You're Like a Book with only One Chapter

"I cried out, Bingo, and this is what they gave me." Aunt B pointed to Nick, a five-foot-tall stuffed Santa Claus. "I just wanted cash! The Idiots!"

I love watching Aunt B rant and rave over the infamous slight perpetrated by a misguided Bingo hall. Never mind that it's been over twenty years. She drags old Saint Nick from the attic for anyone who hasn't heard the story. Heck, even for those who have heard the story. Aunt B isn't picky.

Nick has been in the family longer than I have. The day after Halloween, he takes his place in the corner of Aunt B's living room and stands until the new year. I love the old stuffed Santa. I've been trying to convince Aunt B to pass him on to me, but she insists that I'd hate him. She says, "I wouldn't wish Nick on my worst enemy. No, I better keep him. He's my burden to bear."

I almost got Nick in high school. I ran against several boy candidates for class president and won—the first girl to win in years. Aunt B, an old women’s rights activist, went berserk, bragging about me to anyone who would listen. She wanted to get me a gift for winning. I suggested Nick. She hesitated and remained quiet for an uncharacteristically long time. My hopes began to rise. Then she dashed them, "No, not Nick. I want to get you a good gift."

Another near victory came when I graduated from high school. I kept hinting that Nick would make a great graduation gift. Aunt B disagreed, "Why would you want that old thing? You have to dust him constantly, and he keeps unraveling at the seams and always needs stitching. He's nothing but trouble."

I insisted I'd take good care of him and didn't mind the upkeep. "Besides," I told her, "Who better to take him off your hands than your beloved favorite niece?" I felt I scored big on that comment. Aunt B said she'd think about it.

After giving her space for a week, I approached the subject.

"So, can I have Nick?"

"Do you know how to stitch?"

"You taught me."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." She mumbled something unintelligible. "Are you any good? Nick is a challenging stitch. Got to be good."

"You.." I said slowly, "Taught me."

"You've always been a clever girl and a smart aleck."

I thought I had her up against the ropes, but she's the original "clever girl" and maneuvered free.

"You might be capable of caring for Nick, but I wouldn't want your friends to make fun of you. You're a woman now, and a woman shouldn't be hampered by a giant stuffed Santa. Believe me, I know."

And just like that, Nick slipped through my fingers.

I gave up for a few months, but I would never give up. When I have kids, I want them to grow up with the same feelings I have about Nick. He's stuffed with magic and always smiling, and you can't help smiling when you see him.

It was the day after Halloween, and Aunt B had placed Nick in the living room for the season. It was my time for another attempt.

"Hey, Aunt B!" I let myself inside the old house. She came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

"You're just in time. Come help snap beans."

We snapped, saying little. I worked up the courage, but I had no leverage. No big event. Nothing I could bargain with. But I longed to place Nick in the corner of our living room, so I sighed.

"What?" Aunt B asked.

"Oh, nothing." 

"Amanda Green, no need to beat around the bush. Just spit it out. It's not like I don't know what you will ask. You're like a book with only one chapter."

"Fine. Can I have him? I want to put him in our living room this Christmas."

"I declare you're as tenacious as a bulldog," she said, shaking her head and snapping beans.

"Please, please, please." 

"Stop begging. Green's don't beg." She stopped snapping and looked at me. "When you were a child, I figured Nick was a toy to you. But now you're all grown up. Why do you want him so bad?"

I know I want him, but I never verbalized why. I know the feelings he gives—the feelings of Christmas, of family gatherings, of happy memories. And I know I want the same for them when I have kids. I shudder to think of Aunt B carrying out her threats to throw him away. I carefully answered.

"When you bring Nick downstairs, I get those Christmas butterflies. You know how much I love Christmas. Well, Nick is a huge part of that. I'm afraid you'll throw him away one day. I know how much you hate him. And that would break my heart."

Aunt B doesn't tear up, but I swear she did.

"I tell you what. Even though I hate the cursed thing, I promise never to throw him away. Besides, I gotta get my money's worth."

We had a moment that day. I stopped begging, and life happened. I went off to college and came home with a fiancé . We got married and had a baby girl.

Aunt B was smitten with baby Julie. When we visited, baby Julie would sit staring up at old Nick as if he were talking to her. She'd laugh and clap. It was so adorable.

When Julie turned three, Aunt B was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. She went downhill fast. We had moved to the city by this time and couldn't visit as much.

Just before she passed, she asked to see me and the baby.

"Hey, Aunt B!" I let myself inside the old house, carrying Julie. Aunt B was lying in a medical bed in the middle of the living room. I barely recognized her. She had lost so much weight.

"Come here, you two, and let's talk." She hadn't lost her commanding voice.

"What about?"

"Amanda Williams, no need to beat around the bush. Just spit it out. It's not like I don't know what you will ask. You're like a book with only one chapter."

I began to cry, struggling to retain control.

Between sniffles, I said, "Fine. Can I have him? I want to put him in our living room this Christmas." I broke down and bawled.

"Now, now. Stop that. We all gotta go someday." She handed me a box of tissues. "I know you'll give Nick a good home."

I began to bawl even worse.

"I get it. He's a pain. I'd cry, too, if someone gave him to me."

We both laughed.

"I'm just glad to finally be rid of the old stuffed shirt. He's your burden now. I just wanted cash."

She passed the day after Thanksgiving.

That Christmas, we placed Nick in the corner of our living room and hung a frame over Nick's head with a photo of Aunt B, baby Julie, and me standing on one side of her medical bed and old Nick on the other.