December's Child Part I:

It was the end of the year. Milea felt excited. Together with her mother, she would once again celebrate Christmas with Mr. Tollanski. It had become a tradition now. For the last five years, they had always shared Christmas dinners.

Mr. Tollanski had had a hard life. His wife had unfortunately died after a car accident. A drunk driver hit her while she was walking home from work. After years in the hospital, she died from a massive stroke. That was forty years ago. He had never remarried. He told Milea he would never find anyone as good as his wife, so why try? He was happy with the memories that he had of her. They kept him warm and comforted him when he was feeling down. One day, he would say he would be with his love again and nothing would tear them apart.

Milea worked all day in a sweatshop. She got little pay, and it was barely enough to keep her and her mother alive. Her mother had fallen down the stairs several years ago and had broken her back.

She was never the same and had lost her love of life. Milea’s father left them shortly after the accident. She had no idea where he was, and she cared even less. She wanted nothing to do with him now or ever again.

She did not complain and was glad to be able to look after her mother as best she could. For the most part, she was better off than many people.

Mr. Tollanski had been a saint to them both. He lived four houses up the road from them on a big block of land. He did not move very well, and he let his home fall into disrepair. His garden was almost like a forest. His heart was as big as an ox.

He did what he could to help Milea and her mother. In her eyes, he was the father that she had never had, and she loved him almost as much as she loved her mother.

As far as Milea was concerned, he had given her one of the greatest gifts he could: he taught her about writing. For the last five years, she had written a story every week and given it to Mr. Tollanski.

He was a tough critic. Milea was not fussed about that. She had learned to have thick skin throughout her young 15-year life. His words always made sense.

Some time ago, she realized his criticism was making her a better writer. One day, she would tell him, "I will learn stories that will sell, and then Mumma and I will be able to live a proper life."

Mr. Tollanski’s only ever one reply: “Of course you will, pumpkin; of course you will.”

Milea would fill books with her writing. Because she did not have money to buy books and pens, Mr. Tollanski gave her new ones when they ran out. She did not know where he got them from and didn’t ever ask. She was so grateful to him.

His house and his tales from his life inspired her. She would listen with intent and then race home and write a story about the different things he had told her. His rundown garden and old house were the perfect setting for her imagination to go wild. And go wild it did. She would always blend some aspect into her stories. There was always a prince charming or a good soul at their base.

There were only ten days to go before Christmas day. Excitement filled Milea’s head. She and Mr. Tollanski had planned out their dinner. It would be a real feast, all courtesy of Mr. Tollanksi. He would come to their place as Milea’s mother could not walk that far. Milea would cook the dinner while they chatted about the years gone by. She would look at the joy on her mother’s face as she listened and chatted with Mr. Tollanski.

At one point, she had hoped her mother and Mr. Tollanski would get together so they could have a real family. But it wasn't to be. She settled for his company and kindness. In a special way, she loved him as a father.

Milea raced around to Mr. Tollanski’s house after she had tended to her mother. She felt excited for him to read her new story.

“Don’t be late, Milea,” her mother had warned her.

“You have work tomorrow; it's cold outside, and you need your sleep."

It was cold outside. The snow had already started. Milea ran as fast as she could to keep warm, but she was careful not to slip.

She knocked on the door. "Mr. Tollanski, it’s Milea.”

There was no answer. She knocked again.

"Mr. Tollanski, it’s Milea. Is everything all right?"

I then dawned on her. There were no lights on. The place was dark. Mr. Tollanski always had a fire and lamps on, one in the kitchen and one in the lounge room. He would sit next to the fire, reading her stories.

Where could he be, she wondered. He seldom went out these days and never as the cold of the night was settling in.

She started to panic; what if he got hurt or even worse?

Milea noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Lansdowne’s lights were on. They lived next door to Mr. Tollanski in one of the houses between her house and Mr. Tollanski’s. Maybe they knew something, she thought to herself.

She raced around to their front door. Darkness was setting in, and she stumbled over the step as she approached the door. Mr Lansdowne must have heard her stumble.

“Who is it? Who is there?” he yelled.

"Mr. Lansdowne, it is Mr Milea. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Hang on, I will get the door. Mrs Lansdowne has already gone to bed; she was not feeling well,” he replied.

Moments later, she heard the key unlock the door, and Mr. Lansdowne’s face appeared. He was in his late seventies, a few years younger than Mr. Tollanski. He was a small man with craggy skin from too much sun exposure. He had straggly gray hair and a nervous twitch that caused fear in many people.

Milea had always found him to be nice enough, although he could sometimes be very short and did not mince his words.

“Come in out of the cold, child; I know why you're here.”

Till next time,

Calvin

[Stay tuned for Part II - A Special Christmas Gift]