Illustrations by Scott Prather
It’s getting colder outside. Whoosh. The wind pushes a bundle of old dried leaves up behind her. They rise in fury only to slowly float back to the ground and settle at her feet. The chill in Texas comes a little later than other parts of the country. It’s early December, and Holly sits on the bench and lets her feet swing below her. Christmas is around the corner, but Holly isn’t as excited about it this year. Life has been challenging to say the least. Her parents got divorced a few months ago. The pandemic had been hard on her family, and the stress got to her parents. Money was tight. Was she even going to get presents this year, she wonders. And the fighting. She was so tired of the fighting. At 11 years old, her own world was changing inside of her as she approached her tween years. She has had a hard time fitting in at school. Like maybe nobody understands what she’s going through. She felt alone.
Sitting at her desk in the last class period of her school day, Holly often wondered why these things seem to only be happening to her. Was she the only one? Why did the rest of kids at school seem to å it so easy? Did anybody understand her? It was as if she were completely alone. Christmas, once a time filled with magic and wonder, was starting to look grim. She wanted to shake off the pain that felt as if ice formed like a shell around her heart.
Alas, the eternal school day was almost over. Turning the corner in the halls in this stuffy middle school, there she was. The new girl. Her skin, pale. Her lips, almost blue. Her eyes, glaciers. Her tone-on-tone outfit matched her lips, and her hair was a shade lighter than her skin. “I can’t believe her parents let her bleach her hair,” Holly whispered out loud to herself. Holly wanted to say hello to her but was so shy. No, maybe not today. She started to walk past her until a giant eighth-grader ran into Holly pushing her into the ghostly new girl.
“Ouch!”
“What did you say?”
“That hurt.”
Illustrations by Scott Prather
The eighth-grader got in Holly’s face. Her wide eyes narrow into focus, staring dead into Holly’s. She had seen this look before when she had a staring contest with her cat once before. The cat interpreted that stare as a challenge to a duel and scratched Holly across the face missing her left eye by a pine needle. It was then she learned that that look is a threat.
“What did you say?” She repeated it again, this time giving her a chance to correct herself. “Nothing, sorry,” Holly said. “Leave her alone,” the new girl cut in. While she is little, this girl had a fierce and ageless look on her face. It said, do not mess with her or she could cut you with one look worse than any cat could. The monolith moved on, rattling the lockers with each step.
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Agatha. Yours?”
“Holly.” Agatha, that was such an old person name, Holly thought to herself. It fits though.
“Holly, want to get out of here?”
“You mean cut class?”
Illustrations by Scott Prather
“No, after school. I just moved here and wanted to try the Tarantula Steam Train. It sometimes picks up in the Stockyards. My mom told me if I tried to make at least one new friend at school today that she would give us a ride. It could be cool. And you seem nice. Lonely, but nice. Wanna go?”
“Sure, anything is better than home right now. I will ask my mom. Wait, I think I am with my dad today. I’ll ask him.”
Within an hour Holly and Agatha were on the train. Agatha’s mom made a deal that they could ride in the train car alone, but she would be just one car over.
The train smelled like cinnamon, apples, and evergreens. The scent took Holly’s mind to another time and place. To her grandmother’s house in North Riverside. She was little and everyone was together. Everyone used to always be together. She remembered her grandmother had been prematurely running the heater since Oct. 1 as soon as the wind changed the outside temps to 88 degrees from 105. But that smell of the heater when you first turn it on in the season — the smell of stale dust burning — was a happy memory and reminder of the fresh, cool air outside. The smell in the train also reminded her of the apple pies her grandmother cooked during the holidays. She smiled at these memories.
HOOOOT CHOCOLATE! A man in an elf costume pushed a cart down the aisle of the train. I may be a little too old for hot chocolate, but why not? she thought. Agatha wasn’t above it either. Can you really ever be too old for hot chocolate? Nah. Holly struggled to get that first sip of thick chocolate through the toasted marshmallow mound floating on top. It was perfect. The taste alone made her smile. It tasted like Christmas, the Christmas she had almost forgotten.
Agatha, not knowing Holly at all as they had just met, asked her about her story. “You look sad sometimes when walking the halls at school,” she said. “What’s going on?” Right then, the train started to rattle and shake. Agatha stayed calm as if nothing were happening. Or maybe she expected it. Had she been here before? But Holly freaked out. A giant blue circle of light, not unlike the shades of blue on Agatha’s clothes and lips, formed inside the train car.
“Get up. Let’s go.”
“Where? Let’s go where?”
“I want to show you something.”
Right then, Agatha grabbed Holly’s hand and pulled her into the portal.
Flash. Their entire world just changed. Yet, in many ways, it was the same. The difference was that in this place, she felt like she was wrapped in her grandmother’s arms. Safe, maybe. She looked up and saw a blue sky and high wispy clouds. Those winter clouds that seem to exist on the edge of the earth’s atmosphere only in winter. Not low and heavy like the dense clouds that form in the summer. It must still be December, she thought. She looked to her left and saw the Trinity River. To her right, Santa. Wait, SANTA? Where was Agatha? And what was he riding on? A longhorn? Can you even ride those things? She had so many questions. Panic would have normally erupted in her throat, but she felt so much peace in this place. The sun in North Texas during winter felt like a warm blanket offering little breaks from the bitter cold the wind and shade sometimes bring.
“Ho-ho-ho. Don’t worry about your friend. I sent her to bring you to me. You were about to tell her your story, but before you do, I want to show you a few things.”
What is going on? Whatever it was, anywhere was better than home. She is on horseback, and he is on this statuesque longhorn. “My child, do you remember the day you were sitting in the back row at Morningside Elementary. It was fourth grade. They were reading out the awards,” Santa said.
“Science award goes to Bobby Jones!”
But it goes to Bobby every year, she thought to herself.
“The reading award goes to Holly Carter!”
“My sweet child, that same year you won several top art awards too. You have made top honors throughout elementary school as well. Don’t forget the power you carry within yourself. The joy and magic of Christmas are inside each of us, waiting to be unlocked. You can harness them and create joy.”
He reached into his pocket and grabbed something. “Here, your grandmother Nell wanted me to give you this.”
“How do you know my grandmother? I don’t even know her!”
It was a key, an antique key that had the letters T&P on it. It must belong to the Texas and Pacific Railway that used to take businessmen and travelers all the way to California and back before there were airplanes. Now, the Trinity River Express commuter train Dallas - Fort Worth route ends at that station, and the Texas and Pacific Lofts are in place of what was once the corporate office, paying homage to a little Fort Worth history.
Her father had told her stories about his parents and their adventures. Holly’s grandfather would travel to California for work using this train in the 1950s. Her grandmother Nell loved tagging along for the adventure. But Holly never met her. She died of cancer at a young age nearly 10 years before Holly was born. Holly has always been told she looks just like her. Her hands, her gestures, the way she walked, her tall and skinny frame. Her smile and uneven ears that made her sunglasses always seem a little crooked. It was as if Nell was always with her cheering her on. Sometimes she would think of her at random. What would it be like to have her as a grandmother? She had heard she was a fashion icon and an outgoing socialite. The story goes, when dysfunction would descend onto her grandmother Nell’s home like a winter storm, she would say, “All I want for Christmas is an orange and a few kind words.” That always stuck with Holly. She felt kindness was more important than winning the fights, so she often surrendered remembering these words.
“Holly, you have everything you need within you. Christmas magic doesn’t exist outside of us, but in our hearts. Nobody can take that away from us unless we give it to them,” Santa said in his soft yet booming voice.
Santa pointed to memories, reminding Holly of moments where she felt proud and resilient. “You loved to read. If things ever feel challenging, you escape into a book. Tales of horses like Black Beauty overcoming so much tragedy, The Chronicles of Narnia took you to faraway places in a fantasy world where courage was needed. You’re resilient. No matter how complicated life got, you found ways to overcome it through reading or riding your bike or being outside in nature.”
Once Santa turned her attention to these good memories, other special moments flooded her memory. Like trips after school to the Japanese Garden with her mother. Her mom would pack a treat. They would go in the fall when the maples were fluorescent red against the sparkling orange and yellow backdrop of trees that hung over the koi fishpond. They would talk and laugh. Here, her mother taught her, her favorite word — a Japanese word that has no English translation. Komorebi: the light that shines through the leaves of trees. Holly always thought that light was so beautiful. If she was ever in a dark place, she would close her eyes and remember the streams of light that would beam through tree canopies in her neighborhood. She soon noticed these everywhere. When she was walking her dog in the fall when the light was softer and almost gold. It was as if the magic of that word followed her in her imagination and her heart.
“Remember that time that you went to the Kimbell with your parents, and they promised if you didn’t touch the art, they would take you to Parton’s Pizza for the all-you-can-eat buffet? Or the time you got your ears pierced and your parents got you pumpkin earrings to wear on your birthday. You all went to Paris Coffee Shop, as you did every Saturday, and split a bacon and cheese omelet with extra bacon. Your life has been filled with beautiful moments full of love.”
Illustrations by Scott Prather
Santa pointed across the river. One white wolf and one black wolf walked along the bank, powerful and graceful. “Each wolf represents something. One could represent negativity, darkness, and shadows, and the other represents goodness, light, healing, and joy. Whichever one you feed is the one that grows stronger,” Santa says.
Holly thought for a minute while listening to the meditative sound of her horse’s feet hitting the trail in a rhythm that calmed her heart. She realized that maybe the answer to finding her Christmas joy is to focus her thoughts into the good in her life while not shutting the door on her bad memories and current hard times but using them as a way to help others. Because Christmas is about giving not getting, Holly thought to herself.
“If you could have one wish, what would it be? Think of something that will bring you out of the challenging moments you’ve wrestled with lately,” Santa said.
“To fly.”
Holly’s favorite Christmas show was “The Snowman,” an instrumental television film known as a symphonic poem that came out in 1982 in England. It is based on the 1978 book by Raymond Briggs. There are no words but just scenes and music. It was her mother’s favorite, and something she and Holly would watch together each year. In the mesmerizing cartoon, the little boy’s snowman he built during a snowstorm that day came to life that night. The snowman took the little boy’s hand and off they go, flying over the snow-blanketed farms and fields, oceans, and seas in a magical moment. A boys’ choir sings the enchanting song “Walking in the Air,” by Howard Blake, which plays hauntingly in the background.
The sun was starting to set in its big-sky Texas way. Oranges, pinks, and golds filled the horizon. Just then, her wish came true. Standing at 6 feet tall with a little orange nose, a green bucket hat, and a matching green scarf, The Snowman appears. He took her by the hand and off they went. She waved goodbye to Santa with a smile so big her cheeks filled with cold winter air as if they could slow her down like sails on a boat. Butterflies tickled her stomach. They soared over Fort Worth as the sky turned to indigo, then sparkles filled the dome above her. The people far below were sleeping. She was so high above and outside. The Snowman, with his squishy and soft hand in hers, smiled endlessly back at her. Here, she was untouchable. Here, she saw the bigger picture. Here, she could see everything will be OK. There is so much more in this world than her problems. Stuck in her bedroom with her AirPods on, they felt so big. But up here, with the world in view and a kind snowman by her side, they seemed so small.
They flew through the buildings of downtown Fort Worth, past the Frost building, then over the T&P Lofts, the Fort Worth Museum of Science and History, Casa Mañana’s landmark silver dome punctuated with geometric shapes. They passed neon-blue lined Cook Children’s Medical Center where she battled a painful autoimmune disease last year, remembering another thing she overcame while also remembering how many other children suffered worse than she did. How could she help them this Christmas? Then they passed over East Lancaster, where homeless people lined up for food and cots to sleep in that night. How could she help them this Christmas? Suddenly, her thoughts were taken away from her pain, while not muting her feelings. She had heard the famous Fort Worth civil rights activist Opal Lee on the news the other day during an interview. Holly was amazed that this woman was 96, still walking without a cane, still helping others, and filled with so much joy. The journalist asked Ms. Opal, “What’s your secret to all this energy and resilience and joy at 96?” Ms. Opal’s eyes widened and smiled while she said, “Every morning I wake up and think about what I can do for someone else that day.”
Everything started to make sense for Holly. Her heart grew inside her chest. Her parents’ divorce suddenly didn’t seem like the end of the world. And instead of waiting for people to ask her to be friends at school, why couldn’t she walk up to them and ask them to hang out?
Tomorrow was Christmas. She was safe back in her house after a quest that reminded her that life is magical and beautiful and that Christmas magic exists inside her heart. The part of her that connects us to each other and to all the things good in this world. It exists in all of your hearts too.
Her spoiled cousins were inside fighting over who got to open the Christmas Eve present first. Holly went out to her mother’s car and sat on the hood, lying back on the cold metal and looking up at the sky. The stars were brighter than ever on this clear and cold night. For the first time in her life, Holly felt connected to everything in the sky, feeling both most important yet small all at the same time. The vastness of the universe and her place in it all humbled her. Was this her first deep thought? She wondered as her thoughts wandered back to her recent adventures. Then she felt her grandmother Nell gracefully sitting next to her on the hood of her car. “All I want is an orange and a few kind words for Christmas,” Holly whispered. Kindness. That is what Christmas magic is all about. Kindness to each other. Not just to the people who support us the most, but to strangers. She realized it isn’t just about what she can get out of life, but what she can give back in life and what she can do for others who may be feeling like she has been? Holly, the most numbered little spec in an endless sea of stars, had a very important role in this world. She looked at the railroad key in her hand. She smiled knowing Christmas magic had returned to her heart once more. This time, she wasn’t giving it away. Instead, she will share it.
“Goodnight, Agatha. Goodnight, Snowman. Goodnight, Santa.” She smiled once again, thankful for this priceless Christmas gift.
