Eddie Loved Christmas by Peter Eckblad, hot toddy

Eddie loved Christmas. He especially liked putting up his miniature Christmas village in the dining room. The town square was on the chest in front of the window. The fishing resort, bait shop, and pond were on the buffet. The village drive-in and McDonald’s were on the bookshelf, and the residential section with houses and a small gas station were on top of the piano. He let the lights stay on all the time.

Tonight, Eddie sat at the dining table and smiled as the little village snuggly glowed while the snow and wind beat against his window panes. His eyes began to close as he listened to soft Christmas carols and hugged a warm cup of hot chocolate.

“Hey! Lead-ass! Get over here!”

 Eddie opened his eyes and looked around. Eddie lived by himself and, even if he had a roommate, he didn’t know why they would have called him lead-ass.

“Hey! Put down the *blanking* hot toddy and help me here!” said the voice.

Eddie got up and went over to Grandma’s Cottage where he thought the voice was coming from.

“Can I help you?” asked Eddie, slightly shaken.

“Aren’t you in charge of this piece of *blanking* town?” the voice asked.

“Well, I guess you could say that,” said Eddie. “Who are you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Help me get this tree off the car. Grandma wants her *blanking* Christmas tree up.”

Eddie looked at the car. It was the VW Beetle he had set in front of Grandma’s Cottage with the Christmas tree on the roof. He could see that he wasn’t going to be able to help.

“The car and the tree are all one piece of plastic,” said Eddie. “The tree is not coming off of the car.”

“Well, then what am I supposed to do, you useless *blank*?! Grandma is yelling at me, my wife is yelling at me, the *blanking* kids are yelling at me, and I can’t get Christmas at Grandma’s put up! There’s no place to put the presents. Where do you get the *blanking* presents anyway?”

“Well, there’s the drug store on the square,” said Eddie, although he was pretty sure that there wasn’t anything in the store. Eddie was really puzzled.

As Eddie backed away from Grandma’s Cottage, he could hear the yelling and the foul language.

“I told my daughter not to marry you, you son of a *blank*. Can’t you do anything right? “Where is the *blanking* tree? Where are the *blanking* presents?”

Eddie started back to the dining table, thinking, “Oh my God. Tenants.”

Then more yelling and vulgar language.

“Hey! You!” The voice came from the gas station. “Yeah, I heard your name was lead-ass. It’s more like dead ass! How am I supposed to make any money?”

“What?” said Eddie. “What’s the matter?”

“I got a gas station and a shop. But this village, it’s got no *blanking* cars! How am I supposed to make a *blanking* living?”

“Well, there’s the VW Beatle,” said Eddie.

            “It don’t go anywhere. And it’s the only car in the whole piece of  the *blanking* village,” said the voice from the station.

            “Well, maybe others will show up,” said Eddie.

            “Not unless you go get some, Einstein.  And get some VW parts, too. And while you’re  at it, pick up some *blanking* customers. Some *blanks* who are having car trouble

“Ok,” said Eddie. “But, you know, I really wasn’t expecting you.”

            “What do you mean you weren’t expecting me, you *blanking* genius? Why did you put up the *blanking* gas station?”   

            Eddie decided to sit at the table and have some more hot chocolate. He rubbed his forehead and again wished these tenants hadn’t moved in. This isn’t the way he wanted to spend Christmas. He just wanted to enjoy his Christmas carols.

            Music and loud drunken voices emerged from the bait shop. It was too late for carousing, thought Eddie.

            “Hey! Stupid ass! Get us some beer. And make sure it’s in tiny *blanking* cans to get through the windows!”

Eddie needed to evict his unwanted tenants. He brought up the boxes from the basement and started packing up the buildings in their styrofoam packages in spite of the protests of the increasingly vocal and inebriated inhabitants.

Eddie bagged them up and went to the gift shop where the village was purchased. He set the pieces on the counter. The saleswoman was startled as the little buildings shook with muffled cries and obscenities.

“How may I help you?” she said, still looking at the trembling boxes.

“I need to return these.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Well, they’re rude for one thing.  And they’re loud and crude and they yell at me. And I didn’t ask them to move in.”

The saleswoman picked up a box, shook it, and heard protesting, profane language from inside.

“I can’t accept these,” said the saleswoman, setting the box back onto the counter.

            “Why not? Eddie asked.

            “I can’t resell them in this condition.

            “Why not?” Eddie again asked.

            “Who would buy them? You’re returning them yourself. They have to be in the same condition in which they were purchased. Clearly these are not.”

            Eddie shook his head in frustration but another building caught his attention.

            “Well, then, let me have that one there,” Eddie pointed at the piece over the woman’s shoulder.

            “This one?” she asked.

            “Yes,” said Eddie as he took his credit card from his wallet.

            The saleswoman packed up the village piece, handed it to Eddie and said, “OK. You have a Merry Christmas!”

“Thank you,” said Eddie. “I think I will now.”

            Eddie walked off with the mumblings from the bags he was carrying. He began whistling “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and enjoyed the falling snowflakes and the crisp chill in the air.

When Eddie got home he hung up his coat, returned the buildings to their places, and turned on the Christmas music.

Voices came from the village. “Well it’s about time we got back here ya box a rocks! I still got no customers!”

Other voices yelled out, “Did you get the *blanking* beer? Did you get the *blanking* car parts? Did you at least get us Merry *blanking* Christmas trees?

The words of a cheery Christmas song came through Eddie’s speaker. He smiled as he plugged in the lights for the new Village Funeral Home and Crematorium.  

About the author

Peter Eckblad is a social worker in Racine, WI. His poems appeared in Pudding Magazine, The Archer, Voices International, and Wind. He has decided to try writing again and has published pieces of flash fiction in Flash Fiction Magazine and CafeLit Magazine. 

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The Cats Brought Guests by Peter Eckblad, champagne,

 I put the baseball game on the television, settled into the couch, and unrolled the paper. That’s when I 

heard the familiar wet convulsions followed by a cough and a plop. Link, our male black cat, had 

yakked up a hairball. I smiled and put down the paper.

“Sally!” I said. My wife stuck her head into the living room.

“We’d better get ready. People are coming over.”

This was routine at our house. When one of our cats coughed up a hairball, it was always followed by guests appearing. I am convinced that this was not a coincidence. I’m just wondering about the cats’ motives.

Just two weeks ago, Link had coughed up a hairball on Sunday afternoon. Sally and I had  sprung into action. We quickly mixed up some dips, put out crackers, and chilled some wine before the doorbell rang. I opened the door and a group of friends from church were standing outside, smiling broadly.

“Come in!” I said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Karen and Will were the first to enter. They had just celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary. They were a thoughtful couple who found beauty in things that others overlooked. 

“Thank you, Peter, for having us over,” said Karen. “We were just going to go home after our Sunday class but then Pastor Sue said we were all invited to your house. We were delighted because we just love coming here.”

“Ditto!” someone yelled out.

Pastor Sue nodded and said, “We feel so drawn here.” She and her husband Terry came in and were followed by others carrying folding chairs. Everyone shook our hands and exuberantly expressed greetings.

Our friends were setting up their chairs around the TV when we heard the wet convulsions, cough, and plop. There was a hairball in front of the bathroom door.

“OK,” I said to the group. “It’s a hairball. It doesn’t mean the party’s over.”

“It means the party’s just getting started!” yelled out Pastor Sue with her arms thrust into the air.

I placed the hairball gently in my hands and went to each guest to show them that the ingested hair, and whatever else, was not anything foul or disgusting. I placed it on a paper plate and people continued to pass it around as they snacked on cheese and crackers. I was pleased when they nodded approvingly before turning their attention back to the Brewers game. People left, feeling happy and satisfied.

            Now, on this sunny Sunday afternoon, Link had yakked up another one. 

            “Well,” I said to Sally. “I wonder who it will be today?”

            I took the hamburgers that I had ordered from Imperfect Foods out of the fridge and seasoned them. I turned on the TV and put on the Summer Olympics.

            Luckily, Link had thrown up early enough so that I had time to make tuna salad and deviled eggs. The anticipation was mounting. In the living room,  I worked off tension by mimicking the movements of the young lady on the uneven bars.

Soon, the doorbell rang. Our pastor was there and she had brought the Bible study group with her. Sally led them into the living room. Pastor Sue said, “I hate to barge in, but when we finished with Bible study we prayed for God’s guidance…and He led us here!”

            “That’s wonderful!” I said, climbing down from the uneven bars. “We had a heads up that you were coming. I’ll put the hamburgers on the grill. Who wants cheese?” All hands went up.

            After grilling, I took the cheeseburgers into the kitchen and that’s when I heard it. The familiar wet convulsions, cough, and plop. I ran into the living room.

            “Who threw up a hairball?” I asked.

            There was silence as everyone avoided eye contact. The only noise was from the gymnast finishing her performance.

            Karen finally said, “It was her.” She pointed at Hardees, our little black and white female tuxedo, who was looking pretty smug.

            Will said, “Just look at that vomit. I’m speechless!”

            I got on the floor and opened my magnifying glass.

            “Yeah, this one is special alright,” I said. “It seems to have several layers. Kind of a subtle complexity.”

“It’s a beauty that transcends words!” said Will, howling with delight and slapping his knee.

            I started to tear paper towels off the roll.

“*Don’t*!” said Karen. “Leave it. Will is right. That’s not just an amazing hairball, it’s…Olympic!” The rest of the group nodded in agreement and I left the hairball alone, the object of murmuring admiration and light applause.

The gymnast stuck her landing and gave a thumbs up.

            Will grinned and said, “It reminds me of the time I found that big ball of pee in the cat box when we were using that clumping cat litter.” He looked at Karen and said, “Remember? It was kind of art deco?”

            “Yes, we still have that one, Will,” said Karen, smiling.

            “Sounds like this hairball would go nicely with the urine ball,” said Pastor Sue. “I was going to ask if I could have it but you two should really take it home.”

            I felt a real connection to the group and said, “Seems everyone here is a hairball person.”

            Everyone nodded. Terry said, “Yes, I guess we are. I didn’t know that we all had that in common.” Terry thought some more and said, “You can feel that sense of community.”

            I went into the kitchen where both of my cats were waiting patiently for dinner. Neither one was throwing up as I heard convulsions, coughs, and plops coming from the living room. I smiled and gathered up some Tupperware. 

About the author

Peter Eckblad was a school social worker for nearly 30 years and has recently retired. Years ago, his poems appeared in Pudding Magazine, The Archer, Voices International, and Wind. He has decided to try writing again and recently published a piece of flash fiction in Flash Fiction Magazine.