“The Hunted” : “Christmas in New York”

by Eric R. Umali

Tap-tap, tap-thump-tap.

Eric crept as quietly as he could across the matted carpet and peered through the peephole.  There, features stretched and squeezed by the tiny lens, stood Mary, waiting impatiently.

"Who is it?" he inquired in the highest falsetto he could manage.

"Candygram," came the curt reply.  "Who do you think?"

Eric opened the door.  "What happened to your sense of humor?"

"It's gone into hibernation, like the feeling in my fingers, now let me in."

Mary stepped in the room, rubbing her hands vigorously.  A large conical package was slung from one shoulder.  She laid it on the table.

"What's that?" Eric asked as he helped her with her coat.  "Too small to be an umbrella."

"It's for Christmas.  Open it."

As Mary shook the circulation back into her limbs, gone almost numb from the harsh late afternoon New York chill, Eric did so.  Whatever it was, it was wrapped tightly in pages from the Post, and smelled like an air freshener.  Peeling away the layers, Eric discovered a tiny, somewhat sickly-looking miniature pine tree.  He smiled.

"A Christmas tree?"

She nodded.  "I'd have gotten some trimmings, too, but it got too cold."

"I don't blame you."  Eric did a bit of fluffing up on the scraggly mini-tree.  "We need a base, too."  He watched Mary puffing into her hands.  "Want me to fire up the heater thing and make some hot chocolate?"

"Got a quick neck rub in you?  We've been here for days, but I still can't stop looking at the skyscrapers."

"Sure."

Mary scooted over to the edge of the bed, and Eric sat behind her.  He placed his hands at the base of her neck, and she jumped.

"Your hands are hot!"  She turned.  "You've already been drinking hot chocolate, and you weren't about to share yours?"

Eric rose.  "Okay, okay," he grumbled, and brought the still-steaming mug to her.  She sipped, and a smile spread across her face while the warmth spread through the rest of her.

"Still need that neck rub?"

"I haven't dismissed you yet, slave."

He commenced with the massage, mumbling, "And why I put up with you sometimes, I don't know..."

"I think I know," she quipped.

"Not too egotistical a comment."

"Not ego- truth," Mary stated, before taking a long draught from her mug.

Eric continued grumbling, but kept working, as well.

**********

Midnight found them both outside once more, strolling with the thousands of other New Yorkers, all enjoying the crisp night air and the splendor that is New York on holiday nights.  Dinner had been a sumptuous affair at a tiny trattoria in Tribeca that they'd stumbled across on their first day in the city.  It was followed, at Eric's insistence, naturally, by their only concession to conspicuousness, a long horse-drawn carriage ride through the park.

Then, like nearly everyone else able to, they walked to Rockefeller Center.  Entering from Fifth Avenue, their chilly, quiet stroll was flanked by a dozen glittering herald angels.  At the end of the walk, rising above the dark, silent skating rink, above the gilded reclining figure of Apollo, stood the tree.

Ablaze with colors and stretching five stories towards the New York skyline, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is arguably the single most striking symbol of the holiday season in Manhattan.  Arm in arm, they walked around to the base of the magnificent thing in silence.

Finally, Mary spoke.  She reached a hand into the deep pocket of her coat.

"I, um, got you something while I was out," she said quietly.  "A present."

She removed a small, roughly wrapped package and handed it to him.  He opened it, pulling the paper apart carefully.  Inside a box, sitting on a mass of tissue, was a tiny Chinese character, formed in silver.

Eric looked up in surprise.  "Dragon– my Chinese Zodiac character."

Mary nodded.  "I remember you mentioning that you'd forgotten it, and that it was a lucky charm.  I figured we need all the luck we can get."

To her surprise, Eric began laughing.  "What's so funny?" she demanded.

In reply, Eric reached into his own pocket, producing an almost identical package, right down to the hurried wrapping job.  "You're not the only one who can go shopping, you know.  It's your Christmas present."

She opened it, tearing through the paper.  Inside a box, on top of tissue paper, sat a tiny silver Chinese character.  Mary laughed, too.

"_My_ Chinese Zodiac sign?"

"That's right.  Year of the Monkey."

"Monkey?"

"Fun, loving, cheerful, energetic, charming.  You to a 'T'."

"I love it," she said, putting the pendant on.  "And you."

Eric smiled as he tied his own present.  "I love you, too, Doll.  Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she replied, tilted her head up, and gave him a peck on the lips.

He smiled again.  "That was better than the pendant."

She shook her head.  "You never give up, do you?"

"Not a chance."  He offered his arm, and she took it.

They looked up once more at the tree, then turned to leave.  As they walked, Eric began whistling.

"White Christmas?" Mary asked.  Eric nodded.  "Not for a couple of years," she remarked, then took up the tune as well.

They hadn't gone more than three blocks when the first flakes began to fall.

The End.