yes, I remember pushing big boxes around to make pretend rooms for my house of make-believe friends. Even then I was getting ideas for the people in the stories I wrote later on.”
“Maybe I could go up there and play too. Is that okay, Grandma?”
Grandma looked to Kristen’s mother again before answering, “Certainly you can, my dear – nothing there in the attic to harm you.”
“Nothing to harm you at all,” Kristen’s mother repeated. “I’m sure you could make a playhouse just as you want it, too. Come on now. Let’s get you to bed so we’re rested for Christmas morning – and the presents.”
As Kristen crawled into her soft warm pajamas there in her own special bedroom, her mom and Grandma came around to tuck her in.
“Did you know this was my room when I grew up here, Kristen?”
“Really?”
“Yes, but it looks like Grandma moved out a lot of my big girl stuff to make it a little girl’s room again.”
“Oh, I’m not that little, Mom… but I like it, Grandma. The green-and-yellow stripes make me think of my own room back home, all bright and cheery to make me feel happy.”
“Good… we wanted it that way for you. Sort of a home away from home.”
Kristen’s mother moved around the room, running her hand over the old dresser and nightstand of dark walnut, all polished nice and shiny. “Yes, I think of wonderful times here when I look at this room. This is where I decided to write books, you know.”
“Books for me?” Kristen asked.
“Not back then. That was before I even knew you, silly.” Her mom came over and gave her a little poke in the ribs, making them both laugh. “But I did decide then that I wanted to write and take these ideas in my head about things I wanted to say on paper.”
“That’s all it took to make you a writer?”
“Well, I practiced a lot. And after that I needed to go to college so I could learn how to do it better. And that’s where I met your father - which was a very good thing - for now we have you in our lives.”
“Gee, maybe when I get older I’ll think of stories to write, too.”
“If that’s what you truly want to happen it will become real for you, darling. Until then… you just grow up and think about all the things you can be.”
“Well, you two writers and dreamers talk all you want. But this old granny needs to get her beauty rest. She’s got a big turkey dinner tomorrow. Sleep tight, girls.”
“Your grandmother’s right. Time to get to bed so we can open presents bright and early. See you Christmas morning, Kristen.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
As her mother turned off the light and left, she rolled over to look out of the window, imagining her mom lying there years ago and thinking about what she will be when she got older. In the moonlight (a moon with a foggy ring around it, actually,) the vast meadow looked beautiful out behind the old farmhouse. Kristen could see the big red barn where Grandpa kept the tractor and that black Ford truck he loved so much. He also took great pride in the barn itself, to keep it so clean-looking by recently replacing the rotting wood siding with crimson steel panels. They had farm animals when Mom lived at home – cows, sheep, and such – but now a few chickens were the only ones left. Even before Mom, the Corson (her grandmother’s maiden name) family lived there and passed the property on from the Jacobs generation, and on to the Reeves generation. When Grandma and Grandpa Reeves can’t live there any more, though, probably Kristen’s parents would not be moving to the quiet farm in central Pennsylvania, though. In a way, she looked at that with sadness. What would become of the beautiful old farm then?
Down over the hill from the barn there was a huge pond where Grandpa said there were big old trout. Last summer, when Kristen and her parents visited in mid-July, he actually caught a few of them and Grandma made a big fish dinner for family and friends. It was fun to meet with their neighbors and hear them make a big fuss over the cooking skills of Pat Reeves. (And who would’ve thought Kristen’s dad would be the one to win the watermelon seed-spitting contest that day?) Looking out on that pond this night, Kristen thought about just how the meadow would look if it snowed tomorrow. In her mind she could see herself gliding down over the hill on a sled or toboggan, fluffy snow flying everywhere in the icy-blue winds.
Kristen drifted off to sleep, snuggled in her mother’s old bed. She dreamed about fun things at first, and how happy she was, having a loving family to take good care of her (even though she had wanted to be back with her school friends the day after Christmas). When she had these dreams, it became almost as if she was Andrea Reeves – her mother – now, running and playing out in those same fields she saw before going to sleep. Kristen could see it all from her mother’s young eyes.
And then she heard it, off in a fog…that screechy whiney voice…softly beckoning at first:
“Andrea…Andrea? You’re back after all these years. Well, it’s about time, young lady. Where in the world have you been?”
“No…I’m not who you think,” Kristen began to whisper back to that awful voice somewhere inside her dream.
In this dream she could see now – just barely - up ahead in the hazy mist. The voice was that of a small person, or a creature of some kind. (Oh dear! Was he green?) She could not quite tell yet, so she stepped a bit closer. The ground beneath her was soft and squishy, like cotton puffs. It felt very weird between her toes.
“But you must be Andrea, dear child. This is her space, you know.” And then as she drew near, Kristen heard it:
“You’re back, you’re back,
Sleepin’ in the sack.
I thought I’d see you sooner,
But we kinda lost track.”
Kristen was now as close to the little man as she wanted to be. Or, was he a little elf? A little green elf, right down to the tattered vest and shorts.
“Who are you? Is that you near the fence?” In this foggy mush of a dream, it was difficult to be certain.
“Of course, Andrea.”
“Don’t call me that!” she cried out. “Andrea is my mother, so you must be in the wrong dream.”
In the haze she could see him pull out an appointment book (green, of course) and he flipped it open to this morning’s date.
“Let’s see. December twenty-four…actually, it’s the twenty-fifth now…nope, this has got to be the right dream.” Then he looked to Kristen. “Your dream is on my schedule.” He looked at her more closely. “Hmm…brown hair to your shoulders, rosy cheeks, clear creamy skin, but for a freckle here and there. Even these old eyes can tell you are Andrea Reeves, smoky morning or not.”
This little man is really making me angry, but don’t let him know it.
“Please believe me. You are making a big mistake. My name is Kristen Marsh and Andrea is my mother.”
