The Harbor Master's Christmas

He had just settled into his recliner with an exhale and an oomph. The television is blaring one of those true crime shows, and his can of beer sits on the wooden crate turned on end, which serves as his makeshift side table. He stabs his fork into the lukewarm slice of turkey from his compartmentalized microwave dinner when there's a knock on the door. With his fork in mid-air, he pauses and listens.

Another soft knock, knock, knock.

"Nobody is home!" he gruffly hollers toward the door.

Silence.

"Good," he thinks, "it worked." as he bites into the turkey.

Another knock, knock, followed by, "You must be home because I heard you." A soft, gentle voice says on the other side of the door.

He furrows his brow, sets his tray of food down rather firmly next to his beer and scoots himself out of the chair, grumbling under his breath, "This better be good."

"What is it!?" he hollers as he opens the door.

A wide-eyed little girl, no more than six years old, stands on the stone step. Red ribbons tie up her hair into pigtails, and bright green sparkly boots make her shy, pigeon-toe stance more prominent.

She swallows the lump in her throat, and with little hands that wear faint, chipped pink nail polish, she looks up and hands him a folded piece of paper.

"Um, this is for you," she says meekly.

On the front is a crayon drawing of a Christmas tree with a lopsided yellow star at the top and a rough version of a boat underneath the tree made with a brown crayon. He quickly studies the front and then opens the card.

In crooked child lettering, the left side says, "Deer HaborMasster. Mery Cristmas." On the other side is a drawing of a brown wooden table with legs sticking out on all four corners and a wild bunch of colorful squiggly objects on top of the table.

"Well... I don't know what to say. I guess Merry Christmas and thank you." he says as he steps back to shut the door.

"I made you that card," she says, ignoring his attempt to shut the door.

"Yes. Like I said. Thank you." he replies flatly.

"And that's a boat under the tree like your boat, and on the table is a graaand feast!" she says in an exaggerated tone while gesturing her hands out wide. "There's a ham and salad, which I don't really like eating but Dadda says I have to try, and corn muffins, which are my favorite because Momma lets me put a lot of honey on them, and mashed potatoes and an apple pie and I put a birthday cake on the table too, but there won't be a birthday cake - I just added it just because."

He nods as he tries to keep up with the descriptions of the crayon squiggles.

"Alright, well that looks very nice. Merry Christmas... again." The unnecessary word 'again' added at the last minute because his grumpy disposition couldn't help himself.

Not taking the hint, she stands there with a proud smile and continues. "Well, that's gonna be our dinner tomorrow because tomorrow is Christmas day, and Santa will be coming in the morning, and Dadda said I'll get lots of presents! Well... maybe not lots, but I'll get presents! And when Momma and Dadda asked me what I was grateful for, I told them I was grateful for the Harbor Master who keeps us all safe - and that's you - and they said that I should draw you a Merry Christmas card and bring it to you and ask if you can come to our house tomorrow for dinner. Because we will have a lot of food like in my picture, so can you come?"

Although faint, the corner of his mouth turns up toward a smile and even though he'd deny it up and down the coast, his eyes turn a little misty.

He looks at the card again, then down at her, and answers, "Why yes, that sounds like a very nice dinner, and I'd be happy to come over."

"Yay, yay, yay!" she squeals as she jumps up and down. "Momma said you probably would say no because you are grouchy, and I said that you are not grouchy at all and that my card would cheer you up if you were grouchy, and it worked!"

She spins around, and with her pigtails chasing behind her, she runs back down the trail to her house. Just before she disappears around the corner, he can hear her faint voice trailing off, "Momma, he's coming to dinner! He's coming to dinner!"

With his rough, calloused hand, he takes a quick swipe at his eyes and shuts the door with a smile.

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Little escapes to brighten your heart - all stories are fictional and inspired by quiet moments I capture on the coast of Maine.

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