The Ornament

A thin shaft of sunlight dances on the floor around me as I lay there waiting. I roll over to view my surroundings. The skylight far above me lets in just enough of the morning light to bring a magical glow to the room. The cobweb by the door glitters a warning to any flies venturing too close. The cool draft under the door brought the dust in the room to life. Specks of it float through the ray of light, winking as if to remind me that my wait was nearly over.

The year has felt long. I have counted the light and dark through the skylight. I know it couldn’t be much longer. Ice crystals had disappeared from the glass as the days grew warmer. Then the first Spring rains came. There was a slight crack in the window. I nearly always got wet. I counted the drops as they slid from the eaves into the tinny drainpipes. Then came the stuffiness of summer.  Birds flittered above the skylight singing to me long after their usual time to go. Fall is beautiful. I can smell the burning leaves and watch smoke drifting through the empty branches. There’s a distinct crackling sound as people move through downed leaves. I hear the children yelling “trick or treat”. It’s all over now.

The first snowfall came a while ago. Each flake that slides down the cold glass of the skylight reminds me that my wait was nearly over. Now the skylight is completely covered. Everything in the room is in shadow. When the crystal cobwebs disappeared into darkness and the dust settled, it didn’t scare me. It comforted me knowing these were signs the waiting was over.

I relax into my soft tissue bed and wait for the footsteps. I am always pleased with the gentle way they put me away to wait. I am more fragile with each passing year. The people in this house have been very good to me. I am always up front where I can be appreciated. They give me a view of the room where I can watch the children simmering all season long, then bubbling over on the big day. I can watch presents being wrapped then being given a playful shake as people try to guess what is in them. Being hung by a light is the best. I can reflect all the joy I feel for the family.

Something was wrong. Snow has covered the skylight, but I can still tell the difference between light and dark. Too many days have passed.  It is colder. The draft under the door is icy. Still no footsteps.  They have never been this late. I couldn’t have counted wrong. I’ve been doing this for years. Maybe I was getting too old. I count three more days. Still no footsteps. Crystals of frost have formed on the inside of the skylight. My enthusiasm has turned cold. The dark shadows on the wall seem to be leering at me like they know why I am still waiting.

Then I hear it. The third stair from the top always creaks. I know I am safe. The time has come. I can hear someone on the floorboards outside the door. The smell of sulphur permeates the room as a match lights a candle. Slowly the door opens. Standing in the shadows is a large but familiar figure.

As the candle illuminates the room, I notice subtle changes to the scenery. The cobwebs are larger, the dust a little thicker. The room takes on a magical glow as my pleasant memories glitter in the musky atmosphere. The wait is finally over. The figure comes towards me with a hesitancy. I am in a hurry. If possible, I would jump into his arms begging to be taken out of the room. I wait patiently as he fumbles past old boxes, stopping to wipe the cobwebs from his face. Finally, he reaches down and picks me up.

He carries me carefully down the stairs. I smile as the third step from the top creaks. The light gets brighter as we descend. The warmth of the house rises around us, reflecting my feelings for this family and this occasion. Hanging beside us in the stairway is the family portrait. I could describe each one of them without looking because I love each one equally. I have watched the children grow up year by year.

The man stops and lowers me to a chair where I can see the rest of the room. I know the surroundings well. I think of them all year as I lay in the attic. A slight flickering catches my attention. It shouldn’t be there. I see the calendar on the wall. I’ve been brought down too late. Something is wrong. I turn slightly to my left. In shock, I stare at the pine tree in front of the bay window. There are new lights clipped to every branch blinking monotonously on and off, warning me. I see the rest of the tree covered in plastic decorations, so new that the gum from the price tags hasn’t worn off. They shine cheaply around the room.

The warmth of the room means nothing. I feel cold and start to shake. If tears were possible, I would cry. All the memories, the waiting, the anticipation shatter before me. I am old and worn. My features are fading every year. My fragile glass structure won’t last much longer. But I thought they still cared for me.

The man, now in a heavy overcoat, scarf, and hat, lifts me into his arms. The rough tweed on his coat catches against my glitter. I feel his soft kid leather gloves against my back. As we pass through the kitchen, I can smell gingerbread men baking in the oven. A cold chill catches my neck. I shudder as he steps out the door onto the crisp snow. I count his footsteps until I hear a final crunch under his winter boot. I hear a clang as he picks up a large round metal lid. The cold steel lines seem to fit with the wintery surroundings. Frightened I feel myself falling away from him, completely alone. I struggle to understand what’s happening. I choke as I land. Strange odors surround me. The smell of rotten tangerine peelings engulfs me. The cardboard beneath me is seeping with week old soup. It’s damp and sticky on my back. I turn and a piece of ham grizzle rubs against me. I want to scream but can’t.

This terrible place suddenly starts to get darker. The man is just staring down at me. His hand comes towards me then stops. He shakes his head from side to side then slowly replaces the steel lid. A final clang and it’s all over.