The tree colored the night in red and green. The house smelled of Jiffy Pop popcorn, served up in a spaghetti stained Tupperware bowl. The console TV blared the theme from “One Day at a Time.”
Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas. Wrapped in worn-thin flannel, they cuddled on the floral print couch with an afghan around the three of them. Grandma and her girls.
Too old for a real babysitter, too young to be left alone, Grandma and Grandpa were in charge. Mom and Dad were out on ‘date night.’ It was past their bedtime. But there was still popcorn to eat. Grandma walked to the kitchen.
Two young girls jumped off the couch, a blur of Christmas flannel and hand-made crocheted slippers raced down the hallway. Grandpa met them at the kitchen door; shooing them away, grabbing the phone from the wall and stretching the twisted avocado cord across the floor.
The night was colored by flashing red lights. Sirens blared. Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas, standing in a snow bank, huddled together with an afghan wrapped around the two of them. Soggy crocheted slippers.
The neighbors opened their door, took the girls into their home. The ambulance sped down the hill.
Hours past their bedtime, twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas, return home. Mom carrying one, Dad toting the other. Grandpa went home alone. Twin sisters clad in matching Christmas pajamas, watched their dad cry.