Christmas in the Kitchen

Part 1

Author's Note: Hello my dear readers! Here is that holiday-themed short story that I've been working on.  It will probably be four or five parts long, and I'll post it all throughout the month of December.  To answer the question some of you might be wondering, yes, that means that Memories in Jars will be on a brief break until I've finished posting this.  Don't worry.  It will be back soon!

Motivation goes to: Love, Actually

Have a happy holiday season! Enjoy! Please vote and comment.

Love,

Kay (dreamer44) <3

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            Around this time of year, I always seemed to have Christmas carols stuck in my head.  Although, I supposed, I wasn’t really to blame.  They were everywhere.  Each time I turned on the radio, an old favorite popped up; every time I stepped outside I could faintly hear the tunes coming from nearby houses or groups of travelling carolers.

            And so, as I marched down the road, my boots crunching in the thin layer of snow that covered the sidewalks, I couldn’t help but get into the Christmas spirit.  ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’ was the particular song that was haunting me in the moment, so I embraced lyrics and let them flow out of me, startling the still, crisp winter air.

            “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.  Where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow.  I’m dreaming of a white Christmas—” I giggled as my voice cracked on that last note.  I was cursed with being extremely susceptible to colds this time of year, no matter how many cups of tea I drank and how many precautions I tried to take against germs.  Clearly, my singing voice was not unaffected.

            I came to the town line, a tall sign marking its place.  Behind me: Reid, its streets smoothly plowed.  Ahead: Coniston—its sidewalks bumpy, laced with roots; the streets cracked.  I walked on.

            As I rounded a curve in the road, I saw it ahead: Coniston Soup Kitchen.  And it was about time, too.  Although the walk from my apartment to the soup kitchen only took about fifteen minutes, today was particularly cold, and I had forgotten my mittens at home.

            The parking lot was empty but for one lone car.  I wasn’t surprised.  I hadn’t expected many people to be there on that day.

            As I walked through the front door, wiping my boots on the front mat, I sighed as the blessed wall of heat washed over me.  I felt my nose and fingers begin to thaw.

            “Hello! I’ll be out in a second!” I heard a voice call from somewhere down the empty hall.  I sought out the coat closet and stored my scarf and coat on a hanger, and then stashed my boots in a corner, exchanging them for the sneakers that I had brought in my bag.  As I laced up my shoes, the woman appeared from a door.  She appeared to be middle-aged, maybe forty or so, and had brown hair streaked with gray.

            “You must be Lily,” she said, taking my hand and shaking it.  “I’m Deirdre.  We spoke on the phone the other day.”

            “Oh, yes.  I remember.”

            “Thank you so much for volunteering today.  It is such a big help, I can’t even begin to explain.” 

            She started walking down the hall and I followed.  “Truly, I’m happy to be able to help,” I told her.