"How much?"

"Sixteen cents."

"Sixteen cents?" Sherry stood with her hands on her aproned hips. Her head, its tiny, white waitress hat crookedly bobby-pinned on top, bobbed side to side as she spoke. 

"They tie up that booth for two hours and leave you only sixteen stinkin' cents?" Her lips pressed together tightly like a tiny round Cheerio.

"Know what I'm gonna do?"
Quickly, she answered her own question.

"Next time they come in here, I'm gonna tell that bitch that that bastard is married."

"You wouldn't!" Marsha gasped.

"You bet yer sweet butt I would AND I'm gonna tell her to wise up and that not only should she not be involved with a married man, but he's a stinkin' CHEAP one at that. Jeezuss, if she's gonna get tangled up with a married man she at least ought to find one that ain't so cheap. No cheap man is ever gonna leave his wife; it costs too much nowadays."

Having finished what she had to say on the subject, she dramatically ripped a page off the order pad, leaned into the kitchen window and yelled, "Order UP!" before turning and stomping away. 

Marsha's rested her weary head in the palm of her hand as she leaned upon the counter. The chipped, faded,  countertop was blotched with ketchup and coffee stains and she knew she should be wiping them up, but she just had to rest. Just for a moment. She closed her eyes and listened to George yelling at the cook in the kitchen behind the big wooden doors. Thank God he was busy so she could rest for a few seconds without being caught. Her legs ached. Her back throbbed. And her day had only begun 3 hours ago. She still had over 12 hours before she could go home, crawl into bed, fall into a dead sleep for 5 ½ hours then do it all again tomorrow. 

She wanted to sleep.

And she wanted to take one of the empty ketchup bottles that needed to be refilled again and throw it at one of the speakers that played the damn Christmas music too loudly.

Sherry walked by, ripped another order off her pad, swung open the wooden swinging door, yelled into the kitchen, "ORDERS UP!", then let the door swing shut with a "thump, thump, thump". She stood in front of Marsha, her hands on her hips, chewing and snapping her gum.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks. Sweet of you to notice."

Sherry laughed. The gum inside her mouth snapped. She leaned upon the counter, brought her face close to Marsha's and spoke in a low voice so the customers at the end of the counter wouldn't hear. The gum mingled with the scent of her coffee and cigarette breath.

"What's the matter sweetie? Are you OK?"

Marsha sighed.

"Yea, I'm OK. I guess. If you call being dead tired OK."

"How many doubles you working?" Sherry asked.

"As many as I can get," Marsha replied.

"Christmas huh?" Sherry said.

Marsha nodded.

"I have to get Sarah a Buzzy-Bonkie. She is counting on Santa bringing one for her; I just can't let her be disappointed. It would break her heart."

Sherry shook her head.

"Well God bless you Marsha; you're a better woman than I am. I can't even think about getting one of those damn things for my kids. I already told them that Santa couldn't make enough this year for all the kids so they shouldn't plan on getting one. I can't afford a hundred and fifty dollars for a stupid toy that lights up and makes silly noises. Of course what I'd LIKE to tell them is that if their good-for-nothing father hadn't run off without paying a dollar in child support maybe they could have one."

"I know," Marsha said, "I can't afford it either, but she's such a good little girl and asks for so little. And she's been so sick lately. It would really light up her life to have one."

"Getting the money is only half the problem. They're impossible to get now, you know that don't you?"

"Yea, I know," again, Marsha sighed.

They stopped talking as the bell on the door tingled and a family entered the diner. They stared at the newcomers.

The family was magazine-cover perfect. The father, tall, with a handsomely-featured face complete with slicked back, dark, thick hair, helped his wife take off her camel-hair coat before taking off his own and hanging them both up. The Barbie-doll wife, perfectly coifed blonde hair, with petite, delicate features was dressed in a stunning red holiday outfit that accentuated her perfect size 6 figure. Pearls and diamonds completed the ensemble. The little girl was about 6 years old, Sarah's age. Her hair was pulled into two adorable little pigtails sticking up out of the side of her head, each wrapped in huge Holiday bows that matched the pattern of her dress. Her little black paten-leather shoes were spotless and shined like a mirror. 

Each of her tiny little hands clung tightly to one of a pair of Buzzy-Bonkies; one was green and yellow, the other pink and red.

The toys were in constant motion and sound: lighting up in bright colorful flashes, their skin shimmering, shining, making whirling, boinging, buzzing sounds interspersed with cute, contagious, giggly laughter.

All three members of the perfect family smiled, laughed and generally seemed to be tremendously enjoying each other's company.

Marsha hated them. 

Immediately she felt remorse, embarrassed at her thoughts and feelings about people who she didn't even know.

"You're up," Sherry said, snapped her gum, turned, barreled through the swinging doors and yelled at the chef, "Hey! Where's my Godd-ddamn order?"

Marsha slowly pulled the order form and pencil from the pocket of her orange and brown apron. She flipped back a lock of hair that persistently fell onto the front of her face, reached up to make sure the waitress cap was in place and approached the family.

"Hello," she said, her face contorting into an instant, false smile.

The parents returned her smile and greeting. The child's attention was not to be pried from the toys.

"What nice Buzzy-Bonkies," Marsha said, "Where'd you get them?"

The girl replied in a sing-songy voice without moving her eyes from her prize.

"Missy got them for me."

The father explained, "Missy is her nanny. She waited in line since 8pm last night finally when the store opened at 9 this morning. She was able to get one for her. They were sold out by 9:15."

The three people of the perfect-family all smiled.

Marsha felt like throwing up. A nanny that would wait in line for 13 hours on a cold December night? To have the money to be able to buy TWO Buzzy-Bonkies? And to be able to give them to your child for no special occasion; to not have to wait two weeks to Christmas. 

The feeling that she hated these people grew stronger.

As she took their order she wondered if she was coming down with a cold; suddenly she it felt so cold and hard inside her chest. "God don't let me get sick," she prayed. She needed to be able to work to make the money for the toy. Then she'd work on finding one to buy.

The too-perfect-family smiled as they put on their coats and wished her a Merry Christmas. They left a .45 tip.
 

Sherry took off her apron and hung in on the hook in the kitchen. 

"Maybe we'll get new aprons for Christmas. Anything would be better than them Godd-ddamn colors. Brown and orange. Well I guess he figures no one's gonna steal them."

Marsha nodded as she counted her tips. 

"Good night Marsha. Drive carefully. They say the roads are bad."

Marsha nodded again. 

Sherry watched her.

"How much?"

Marsha smiled wide enough so that the space where a couple of absent teeth on the right side of her mouth showed. Though they'd worked together three years yet Sherry had never seen that space before.

"$24.12. I think I can do it Sherry.  I've still got a week. If I work 6 more doubles, I think I can make enough to keep the electricity on and still have the $150 to get a Buzzy-Bonkie."

Sherry shook her head, "And where on earth do you think you are you going to get one? The stores are sold out."

Marsha looked around to make sure no one was listening. The diner's lights were off; the front door was locked; the chef was in the far corner of the kitchen whistling "Holly Jolly Christmas".

She whispered, "Frankie said he could get one for me". Again, she broke into a wide grin.

"Frankie?" Sherry popped her gum. "He's trouble Marsha, I'd stay away from him if I were you. You know what kind of business he deals in."

"I know, I know, but I believe him this time Sherry. I mean he knows it's for Sarah. He wants to see my kid get a Buzzy-Bonkie for Christmas. He promised me he'd save one for me."

Sherry clucked and shook her head.

"You be careful missy," she said as she yanked on her gloves, turned the key that was in the lock of the door, wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck then pulled her hat down to shield her eyes. She left, letting the door bang behind her.

Marsha sat in her frozen car, hunched over the steering wheel that she gripped tightly with torn, worn gloves. She peered through a small circle of visibility in the ice-covered windshield as she drove and although the wind whipped with a frostbiting sting, she was warm inside.

"Sarah is going to have a Buzzy-Bonkie for Christmas!" 

She sang "The Little Drummer Boy" as her car slipped and slid along the dark, icy back roads toward home.
 

December 23rd
6:15pm

Sherry watched Frankie slither out of the diner. Marsha now sat alone in the booth. Her face looked like it had been chiseled in stone. A cold, pale, lifeless stone.

Though the diner was busy and Sherry had a hand full of orders, she stopped beside Marsha, leaning down. 

"What happened?" she asked.

 Marsha didn't answer.

"Marsha! What happened?" she demanded.

"He," it hurt to talk, "he wants $225."

"$225!? That bastard!" Sherry spit the words, "I knew he'd do you wrong, that creep." She stomped off toward the kitchen.

Marsha sat with her shoulders slumped forward. Her eyes began to fill. In the middle of a busy diner with a crowd of people all hustling and bustling with holiday energy, she was painfully alone.

"Excuse me, miss?" A tiny, hunched over, white-haired man tapped Marsha on the shoulder, "could we have some more coffee?"

"Oh, of course, yes, of course," she jumped up, wiped her eyes on her sleeves and hustled to get the coffee pot.
 

December 24th
11:10 PM

Marsha entered the front door of the apartment, using her back to push the door closed against the bitter, biting wind that tried to follow her in. She exhaled a loud sigh of relief when the door was finally shut. Outside, the coldest, nastiest storm of the year banged down upon the city and knocked at her door.

But, she had done it!

In her hand was a bag, and in the bag was a brand new, purple and gold Buzzy-Bonkie. This was going to be the best Christmas ever.

She took the toy out of the bag and looked at it. It stared innocently at her from inside its box. Tomorrow it would come alive, its big bright eyes would blink, spin and turn colors; its translucent skin would shimmer as liquid iridescent colors flowed through it, its charming mouth would smile, laugh and giggle; its fuzzy little face would move, tilt and rotate, and its colorful little body would jump and dance. All the other body parts and features would move, light up and make delightful noises that would thrill a young girl. 

She couldn't wait for tomorrow.

She almost couldn't believe it. She had done it! It had been hard; she was exhausted, but she had a Buzzy-Bonkie for Sarah. And she had Sherry to thank for that. Sherry had taken up a collection at work and got the extra $70 she needed. Of course it was only a loan and now she'd have to pay back $10 a week for 7 weeks. But God bless them all for finding the kindness in their hearts to do that for her. 

But it was all worth it. Now she had the toy and tomorrow was going to be the best Christmas that she and Sarah had ever had.

She reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a canned ham. A gift from George, the owner of the diner. Next she pulled out a bottle of wine, also his gift. She unscrewed the top of the wine, poured herself a glass and smiled as the liquid warmed her inside. She couldn't recall the last time she'd had a drink.

Her thoughts returned to tomorrow. It was going to be a great day. 

She plugged in the string of colored lights on the Christmas tree. It was an old, plastic tree that had belonged to old Mrs. Donahue down the hall and when she had died 3 years ago, her children had thrown it out. Marsha had grabbed it from the sidewalk, cleaned it up and although some of the branches were missing and few others mangled and bent, it still made a good Christmas tree. Sarah loved it. They had strung popcorn together and hung that on the tree. The ancient string of colored lights blinked on and off, illuminating the room while she carefully wrapped the Buzzy-Bonkie. 

Finally she could relax. Grabbing the TV remote and her glass of wine, she plopped down upon the soft, worn couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table. She wiggled her toes. The big toe on her left foot peeked through a thin spot at the top of the sock. They ached, her toes. As did her ankles, her legs. Hell, every inch of her ached. 

But she smiled. None of that mattered.

As she flipped through the channels, past the commercials and reruns, a "BREAKING NEWS" announcement caught her eye and she stopped tapping the remote.

A solemn news reporter stared at her through the TV screen, as if he stared directly at her and her alone. She turned up the volume and his deep, monotone voice filled the living room. 

"ABC Toys, makers of the popular Buzzy-Bonkie toys, tonight has announced a recall on the toy after learning that in certain situations, the combination of paints and chemicals used to make the entertaining sounds and lights could possibly produce toxic gases or explosions, leading to severe injury, such as blindness or burns, perhaps even death in children who are playing with the toy…"

The rest of his words faded away from Marsha as if he were an untethered astronaut floating away from his space ship in an old outer-space movie.

First she went numb as she sat staring at the television. Her jaw dropped down. Her lips formed a small, "O". The remote fell from her limp hand.

Then she cried.
 

December 25th
6:30 am

"Mamma! Mamma! Get up! It's Christmas! Let's go see if Santa visited us!" 

All ten of Sarah's tiny fingers wrapped around Marsha's hand as the girl tried to pull her out of bed.

"OK, OK, I'm coming!" Marsha got out of bed and immediately felt the draft and chill that would be their constant companion until May. She quickly threw on a sweatshirt, pulled up a pair of sweatpants and yanked big thick socks on her feet. The girl was dressed in thin pajamas that were two sizes too small.

Although the child's face beamed with excitement, her skin still had the pasty white paleness of a child that has been  sick. Delicate pink rimmed her eyes. She tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a reoccurring cough. In the summer she would look healthy again, as she tumbled around in the sunshine, but this time of the year, she was always weak and frail. 

"Honey, go put some socks on," Marsha steered the girl toward her room, "and a sweater" she yelled as an afterthought. Within moments, the child ran back to her; a blue sock on one foot, a red sock on the other and a baggy purple sweatshirt the bottom which circled below her knees and sleeves that almost hit the floor.

"Come on Mamma, let's go downstairs!" The child vibrated with enthusiasm. Marsha followed her down the stairs. Her aching muscles and bones seemed worse. She had lay awake in bed most of the night dreading the morning and wrestling with questions for which there are no answers. Questions about life, and fairness, and good and bad and right and wrong and why. Mostly, she wondered about why.

Sarah ran toward the tree and plugged in the lights. The blinking colors illuminated the room. Underneath the tree was empty except for one tiny present. The lights blinked down, reflecting upon a single, tiny present that was neatly wrapped in tin foil.

"What is that?" Marsha asked.

The little girl jumped up and down.

"Open it. It's for you; for you from SANTA!" Giddy glee exploded from her.

Marsha slowly unwrapped the present.

Her throat tightened. Her vision became blurred as her eyes filled with tears. She felt the familiar pinch on her nose and started to sniffle as her heart broke into little pieces.

Inside the carefully wrapped package was a pair of orange socks.

"What a beautiful pair of socks!" she managed to say.

Marsha looked at her daughter who beamed with pride.

"Santa gave me these?"

The little girl fell onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Who gave these to me?" Marsha asked, "did you?" 
She reached down and tickled the girl who by now, was laughing hysterically.

"Yes! Yes Mamma! I got them for you! Do you like them? I thought you'd like how bright they are and Mamma look! They match your uniform! And aren't they warm? They'll keep your cold toes warm all winter Mamma."

"Well they certainly are bright, and yes they are warm and do match my uniform. They're lovely honey, but how did you get the money to buy them?"

The girl smiled. As she spoke, her tongue poked through the tiny space of an absent tooth in the front of her smile, "Every day when I walk home from school I pick up cans and bottles and turn them into Mr. Gerry at Gerry's Grocery and he gives me 5 cents for each. So I saved my money until I had enough to get you a Christmas present!"

"Oh honey, I am so proud of you. Thank you so much. This is a wonderful Christmas present. The best that anyone has ever given me." Marsha hugged the whisper of a child.

The little girl looked around the room with wide eyes.

"Oh sweetie, come here. I have something to tell you." Marsha pulled the girl closer to her.

"Santa had a problem last night getting here because of the storm. But he called and said he'd bring you a present later this week, OK?"

The girl smiled shyly at her mother.

"Mamma, I know there's no Santa."

"You do?"

"Yes, the kids at school told me. You are my Santa and I'm your Santa, right?"

Marsha nodded, "Yes sweetie, that's right".

She paused. "Well, I guess since you're old enough to know that there's no Santa, then I might as well tell you the truth. I did get you a present for Christmas."

"You did?" the girl lit up.

"Yes, I did. But I can't give it to you."

"Why not Mamma?"

"Because I can't. Honey, you see, here's what happened. I did get a present for you; I got a Buzzy-Bonkie for you…"

"You did?! Mamma? You got a Buzzy-Bonkie for me?  Oh Oh!"
She jumped up and down.

"I am the luckiest girl. I have the BEST MAMMA in the whole wide world!" she squealed.

"Honey, there's a problem. Last night on TV they said that children can't have the Buzzy-Bonkies because they are dangerous. The company that makes them is doing a recall that means you have to send them back. I'm sorry sweetie, but you can't have it."

The child stood still for awhile while the information sank in. Her smile faded.

"Oh," she said.

"Sarah, I am so sorry," Marsha said, trying not to cry but feeling the tears beginning to form.

A pair of thin arms wrapped tightly around Marsha's neck as the girl buried her face into her mother's chest.

"Mamma?" The child whispered.

"Yes?"

"Do you have to go to work today?"

"No honey. I have today off."

The girl brightened.

"Really?"

"Really."

"We can spend the whole day together? Just you and me?"

"Yes. Just you and me," said Marsha, "and, I have a wonderful ham to cook for dinner and, if you want, we can make gingerbread people cookies."

"Oh Wow! Yippee!" the girl's eyes were wide and round, "And will you play games with me and can we paint and dance and sing?"

"Yes sweetie, of course. We can do all those things." 

"Oh Mamma, I'm so happy. I AM the luckiest girl in the whole world and I DO have the best Mamma."

She threw her arms around her mother's neck, hugged her and tenderly placed her tiny lips against her cheek. 

"I love you Mamma."

That night when Marsha tucked Sarah into bed, softly kissed her forehead and whispered, "Good night honey, Merry Christmas" to the sleeping child, she knew that what she had wished for had indeed come true. 

It had been the best Christmas they had ever had.

©Oceanldy