'd won the battle.
"I —" Travis began, but Gregory cut him off.
"Don't be standin' there gawkin'. Go on now, take your tree and skedaddle." Gregory jabbed a finger toward the road. "And don't be comin' back with no more of this nonsense, ya hear?"
Travis hesitated, his face flushing with embarrassment. But instead of arguing, he bent down, dusted off the little tree, and hoisted it back into his arms.
"Alright then," he muttered under his breath. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Henshaw." He turned and started back down the lane without waiting for a reply.
As he walked, Travis glanced back once, half-hoping Gregory might change his mind. But the old man was already retreating into his house, slamming the door behind him with a bang that echoed across the yard.
*****
Travis walked slowly back to his house, the sting of rejection still fresh, but he didn't want to give up. That night, he set the tree up outside his bedroom window. It wasn't much — a small tree, far from perfect — but he decorated it with the little lights he had and some ornaments he had found in the attic. It was a simple act, but for some reason, as he looked out the window at it, Travis found himself thinking about the old man. He wondered if Gregory would ever change his mind.
Gregory had lived alone for years in his crumbling cottage at the edge of town. His life had become a quiet routine — a stark contrast to the lively youth he once knew. He rarely smiled now; when he did, it was more out of habit than any true joy. Once thick and dark, his hair had turned silver and thin, much like the forgotten memories of his long-lost love, Margaret.
Every Christmas, the town seemed to glow with life. The streets twinkled with lights, and the air hummed with the scent of pine. But Gregory didn't partake. He hadn't since Margaret passed away so many years ago. Celebrating something that was no longer a part of his life felt wrong.
*****
Later that evening, Gregory stepped out into the yard, seeking solace in the stillness of the night. The crisp air nipped at his cheeks. His gaze wandered, settling on the old shed at the far edge of the yard. It stood stoic and weathered, its once-proud frame softened by time and neglect.
The shed held more than tools and trinkets — inside were memories tucked away like forgotten treasures. It had been Margaret's favorite place, where she tended to her garden plans and tucked away Christmas ornaments. Gregory hadn't opened it in years. The thought of what lay inside felt like prying open his own heart, layered with grief and dust.
But tonight, something called to him. A faint glow shimmered through the cracked boards, faint yet unmistakable. He blinked, wondering if his weary eyes were playing tricks on him, but the light remained steady and inviting.
Driven by a pull he couldn't explain, Gregory approached the shed. Each step felt heavier, his breath hitching as the memories surged. His hand trembled as it clasped the cold, rusted handle. The door groaned open, the sound reverberating into the quiet night.
A soft golden light bathed the room, transforming the clutter into something ethereal. The scent of roses, Margaret's favorite, filled the air. Gregory froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Once a forgotten relic, the shed seemed to pulse with life as if it had been waiting for this moment.
"Gregory."
The voice was as gentle as a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a song he'd yearned to hear. He turned slowly, his breath caught in his throat.
There she was — Margaret — radiant and full of life, just as he remembered her in their younger days. Her auburn hair framed her face, and her eyes sparkled with a joy he thought he'd forgotten, and her smile — oh, that smile — was as warm as a thousand Christmas mornings.
"Margaret," he choked, barely able to speak.
"I've missed you," she said softly, stepping closer. "I've been waiting for you to remember."
He felt the years fall away, swept up in the memory of their love — the laughter, the small traditions, the way her presence lit up even the darkest days. But grief clung to him like a shadow.
"I — I can't," he stammered, his voice breaking. "I stopped celebrating. I stopped — everything. A tree, Christmas — it doesn't feel right without you."
Margaret reached out, her hand brushing his, warm and steady. "Oh, Gregory," she whispered, her voice like a balm to his aching heart. "You haven't lost me. I've always been here, waiting for you to see that love doesn't fade — it grows, even in the quiet moments. You don't need a tree to find joy. You just need to let your heart remember." Her words wrapped around him, soothing the raw edges of his grief.
Tears welled in his eyes as her words seeped into the cracks of his soul. She leaned closer, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek, and in that instant, the shed filled with a brilliance that took his breath away.
And then, like a dream slipping through his fingers, Margaret faded, the light dimming and the scent of roses lingering like an embrace. Gregory stood in the quiet shed, his heart pounding, his face wet with tears.
For the first time in years, his grief seemed to shift, replaced by something fragile yet luminous — something called hope.
The old man stepped back into the yard, gazing at the stars. The air felt lighter, the night softer. As he turned toward his house, he thought of the small tree Travis had brought. Maybe it was time to bring a little light back inside.
*****
The next day, Gregory stood in his yard once more. He looked out at the street, where the young man he had turned away stood, carrying another tree. This time, Gregory felt something stir in his chest — a longing he hadn't known he still had.
The young man looked up and smiled as he approached. "Mr. Henshaw," he said brightly. "Is it still a no for the tree? I was hoping you had changed your mind."
Gregory paused, his heart full. He had changed his mind. "Actually," he said, his voice softer than before, "I think — I think I'd like that tree after all."
The young man's eyes brightened. As he handed it to Gregory, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy cane, holding it out with a cheerful "Merry Christmas!"
Gregory smiled, taking the candy cane. The simple gesture brought a warmth to his heart that he hadn't felt in years.
A few days later, Travis returned to check on the tree. Now sitting on his porch, Gregory saw him coming up the walk. As the young man stepped up, Gregory stood slowly, his hand reaching for something hidden behind him.
"I've got something for you," Gregory said, his voice rough with emotion. He reached out and handed the young man a small wooden box.
Travis opened it carefully, revealing an intricately carved wooden train — an heirloom Gregory had made years ago for a son he never had.
"It's yours now," Gregory said quietly. "For you to keep, or perhaps one day to pass on."
Travis's eyes shone with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Mr. Henshaw. This is — this is incredible."
Gregory nodded, a rare smile crossing his face. "Merry Christmas, my boy. You've given me more than you will ever know."
As the young man left, the tree now sparkling in Gregory's living room, the old man felt a lightness in his heart, and for the first time in years, he looked forward to the warmth of Christmas. A tear trickled down his cheek as he carefully draped Margaret's favorite Afghan over her chair. He looked at the little tree and whispered, "It's nice to know you're here, my love."
Grabbing his coat, he headed toward the front door. He stopped and smiled, "Margaret, I've got an errand to run, but I'll be right back to share Christmas with you. Don't ya be going any place now, you hear."
*****
As Travis stood by his window the following morning, his gaze instinctively drifted toward the little tree outside. It had stood there patiently since he'd first placed it — small but steady, its branches reaching for the sky. The tree had been a quiet witness to his thoughts, struggles, and desire for change.
But today, something was different.
Once bare, the tree was now wrapped in a string of silvery tinsel, contrasting with the grey morning sky. A red envelope was tied to the branches.
Curious, Travis hurried outside to see who had decorated the tree and what the note might say. He opened the envelope and slipped the paper out. The handwriting was shaky but clear.
"Thank you for reminding me what love looks like."
It was Gregory's handwriting. The simple, heartfelt words struck a chord deep within him. Travis looked at the tree again, seeing it through Gregory's eyes, understanding the unspoken meaning behind the gesture.
Now glowing with life, the little tree wasn't just a decoration — it was a promise. A quiet act of healing. It was a way for Gregory to say what he couldn't yet face in person.
Travis stood there for a long moment, his heart full. Maybe things weren't perfect. Perhaps they never would be. But this — this small act — meant more than anything. It was a step. A sign that, possibly, Gregory was starting to understand. And he was, too!
With a sigh of quiet satisfaction, Travis turned and went inside, knowing their connection had taken root in a way they would never forget. He glanced through the window and murmured, "Thanks for the lesson, Mrs. Walker. Merry Christmas!"
 Recognized |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2025. Begin Again All rights reserved.
Begin Again has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
