December Flash tale #1 - "Ding-a-Ling"

Calico Rock, Arkansas

December 25

John sits by the Christmas tree, wearing his Santa Claus outfit. He looks adorable, according to Denise.

He doesn’t feel adorable. ‘Adorable’ isn’t in the same ball park.

“Let’s talk about this,” John says. His voice is all wrong but it’s the only one he’s got. “Let’s at least talk.”

Denise doesn’t stop moving around the living room, making last-minute adjustments to the decorations. “Sorry, sweetie. I’ve tried talking our entire marriage. Never made a lick of difference.” She looks critically at a pair of reindeer figurines on the mantel, framing them with her hands as if she’s about to take a picture. For a moment, John thinks back to when they were newlyweds, three decades and two kids ago. He was the one taking pictures of Wade and Willow taking their first steps, their first day at Calico Rock Elementary, losing their first tooth and so on, bringing 24-exposure rolls to Mark’s Pharmacy so Denise could stick the prints in her scrapbooks.

They grow up so fast, Denise would say, when John groaned at yet another photo opportunity. Of course, they did grow up fast. But not as fast as John grew down.

Last night, he was double-nickels. This Christmas morning, he woke up as a toddler. An overnight mystery, provoking shrieks of horror and confusion from John, until Denise solved it, picking him up and announcing, I did that. I made you little. I’m Momma from now on and you’ll just have to get used to it.

John eyes the pile of neatly wrapped gifts next to him that might as well be a mountain. Baby toys? No chance of the Bosch hammer drill he’d been hinting about. The tree towers behind him, glittering with the lights he strung up the day after Thanksgiving. Back when he was the man of the house.

Denise leaves the reindeer where they are and starts work on a tray of snacks. In past years, John would be sneaking a handful of the spiced nuts and pecan pralines. This year, he lacks both the appetite and the height to make a grab at his wife’s bite-size treats.

Denise taps her chin. “Have I made enough Kolaches?” She looks over at John, as if he might have a view, as if he’s still got any kind of equal status.

John swallows. He can’t afford to lose his temper. The red veil of rage didn’t help an hour ago when he woke up and discovered what Denise had done. She had held him securely, so that he couldn’t hurt her or himself. She had held him in her arms until he was hoarse from yelling, until he was all cried out, limp and helpless.

“Honey,” he says softly, pleadingly, “You can’t leave me like this.” He waves his reduced hands at his body, over his fuzzy red and white costume and the diapered bulge around his waist. “Everyone will see.”

“Of course they’ll see,” she replies, fussing with the napkins and plastic cups. “I want them to.”

“But…” He frowns as Denise shifts her focus to the record-player. His record-player. “But they’ll see what you’ve done.” And they’ll put you in jail. Or a mental hospital. Because this is crazy.

Denise takes a record from its sleeve and places it on the turntable. “Let’s get festive,” she says, and sets the needle on the record. The sound of Lynn Anderson fills the living room, and John almost smiles. He’s a little bit country, after all, and he’s always loved Lynn Anderson.

Gather round and I will tell
The story of a Christmas bell
That used to shine and chime and ring
And why we called him Ding A Ling

It’s not ‘Rose Garden’ but John knows this one just as well.

“Baby, please,” John says. He holds out his hands, and he must look like a toddler wanting to be held. Over-tired, ready to fuss and whine. But he doesn’t want to be patted and stroked. He just wants mercy, a generous slice of forgiveness for whatever he’s done to deserve this. “Denise, please. Darlin’. The kids won’t understand. They’ve got babies of their own now, and they need a grandpa, not-“

Denise holds a finger to her lips. Hush.

John complies, fighting the urge to scream, to tear his wife a new one

“Good boy,” Denise says blandly. And her face has a faraway expression as the song plays on.

The other bells met secretly
And he heard one say in a real low key
He's sure to ruin our Christmas sound
And we don't want him hanging around

“Here’s the thing,” Denise says, sitting down beside John. “You been ringing off-key for thirty years, and since the kids left, it’s only gotten worse. So Momma’s gonna raise you right.” She looks straight at John and he’s the one who looks away. She takes his hands in her own and says gently, “Don’t you worry about Wade and Willow. I already told them, and they’re on board.”

John shakes his head, and the pom-pom from his Santa hat knocks gently from side to side. There’s no way the kids are okay with this. No way they’d sign up for something so extreme.

But he’s about to find out, because they’re due to arrive any minute. John glances towards the hallway, and when he thinks of his son and daughter finding him like this, a diapered tot younger than their own children, his stomach twists and knots and his bladder turns to ice.

Denise reaches behind her and retrieves one of the Christmas presents. “You been good all morning, Johnny. Well, mostly. So I tell you what. You can open one present before the kids get here.”

John stares at the box his wife and placed gently between his legs. There’s a shiny blue bow on the top, and he cringes at the thought of what might be inside. Blocks? A ball? What does Denise really think is going to happen? That he’s just going to forget everything and play like a fifteen-month-old?

He puts his hands on the box, ready to refuse, prepared to throw it at his wife’s face.

Denise gives him another of her sweet smiles. “You need Momma to help you?”

John shuts his eyes, and for a moment he can imagine that none of this has happened. He listens to the song.

The thought occurred to Ding A Ling
To ring as loud as he could ring
And when ol' Santa heard the sound
It guided him into the town

When he opens his eyes, John has decided to humor his wife. He’ll smile back at her, he’ll play the part. He’ll open the damn gift, and maybe he’ll even have a snack. He will be jolly and bright, right up until the moment the kids arrive, and then he’ll scream bloody murder.

The box opens easily, even for his little fingers. It’s just a lid, and John lifts it off.

It’s not a drill.

John looks down at the object. A blue handle at the end of a rainbow-colored stick that is home to six bells.

“Well? Do you like it, Johnny?” Denise beams at him. There’s something in her smile, something confident, definite. It’s as if she can see the future.

“Ring your bells, sweetie. Make your ding-a-lings!”

And maybe it’s the song playing in the background, or maybe it’s just the way Denise is speaking. Like’s she’s singing a song of her own.

Either way, John does as he’s told.

The toy feels reassuringly solid in his hand. He brings it up and down, and he might be a little clumsy but he can ring the bell all the same, and he feels a flicker of satisfaction at a job well done, magnified by the beautiful smile on his wife’s face, before he understands something very important.

He understands that he’s forgotten.

What has he forgotten?

Impossible to say. The most puzzling of riddles. But the data has gone, fizzled out in an instant, and John is left with his bell. He stares at it, grips it in both hands. The bell belongs to him. That’s all John knows. And the bell brings Santa Claus, or something like that. It will bring toys, it will bring smiles and laughter.

Now the children shout and sing
And everyone loves Ding A Ling
So everything has turned out well
For Ding a Ling the Christmas bell

Momma lifts John onto her lap, wraps her hands around his waist. “Good boy! Are you making ding-a-lings for Momma? What a good boy!”

John nods as he rings. “Dih-ah-wih!” he agrees with rapturous enthusiasm, a passion that doesn’t dim in the slightest at the sound of another bell, one that announces the arrival of Wade and Willow with their partners and children.

“Perfect timing,” Momma says to the family. “I hope you’re hungry!”

“Look at all those presents,” says one of the children with wide eyes. She points and giggles. “Baby’s got a bell!”

Johnny feels the eyes of everyone on the room on him, and he doesn’t mind a bit. “Dih-wih!” he blurts, waving his arm up and down. “Dih-wih!” And when everyone laughs, Johnny laughs as well. He doesn’t mind the drool running down his chin. And he doesn’t mind the sudden mess in his diaper.

There’s nothing to mind, when he’s having such a good time. When he’s ringing his bell for Momma.

THE END

John wakes up as a toddler - if 'Mommy' has her way, this little boy will be happily showing off his Christmas presents to the family – Sebtomato