Sleigh Bells by Aldo Ross
"T'was the night before Christmas." .always a difficult time for those among us who are alone - single and childless and having no close relatives with whom to spend the holidays. Some will spend Christmas Eve by themselves.
This is the story of one of them.
He sits by the fire, sipping hot tea and watching flames chase and dance among the logs. Three cats sleep in a warm pile at his feet. Except for an occasion a sputter or hiss from the fire, all is quiet. The winter sun is setting amid scattered clouds of crimson and turquoise, leaving a clear, starry winter sky to the indigo east. .The room grows dim, lit only by the dancing red and yellow fire.
It's still early - a few hours before he makes his rounds.
Across the room, leaning against the far wall, is a bicycle. Normally it would be stored for winter in the silent bike room, waiting patiently for Spring rains to wash away the road salt, but today it was prepped and readied for one last ride before it's brief seasonal slumber. This will be a special ride, and the honor is reserved for the bicycle which has been the favorite for the past year. Headlights are fitted, along with a single red taillight, and the water bottles have been replaced by a large thermos for hot coffee.
Other changes, curious and mysterious, have been made to the bike. The top tube is carefully wrapped in cloth tape to protect the paint, and over this a split piece of PVC tube has been slipped into place and covered in talcum powder.
Twenty-four silver sleigh bells, arranged in three rows of eight, are attached to a strap of leather, at each end of which is attached a length of wire. The strap of bells lays over the top tube, hanging down on either side, and the ends of the wires are tied to the pedal spindles in such a way that, when the crank is turned, the bells are pulled alternately up and down over the PVC sleeve, so that each revolution creates a "jingle-jingle" sound.
It's now nine-thirty. The man begins dressing for the ride ahead. Wrapped in several layers of wool clothing, and with Vaseline on his cheeks to protect him from the cold, he rolls his bicycle out into the night.
Lights on, leg over the bike, feet into the pedals, and off he goes, beginning with a loop around his neighborhood. His breath turns to frost in the chill air, but inside his woolen cocoon, smelling slightly of lanolin, he he'll remain warm and dry.
The bells work as planned, jingling as he pedals along.
Most folks are already home and in for the night, so the roads are empty and silent - there is only the sound of his sleigh bells in the frigid, crystalline air.
He's lived here for many years, so he knows this neighborhood well, and he knows where the children live - passing their homes he jumps the bike around a bit to make extra jingling noises. He is greeted by colored lights and silence.
First loop completed, he turns onto the main road and heads toward town. He has a couple of hours to cover all the little neighborhoods, his small white light guiding him along the darkened streets.
During the ride he thinks about his childhood, all those early Christmas nights when he lay awake too excited to sleep. He remembers listening as his parents turned-off the television and went to bed. He recalls the low rumbling from the steel mill across town, where the machinery never slept, and the lonely whistle from freight trains in the countryside beyond. He'd feel panic set in as sleep continued to elude him. He'd toss and turn, wondering what would happen - would he get in trouble if he couldn't sleep all night? A then suddenly he'd awaken to Christmas morning, and the world was full of magic.
He continues his ride, neighborhood by neighborhood, covering the entire town, the bells jingling the entire time. But what if no one else can hear the bells tonight? Perhaps televisions are still turned on, the kids are up late playing computer games, their exhausted parents having given-in to wishes to open presents early.
But perhaps there is one house, one bedroom, where one pair of eyes are staring wide into the darkness, and one little person is wishing for sleep. They'll wonder when Santa will come, and how he gets down the chimney, and how he manages to cover the entire world in just one night. They'll think about the glass of milk and the little plate of cookies left on the table by the Christmas tree.
And then, perhaps, they'll hear the gentle sound of jingle bells outside, and rush to the window only to see a red dot of light moving away in the distance. It won't matter if the light is at road level rather than flying among the roof tops - it's an amazing site, otherwise unexplainable - not a car taillight or anything like that, it's bobbing slightly from side to side as it crests the hill. And what about the sound of sleigh bells, but no car noises???
It's three hours later, and the rounds have been completed. The bike rests once more against the far wall. The fire is mostly deep red embers. He's sitting by the fire, three cats in his lap, looking for a warm, comfortable place amid the wool.
He thinks about this night's work. He reflects on all the Christmas Eve's he has spent alone, and will spend alone, and how life isn't always what we expect it to be.
And he's only a little surprised to find, on the table beside him, someone has left a glass of milk and a little plate of cookies.
Aldo Ross
Middletown, Ohio