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The Tomahawk

The Tomahawk

The Tomahawk


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Christmas Story Pt. 2


It was freezing outside, as expected. It was extra busy that day since Christmas was just around the corner and people were in a hurry for gifts before everything sold out. It was the one time of year that our quiet little town was loud and busy. And it wasn’t uncommon to see people physically fighting and dragging each other around over the last gift on the shelf! That might have been the only thing Ben liked about Christmas–the drama that took over.

He liked things that reminded him of our parents and had a tendency to grow attached to objects when they only slightly resembled the likes of them. He had a ribbon that he found in our Ma’s bedroom after she was gone; she’d used it to tie her hair up. He held onto it forever, almost as if cradling the small, pink strip of satin. But in the most recent July, he dropped it without realizing and I had accidentally thrown it away. It was long gone and I had never heard him shout so violently at me before. It truly upset him beyond expression.

So I found a small tailor shop a few buildings down, trying to squeeze myself through the crowd. The shop was quiet and it almost looked like it had been ransacked, so much was gone. The tailor was half-asleep behind the counter, looking over a shirt he was due to fix. I had to tap on the counter to get him to notice me. He knew me.

“Rudolph.” He grumbled. “What is it?”

“I want a pink ribbon made out of satin, please.” I tried to make eye contact with him but his eyes kept drifting away. “Just a small one. Enough to make a bow.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s for Ben.” I added, sending some understanding into him. He reached under the counter, hurriedly looking through drawers until he finally placed exactly what I was looking for in front of me.