A Chaucer’s Christmas #4

Interlude

“My grandfather got a pineapple and a story that year,” he finished. “And ever since, we’ve been having pineapple on Christmas.”

“After such a traumatic experience, you’d think he wouldn’t want anything to do with it,” the girl under the yellow blanket said.

“It showed his love for my grandmother,” the storyteller said. “So even if it was traumatic, horrible day, it was memorable.”

“I’m sorry we don’t have any pineapple for you,” I said, scratching my head. “I feel like you should have some.”

“I have one,” he replied. “It’s a mini one, but I have it. I always bring one that can ripen by Christmas day.”

I nodded. It was strange, but I respected him for holding to the tradition.

“Who’s next?”

“I have a story I can tell,” one of the other girls said, dropping the hair she was playing with.

 

Story #4: Christmas at the Table

                There were once four friends – a classic band of misfits who had bumped into each other during the first weeks of college and stuck together through it all. They would meet in Livingston Hall and do homework, play games, or just sit and be with each other at the large mahogany table in the corner.

The legs were ornately carved pieces of dark wood, shaped into facsimiles of wolves where they joined to the tabletop and paws where they met the floor. Underneath the lacquer of the tabletop, a stunning panorama showed the very same wolves running through pine trees. Four of them – just like the four friends.

Robby was the leader, if any of them could be called a leader. He was tall and well-liked across the campus, but was just odd enough not to fit into typical social circles. Next to him sat Eric. The two often joked they shared a brain – and in the same way, Eric often was the square peg trying to fit into rounded societal norms. He pretended not to care, though most everyone knew he wished he could fit in a bit better.

Chelsea often called herself the obligatory nerd of the group. She carried a thick book of crossword puzzles in her backpack and would fill them out in pen during her downtime. The group had seen her make a mistake once. If she wasn’t working on a crossword, she would pull out a card game – she had them all – and try to start a round. Sometimes the group would acquiesce, and sometimes they would tease her about her addiction.

And then there was quiet, shy Penelope Ann. Unlike her nickname might suggest, PA rarely spoke above a whisper. It was a pity, to be honest – she had more to say than most people her age.

Robby and Eric had made eye contact while in line for lunch one day, and, as they put it, they knew they were going to be best friends. They, in turn, had stumbled upon Chelsea, who was taking all comers in Uno in the library. Robby had won in the first round, Chelsea won in the second. They played Dutch Blitz next – and Chelsea had won every single game.

Eric and Robby had no other choice – they told her she was their friend now, whether she liked it or not. They met the next night at the large mahogany table, and after three rounds of Dutch Blitz (Chelsea winning each), they invited the dark haired girl who was across the room studying. She hesitantly joined them, but after some coaxing, she sat down and was dealt into the game. Two rounds later, Penelope Ann unseated Chelsea as undefeated champion.

That night, the Table was founded. Other friends came and left, but they four remained the core group. They suffered and persevered together through midterms, finals, relationships, breakups and solitaire tournaments. For three years, they were the stalwart friends that each needed.  As they began their senior year, however, they knew that times were changing.

Chelsea, their obligatory nerd, was planning on doubling down on courses and graduating a semester early. She had been taking extra credits each semester, but now the culmination of those years of work was coming.

“I can’t believe this is your last semester with us,” Eric had said at the beginning of the semester.

“We all knew this was coming,” Chelsea had replied.

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” PA had finished quietly.

The semester had been tainted by that knowledge. Knowing that every time they did something could be the last time they did as a whole group was hard to live with.

As Christmas Break rapidly approached, they decided to end their time together by holding a Secret Santa at the Table. It was a solemn group that came together. PA and Chelsea had already cried before they arrived, and even the usually upbeat and smiling Robby seemed more reserved. Eric was already there when they all arrived, flipping through his advanced mathematics textbook, scratching his head absentmindedly as he worked on the practice problems in preparation for his last final the following morning. Beside him sat a large box, neatly covered in pink wrapping paper.

They all took their customary seats – Eric with his back to the window that overlooked the center of campus, and Chelsea directly across from him. Robby sat to his right, and PA sat to his left.

“All right,” Robby said. “We’re going to do this just like we did the Secret Santa drawing. Penelope Ann, you’re up first!”

PA reached into her bag and pulled out a small cardboard box, unwrapped save for a bright red bow on the corner. “I didn’t have any wrapping paper,” she apologized, handing it to Eric.

He waved it off. “I’m not too keen on getting wrapped presents,” he said, throwing a glance at his gaudy present. “It’s more fun to wrap them.”

Carefully, he used his keys to break the tape and open the cardboard flaps. He let out a small, “Ooh!” as he pulled out a mug. It had a caricature of his head wearing a Viking helmet, along with the words, “Eric the (Well) Read.”

“You like it?” PA asked quietly.

“I love it!” he said, lifting it a heroic manner. “I’ll use it for ale on all of my raiding expeditions.”

The group laughed as they turned to Chelsea. She was carrying a big gift bag with a smiling snowman. She handed it to PA with a smile. “I think you’ll enjoy this,” she said.

With excited glances at Chelsea, PA removed the stuffing paper and withdrew fresh copies of the games they all enjoyed – Uno, Dutch Blitz, Skip-Bo, Phase-Ten and more. Underneath it all was a golden tiara. PA lifted it with a curious expression.

“Now that I’m leaving,” Chelsea explained, “Someone’s gotta be the new queen. I think you can beat these boys any day.”

“We’ll see about that,” Robby said, pretending to crack his knuckles. He motioned to Eric. “Now, I have to ask. Why did you wrap my present in pink?”

Eric shrugged. “I knew you’d appreciate it the most.”

Robby shrugged in possible agreement, garnering a laugh, and Eric pushed the gigantic box toward him. “Have at it, my friend,” he said.

Robby carefully removed the wrapping paper, revealing a box completely wrapped in duct tape. “I should’ve known,” he said, shaking his head at Eric. Eric just smiled in return.

Grumbling to himself, Robby his knife out and began to cut away at the tape. It was slow going – it felt like Eric had used an entire roll of duct tape on one box. But, finally, he found a seam and was able to force it open. When he looked inside, he threw Eric a shocked glance. “The computer you built?” he asked.

Eric nodded. “Why do you think I kept you around all the time? You kept saying what you would put into it, if you could. So that’s what I put into it.” He motioned to the box. “Underneath is a Steam and Epic Games voucher. It’s not much, but it’ll get you started.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Robby said, putting out his arms. “Give me a hug, brother.”

The girls let out a simultaneous, “Aww,” as the guys hugged, then Robby turned to Chelsea.

“Well, to finish this out,” he said, “Here’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas.” He handed her a small envelope and folded his arms, waiting for her to open it.

Chelsea opened it. She expected the customary gift card, but instead found a piece of paper that read, look down. She did so, then over at Robby. “I don’t get it.”

“I heard through the grapevine that the school is planning on getting rid of this table come next semester,” Robby said rapping the hardwood under his hands. “Something about a grant for new furniture. Well, it took a while, but I finally got through to someone and bought it. It’s yours now.”

All three of his friends sat, stunned. “You mean,” Chelsea said, “This table?” She paused, then finished, “You have no idea how thankful I am.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Eric said. “I don’t know what I’d do if it was just gone next semester. At least I know it’s safe somewhere.”

Chelsea put her hands on the clear lacquer, tracing the forested scene below. “Thank you, Robby,” she finally said. “Not just for the table, either. Thank you for all the memories that are etched into its grain from all these years.”

 

Even thirty years later, Chelsea kept the table. When it finally did lose all structural integrity, she had refashioned into a wall ornament. Guests would compliment her on it, but only a few were bold enough to ask her why she kept it, after all these years.

“I grew from a girl into a woman at that table,” Chelsea would answer. “Those kind of memories are not to be tossed lightly to the side.” Then she would laugh. “At any rate, I need an excuse for my college friends to visit.”