Stand Tall (10 page)

“I’ll play it in the car.”

“I hope you like it.”

“You still got that flute, huh?”

“Yeah. I practice a lot.”

He put the cigarette in his mouth, gave her a good pat on the shoulder.

“Vinnie!” Another man shouted it. “You on vacation or what?”

He looked at Sophie, softer this time. “I gotta go.”

“Sure,” she said quietly.

“Hey, Soph, we’ll get together.”

“Anytime, Dad.”

He patted her shoulder again. Shook Tree’s hand. He had a killer handshake.

“Size matters, kid. Wear it proud.” He pushed through the glass door.

Tree stood straight.

Sophie’s mother was right.

She deserved a better father.

“He can take a muffler out faster than any man alive,” Sophie said. “They had a contest here last year and he won by three whole minutes.”

“It was nice, what you gave him.” Tree didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t imagine having a father like that.

“I’m glad you think so, because it’s the exact same thing you’re getting for Christmas.”

“My dad doesn’t know how to love people,” Sophie explained.

“He drove my mother crazy.”

The bus was late. They stood there shivering.

Tree clapped his hands together to stay warm. “I guess my parents drove each other crazy, too.”

Sophie marched in place so her feet wouldn’t freeze. “I got sent to a therapist about it. She told me I had hidden anger at my father and it was coming out when I was with other people. I told her no way was there any anger hiding in me. ‘Open your
eyes,’ I said. ‘It’s all here on the surface.’ But I figure I’ve got it better than a lot of kids. At least I know where my dad is.”

Tree had never once thought of that.

The bus pulled up. She climbed inside.

“You coming or what?”

Tree got in the bus, hit his head.

She laughed. “You need a bus with a sunroof so you can stick your head out.”

Tree didn’t think that was funny.

Sophie elbowed him. “You’ve gotta laugh. If you don’t, you’ll cry.”

Getting Grandpa in the Santa suit reminded Tree of the time when his mother had bought an outfit for Bradley—a sweater, hat, and booties—and Tree had to put it on him.

“Standing’s not an ability I’ve got right now!” Grandpa tried to steady himself as Tree tried to pull the big red pants over his legs.

“It would help,” Tree said, “if you’d stop moving so much.”

“
It would help if I had two working legs.
”

“Let’s go with what we’ve got, Grandpa!”

Finally the pants were on. Grandpa looked at the floppy pant hanging loose over his half leg.

The Trash King adjusted his elf cap, cigar in his mouth. “You could say a reindeer chewed it off.” King put on his pointy elf shoes, struck a pose. “Am I hot or what?”

“Scorching,” said Grandpa. “But lose the cigar.”

“It’s not lit.”

“You’ve got to be a role model.”

King put the cigar in his pocket. “And you’ve got to be
careful, Leo. We tell the kids you’ve got to save your strength for Christmas Eve, when an angel’s gonna come down from heaven, touch you with a magic wand, and your leg’s gonna grow back.”

Grandpa looked in the mirror Tree was holding up, put rouge on his cheeks, fastened the big white beard. “We’re going to ruin this holiday for hundreds of children.”

King picked a cigar leaf from his teeth.

“Ho, ho, ho,” said Tree halfheartedly, folded the wheelchair, and carried it to the truck.

“The thing about Christmas,” the Trash King said, driving his truck to the children’s hospital, “is how I didn’t understand what it was about until I got to Vietnam. You remember Christmas in Nam, Leo?”

Grandpa sighed. “I was in the hospital.”

“That’s right. You didn’t get to see the show.” King turned the corner. “They brought in a big show from the States with singers and dancers. There were hundreds of us out there watching. A couple guys had made a Christmas tree out of bamboo and painted it green. I was feeling sorry for myself because I wasn’t home.

“And then we started singing. Just singing the songs. ‘Silent Night,’ ‘Jingle Bells,’ ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas,’ ‘Hark, Those Herald Angels Sing.’ And I could have sworn—and a few guys in the Signal Corps would back me up on this—that there was a star in the sky a little brighter over where we were. And I thought, We get these holidays all wrong. We think it’s
what we get and how we feel and how warm and cozy we are, but Christmas came to all us slobs that night and most of those guys weren’t expecting it. Some of us hadn’t even washed. Now, I’ll tell you how this helps me in trash. . . .”

King pulled up to the hospital parking lot. Grandpa groaned. “Save it, King, for the ride home. We’ve got a job to do.”

Tree got the wheelchair from the back, placed a red throw blanket over it. Carefully eased Grandpa out of the truck and into the chair.

“Santa has landed,” said King.

“You bet your boots, Elf Man.”

Grandpa adjusted his beard, waved them forward like a lieutenant leading a platoon into battle. “Let’s take this hill.”

He grabbed the chair’s wheels with his strong arms and pushed through the emergency doors that swung open at the miraculous power of Christmas.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Grandpa bellowed to young and old who looked up excitedly.

“The Big Guy’s here!” the Trash King shouted. “We’re going to party tonight!”

Tree laughed and waved and shook all the hands of all the kids who came up to him. Down the hall they went with the ho-ho-hos booming. Kids in wheelchairs were following them. Tree handed out candy canes; King had a bag of toys over his shoulder. They turned the corner, saw three vets dressed like reindeer. Luger marched forward dressed like a toy drummer, beating a snare drum with his good hand.

Rat tat tat.

Rat tat tat.

Rat a tat. Rat a tat.

Tat tat.

A doctor took them into the rooms of the children who were too sick to come out.

One little girl had an IV in her arm and looked gray. Her mother was sitting in a chair by her bed. When Grandpa rolled in, that child lit up like a Christmas star.

“Santa,” she whispered.

“You’ve got it, kid.”

“You’re in a wheelchair.”

“Life isn’t perfect, is it?”

King pulled a stuffed bear out of his bag, gave it to her. She hugged it, smiled at Tree.

“Santa, would you tell me a story?”

“Sure.”

“Would you tell me ‘The Night Before Christmas’?”

“Sure. Where’s the book?”

She looked concerned. “Don’t you know it?”

Grandpa looked at Tree and they both looked at the Trash King, who sniffed and said, “He knows it.”

Grandpa desperately tried to remember the poem. The little girl hugged her bear and smiled.

“Okay, here goes. . . . ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.” He stopped dead.

“The stockings,” the little girl said.

“Were hung by the chimney with care,” said King.

Grandpa grinned. “In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.”

Silence.

Tree whispered about the kerchief, the cap, and the nap.

They got through it, helped by the little girl and her mother, and they had to call in two nurses to get the names of the eight reindeer right. King insisted the front reindeer were Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Nixon.

“
Vixen
,” shouted the older nurse.

“Jeez. They named a reindeer
that?
”

They didn’t miss a room that night.

Didn’t miss a child.

Dozens of children lined up to see Santa. First in line, a boy in a big leg brace. He looked at Grandpa’s half leg. “What happened to you?”

“I had an operation.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mine hurts, too. I wouldn’t want anyone to sit on it.”

So he stood next to the wheelchair and told Santa how he wanted a complete model train set,
not
like the one he got last year, like the one
Billy Buckley got
with the cool engine and the miles and miles of track.

Grandpa motioned to King. “Take that down.”

“
I didn’t bring any paper.
”

“Elves,” said Santa, shaking his head.

They had a party in the cafeteria for the kids who could get there; everyone sang Christmas songs. Only a few stalwart believers
sat on Santa’s knee, and he managed. Then a little girl climbed up on Tree’s knee and told him that she wanted her lung to get better for Christmas.

Tree didn’t know what to say.

Then she whispered, “I know you can’t really give me that. I just wanted to tell you.”

And she hugged him like he was the genuine article.

It made Tree feel about a foot taller, which was really saying something.

Tree didn’t need much more of Christmas to happen after that.

Except it would have been nice if Larry stopped yelling at Bradley, who, according to Larry, wasn’t moving fast enough to get out of his way.

“Take it out on somebody your own size!” Tree shouted.

“Like you?” Larry shouted back.

Tree stood tough. “I’m bigger than you!”

Larry’s face darkened. “Maybe I could do something about that!”

But he never did. Larry was a screamer, not a fighter.

Twice he’d come home at night really late. His voice sounded different, he swayed when he walked. Grandpa said he’d been drinking. Larry got grounded, but he snuck out again anyway. When Larry staggered into the house at 2:00
A.M.
with beer on his breath, Grandpa said, “What you’re doing isn’t making the hurt go away.”

Larry stood there, quiet.

“Booze doesn’t help. Talking does. Time. And I’ll do whatever I can to—”

Larry shouted at him to mind his own business.

Grandpa said that anything that had to do with Larry
was
his business.

Larry raced up the stairs, flopped onto his bed. A few minutes later, Bradley pushed the door open and stuck his old snout on Larry’s arm.

“
Get lost!
”

But Bradley wouldn’t. He just sat there with his big trusting eyes waiting to help. Finally Larry hugged Bradley around the neck, buried his head in that good, old fur, and cried his eyes out about his parents’ divorce.

Right after that, he sank to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited up beer until his insides felt raw.

Eight
P.M.
, December 24.

Tree, Curtis, Larry, and Grandpa looked at the half-bare living room.

Tree hadn’t realized how important Christmas trees were until he didn’t have one.

Larry said, “Some Christmas.”

Curtis said, “Shut up.”

They’d been at each other all day.

Grandpa grabbed his walker, struggled up. “We’re going to change things here. We’re going to form a squad—tough and unified. And don’t tell me it can’t happen. I saw it happen in Nam. Saw different people with nothing in common work together
to a common goal and become strong friends. So strong, you’d do just about anything to make sure your buddies stayed alive.”