A great stout coat
This morning the wind blustered hideously. The air cut straight through Gail’s careworn fleece, and she was obliged to shelter under the skirts of conifers like a fawn. She felt the woodpeckers to be laughing at her plight and usually she gets on so well with them.
Gail does love her fleece, which you, old friend, must recall buying for her at a gas station many years ago, when you and she first drove up to weave a nest in this little mountain town. She was so unprepared for the eager winter’s bite you needed to stop and buy her something warmer before the journey’s end. It was ludicrous, and overlarge, and deliciously warm, and imbued with the extra warmth of your kindness.
The bright yellow was once a startling anomaly amidst the greens, browns, and whites of the snowy hillocks. Now many seasons of mud and rain and ensuing voyages through the wash have dulled its luster. The fleece has grown thin and tired, and deserves rest. Though Rufus may have other plans, as its destiny lies in his bed.
Gail would prefer something heavier, now that her bones are lighter and it’s harder to keep meat on them. See gift below: Dutch oven.
A fleece lining is always welcomed, though the exterior can be of any material sufficiently wind and waterproof. Gail requests the shell be included as she no longer needs to dress in layers. Every layer she can get will be necessary to keep her warm and dry in this petulant season. Gail prefers a material where she will not have to apply regular waterproof coating. There are enough chores around the cabin to keep her busy as is.
No down. It’s cruel to buy cheap down, and Gail considers it frivolous to purchase the more expensive kind.
A warm pair of socks
These should be wool, double knit, for Gail’s darning days are over. A pattern with a fox would be excellent, arctic foxes if you can find them. Pine trees will suffice. Playful cats will always be well received. But use your best judgement. A jolly pattern is less important than a jolly warmth for Gail’s creaking toes.
Yes, new socks will be necessary, for Gail intends to continue her practice of waking at dawn and tramping the earth every fine morning God gives until her sore legs tumble into a grave.
A Dutch oven
During one of Rufus’s nightly reigns of terror, the walking carpet intercepted Gail’s shins at full velocity while she was washing up. The Dutch oven that your mother was kind enough to give Gail slipped right from her hands and darn near executed the foolish pup. You’ll be pleased to learn your favorite interloper escaped unharmed, and indeed seemingly unaware of the danger he faced and the damage he caused. Gail’s ruptured Dutch oven now lives in a better place — as a decorative element for the lemongrass in her herb garden. You may be displeased to know the Dutch oven gave as good as it got to the kitchen tiles, a subject which may require your attention.
Rufus’s gift to you: a project for the new year.
Secondhand is fine, just give it a good scrubbing if it’s cast iron or a sanding if you feel it necessary to demonstrate your craftiness. Should you go the route of enameled cast iron, a brass handle should be necessary. Nothing plastic goes in Gail’s oven.
A book of poems
There should be no surprise that this annual gift is making a return. I suppose you find it funny every year to buy a book of dirty limericks. Gail would like to warn you the joke has worn thin. Surprise her. There are plenty of local poets who need a patron.
Yes, the days when Gail would call you up to the hayloft to warm her have passed. Gail’s rickety knees can no longer make it up the ladder. But Gail would still like you to read her poetry.
New undergarments
Gail believes you know exactly the sort of which she speaks and so she shall say no more lest this list fall into the wrong hands. Take note of this item's placement directly under the book of poems.
Varmint tuck
Rufus would like a large hambone, something to throw under the table while Gail is cooking. Given Rufus’s recent behavior during Gail’s culinary sessions, this could double as a gift for Gail.
A picture of you
A picture of you, old friend, for the album. Just one to speak for the year. Gail already has a picture of her picked out for you.
You remember that horribly icy day? The iciest of all icy days. The rain fell overnight, turning to sleet, turning to ice, turning to a sprinkle of grapple, back to rain, and then sleet, and then frozen rain, leaving the blue morning crystalized in a crunchy, frozen, sparkling crust.
It was so pretty and so obnoxious.
Gail’s hands froze on the doorknob, the key froze in the lock, her curses froze in the air and cracked on the ice. The ice wiggled its way everywhere into everything and made a nuisance of itself.
Against good sense and judgement Gail dragged you on a walk to the gorge and with God’s grace made it to watch the frozen jets of the waterfall glint in the dawn. You took Gail's picture just as she tried to walk up the slope of the path to join you. Her foot went through the fresh powder and slipped on the ice and you captured the look on her face as she fell (unharmed).
Gail wants to remind you she won’t be around forever, as much as she’d like to be. She hopes that if the winter takes her, you’ll remember the times you defied good sense and judgement together, and she fell, and you helped her up, and you both laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
*
The above is story is part of the Fiction Gift Exchange hosted by . You can see all the stories in this collection here. This was written for , who requested contemporary literary fiction with an experimental form.
infuriatingly clever. Very, very well done--as much story between the lines as on them!
I don't use the G-word lightly but this is fucking genius use of form to convey a powerful story. Chapeau MF, and Merry Whotsit