First Christmas in Dustwater

Sabrina stood on the sagging back porch of the old bar and grill, surveying the scene with sullen eyes. She didn’t care how pretty her mother thought the snow-tipped mountains were, dotted with their evergreens. She didn’t care that her father loved the bare branches that scratched at the late afternoon sky and whose leaves had fallen and crisped on the cold December ground. She only cared that she was stuck in dustbowl Virginia for Christmas and wanted to go home—back to the city, back to her friends, back to real Christmas.

It was her father’s idea. He was born and raised in Lakeford, and felt her private school, urban-paced lifestyle hindered her appreciation for nature and small town, country living. He thought she could also use the time for extra bonding with her grandmother. What was he talking about? She and Grandma Mary could bond just fine in a lovely hotel overlooking the Harbor. And she loved nature! Didn’t she help plant the pear tree on campus by the little kids’ playground? Didn’t she? He overruled all her objections and her mother, the traitor, agreed with him. The day after summer vacation began, Sabrina was banished to the small town for two weeks to appreciate nature

It was boring—capital B, Boring. The only nature to appreciate was the rain which fell the entire fourteen days, and the most exciting thing she did was fall in the ditch behind Mr. Pete’s stupid bar and grill and get covered in mud. That was the day she decided she hated bug water Virginia. It was also the day her father decided she really needed to learn more about country living. So now, on the first day of Christmas vacation, here she was again in boring, no friends, dust bowl, bug water Virginia.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, Sabrina stomped down the three steps from the porch into the yard—a wide piece of land everybody at Mr. Pete’s called “out back.” It had been a large grassy area in the summer but now it was just cold dirt with patches of grass that were yellow and withering from the frost. A concrete slab ran along one side of the building with a netless basketball goal on each end and large rocks she heard the kids sat on to watch the games or just hang out. Not that she would know because there were no kids on the rocks the day she fell just like there were no kids hanging out now. Sighing, she walked to the edge of the ditch, peering over the side to see what was below now that it wasn’t filled with mud. More dirt, just frozen. With an exasperated groan, she turned to walk back to the porch when something thumped her hard in the back. Startled, she turned to see a basketball roll to a slow stop on the ground and a pair of hands plant themselves on the side of the ditch. Taking a step back she watched as a boy about her age hoisted himself up and over the side.

“Stupid!” she yelled, “You hit me with that ball!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his jeans and jacket before looking up to respond to Sabrina, a wayward lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. He raked a hand through it to push it back in place and looked at Sabrina with eyes gray as storm clouds.

“Sorry,” he scowled, walking toward her. He bent to scoop up the ball. “It ain’t like I meant it,” he added, straightening and brushing at the wayward lock again.

He was cute, like boy band cute, and Sabrina forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be annoyed. Flustered, she snapped at him. “Where’d you even come from?”

He looked down at the basketball in his hands and then back up at Sabrina, taking in her brown face under the white knit hat and the locs that hung down dusting her shoulders. “I was in the cave,” he stated. “The ball got away from me, I had to go get it.”

“There’s a cave down there?”

“It’s just a little hole really but everybody calls it a cave.”

He tucked the ball under one arm and wiped a hand on his jeans again before extending it to Sabrina. “I’m Gabriel, but everybody calls me Kitt.”

Sabrina’s eyes travelled from the toes of his scuffed tennis shoes to the top of his unkempt head. There was definitely a cave down there, and he looked like he’d crawled through it twice. The same dirt that smudged his face, streaked his hands and lined his nails. Sabrina shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. He was cute but he wasn’t that cute.

She screwed up her face. “I’m not shaking your hand; it’s filthy.”

“Whatever,” he said, tossing the ball in the air a couple of times before tucking it back under his arm.

“So where’d you come from? You ain’t from ‘round here.”

“I’m spending Christmas with my family in Lakeford. Do you know Clarence Holly?”

“I know Mr. Clarence,”

“That’s my great-uncle. We just came from Bridgeport and he wanted to stop in and say hello to Mr. Pete. He said it might be some kids out here.”

“Ain’t no kids out here, just ballers.”

“You ain’t no baller.”

The humor faded from Gabriel’s eyes. “Why,” he demanded to know, “because I’m white?”

“Because you’re country.” She shot back.

“I like being country,” he puffed up proudly.

“I don’t know why, it’s just bugs and dirt.”

“I like bugs and dirt.”

“But it’s boring! What do you even do here?”

“Same as you in the city,” he answered, “the movies, the mall, but it’s even better ‘cause you can fish, swim, hang out in the woods, check out the caves.”

“Still sounds like dirt and bugs to me.”

He sighed loud and long before moving toward the netless court.

“Mr. Clarence gon’ probably have a beer or something, you might as well sit down.”

“I’m supposed to just sit here and watch you?”

“Might be some other kids come ‘round later but right now me and my ball handlin’ skills is all you got.”

Sabrina huffed, again. “Fine. Where am I supposed to sit?”

Gabriel pointed to the rocks that edged the court.

“Right there…oh wait, let me wipe that off for you, your highness” he said, rushing to the rock and giving it a quick swipe with his arm. “I don’t want you to have to sit your city butt on my country dirt.”

“I gotta be your highness because I don’t want to be covered in dirt like you?” she yelled, but he was already on his way to the asphalt. He bounced the ball and looked at her over his shoulder.

“Can you please just shut up and let me be amazing?”

“You are so not amazing!” She rallied back just before he let off a shot that went straight through the rim. It would have been nothing but net—had there been a net. He smiled back at her as he dribbled the ball between his legs and sent another equally flawless shot through the air and into the rim.

“City girl!” he called, “I’m like nothin’ you ever seen befo’. hey goin’ name sneakers after me!”

Sabrina laughed. He was funny and he could actually ball a little bit. He really was cute too, even if he was dusty. Where was he in June?

Sabrina looked at the sky. What little light was left had turned the trees high up on the mountains into jagged shadows against an orange and purple sky. A chill was starting to settle into the evening air and Sabrina hugged her arms around her as she looked back at Gabriel who was attempting a lay-up. The ball hit the bottom of the backboard and he swore. He tried it again. He missed and swore again. She was about to tell him to give it up when he tried again and the ball fell through the hoop. He ran to her, whooping with delight.

“Oh my God did you see that? Did you see that!” He exclaimed.

“I saw it,” she smiled catching his excitement as she rubbed her arms vigorously against the growing chill in the air. She watched the exhilaration in his gray eyes soften with concern.

“You’re getting cold. You want my jacket?” He started to unzip it and stopped. “Never mind, it’s dirty.”

“I want it,” she insisted in a rush, uncertain why his offer of the dusty garment warmed her. “I mean, if you don’t need it.”

“I don’t need it,” he grinned, “I’m gettin’ hot!”

Sabrina laughed again. She liked him. He was funny and interesting, and cuter than all the boys in 7th grade put together. She hoped she’d see him again—he might be just what she needed to make her first Christmas in dustwater Virginia bearable.

Gabriel was shrugging out of the dark jacket just as the screen door creaked open and slammed shut. They both turned to see Uncle Clarence peering across the lot, the familiar Peterson Harp pipe clenched in his teeth. He removed it long enough to call out, “Button, time to go!” Then he promptly put it back.

Mischievous eyes fastened on Sabrina, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “Button?”

“That’s what he calls me, like cute as a—”

“Cute as a button, I get it.” Gabriel tilted his head and looked at her, his eyes thoughtful, his smile fading.

Sabrina got to her feet slowly, unable to look away from the stormy eyes that were making her forget how to breathe. She swallowed hard, her heartbeat quickening.

“I gotta go,” she whispered, glancing at Uncle Clarence’s waiting, watching form on the porch. “Nice meeting you, Gabriel.”

She started toward the porch and Gabriel tucked the basketball away again and walked alongside her. “I ain’t really met you, ‘less you just want me to call you ‘your highness’. And I told you, everybody calls me Kitt.”

“I’m Sabrina, Sabrina Holly...and I like Gabriel.”

Gabriel stopped walking and Sabrina turned to face him.

“How long you gon’ be in Lakeford?”

“’We leave on New Year’s Day.”

“If you want, you can meet me here tomorrow, ‘bout one. I’ll take you ‘round; maybe it won’t be so boring to you.” “Okay” Sabrina agreed, feeling a hundred feet off the ground.

“Okay,” he nodded.

On earth Uncle Clarence cleared his throat. They both looked as though they’d forgotten he was there.

“Evenin’, Mr. Clarence.”

“Kitt.”

Gabriel grinned at Mr. Clarence and then turned to Sabrina. “See you tomorrow,” he said backing toward the court.

“Okay.”

“And you are,” he yelled.

“I’m what?”

“Cute as a...”

Sabrina beamed as she floated up the steps barely able to thank her uncle when he opened the door. Taking a last look over her shoulder she watched him slam the basketball on the ground so that it bounced as high as she felt.

“Goodnight, Mr. Clarence,” he called. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Kitt.”

“Don’t forget, one o’clock!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

She didn’t forget. On December 26th at one o’clock, she was there, waiting on the steps of the worn back porch. Her face under the white knit hat was like warm cocoa with the sweetest whipped cream, her brown eyes smiling their delight as he stopped the mountain bike he’d gotten for Christmas in front of her. She climbed on the back and held him tight, the scent of vanilla tickling his nose as he sped toward the rocky hill—her screaming all the way.