Suddenly nothing would do but for me to meet him in that hallway and hug him. I knew in my
little heart that he was the one behind the magic of Christmas and I was so overcome with
gratitude and joy that I just had to share it or bust.
I was stunned. How could everyone else in the neighborhood know that old Mrs. Hinkle was a
witch, and my mother be so clueless?
"I ain't going over there." I declared, and set the plate firmly on the table.
"Fine," My mother said in feigned agreement. "I guess you'll just have to go cut me a switch,
then."
Naturally the first thing I did after the pig was tied, was walk backwards out of the trailer and
land on my donkey in the mud. The guy in the truck got out then ... to laugh.
I have about a half-dozen fillings in my mouth that I can directly attribute to Mom's homemade
Christmas candy. As far as I know she never shared the recipe with anyone; some things are
just sacred. The recipe went with her when she passed away, and I don't begrudge her that.
We waited until the car cleared the garage and then we were off; down the hall to our parent's
room. The sanctum-sanctorum. The Holy Land. The Fort Knox of Florence Street. Crossing
the threshold into that room without permission was tantamount to sneaking into Area 51,
which is a secret military facility about 90 miles north of Las Vegas where it is reported that
alien artifacts are stored and guarded. I expected at any moment for alarms and whistles to go
off, armed men to come rushing in from all directions, and arrest us and take us away to
prison. Needless to say, my heart was in my throat. I don't think either one of us could have
pulled off this daring breach of security on our own, but by working as a team, we girded
each other and managed to make our way across the linoleum floor to the closet.
