Christmas Cup

Blades from the drone whirred overhead, mixing with the light snow. I noticed it ascend through the flakes. I looked down at the box on my doorstep. The gold and white “Merry Christmas!” mat with the tree and gifts dwarfed the miniature package. This parcel the size of a perfume box intrigued me. What is in this thing? I asked myself.

After carrying it in the house I washed my hands and sanitized it. I set it on our kitchen island.

“Gil, kids! Come down here right now!” My husband Gil, forty-two, light skinned and six-foot-two, came up from the basement. “What is it Nyema?” he asked.

“I’ve got something from the doorstep.” The two teens didn’t hear a thing. Their headphones inhibited them. I banged on their doors. I headed back downstairs. They opened simultaneously.

My son, Treyzon, sixteen asked, “What’s up?” He was about five-foot-eleven and had brown skin like a paper bag.

My daughter, Zalina, fourteen, wanted to know too, asking “Yes?” with a bit of ill-tempered attitude creeping in her voice. She was five-foot-three and dark skinned like me, twin chocolate drops many remarked about us.

“Come down here and look at this!”

They responded to my command and we journeyed downstairs where Gil stood, arms folded and a perplexed look on his face.

The kids gazed upon the tiny box with a green bow atop it.

“Who wants to start tearing away at this thing?” I asked, wondering what the three of them would do. I scanned their faces and discovered that they ranged from intrigued to indifferent.

“C’mon, y’all. Alright, I’ll open it.” I undid the bow slowly. I then peeled off the wrapping and revealed the box itself. I started to lift it, then—

“Wait! Let me do it!” Zalina shouted. I stepped back with my hands open suggesting she had free range.

Zalina walked closer to the item on the island.

She picked off the lid. Our eyes gleamed.

A sparkling platinum key lay in a bed of cotton.

“What’s it go to?” Trezon asked.

Gil lifted the key and held it to the light. It twinkled like headlights on a busy stretch of highway. I stepped in and looked under the cotton. There was a tiny scroll.

“You’ve got to read it, Mom,” Zalina insisted.

“It reads:

To the McShane family—

Go to Wilmington, on West Sixth Street.

You will find a house.

This is where you all shall meet.

It is for each child and each spouse.”

“Let’s not do this. It’s probably some gang looking to scam us or something,” Zalina said.

“I think we should do this, Z,” Gil replied.

“Yeah! We should definitely do this!” Treyzon announced.

“Three against one….” I said.

“This is why democracy is corrupt except for electing personnel. Whatever. Okay. I’m in.”

We donned our winter coats and left our Hockessin, Delaware home around eleven in the morning that Tuesday during Christmas Break. We embarked on the adventure that was only intensified by the fact that we still didn't know about the curious key.

I moved with ease over I-95. Flurries fell to the ground and melted away. I pocketed the key and felt it every time I switched lanes.

“Maybe it leads to a treasure,” Treyzone presumed.

“I still think it’s a trap,” Zalina replied.

“Let’s just see,” Gil mentioned. He gripped on his pistol just in case anything went down on that side of town.

We arrived at West Sixth Street. The brick facade was crumbling and the tiny entrance looked like a red mouth yawning.

“I told you this was not a good idea,” Zalina said. “I mean, y’all can walk through The Nightmare Before Christmas but I’m going to stay in the car.”

“And when you’re carjacked, who’s going to defend you?” Gil asked.

“Alright, Daddy,” Zalina closed the door to the SUV. All four of us entered the place. Oddly, the front door was ajar and we didn’t see one which would match the key.

Then, I pointed to a staircase with a light reflecting on a keyhole.

“Watch your step, guys,” I warned. Gil gripped up on his pistol.

My teenagers walked cautiously up the creaking stair as well.

We all finally reached the landing and stood before the door. I obtained the key from my coat pocket. I extended my hand to the keyhole and listened as the mechanism clicked. It was like a music box emitting a tinny tune.

The door swung open and we just saw screens which showed African American slaves engaged in foot-races and dancing. Speakers overhead blared fiddles and clapping. The smell of fresh baked bread and whiskey pervaded the space which was about the size of a master bedroom.

Then, everything went dark. My family and I huddled together. The lights and music stopped. One screen showed Harriet Tubman ushering her brothers into freedom around the Christmas holiday.

Gil’s eyes welled up. Mine did, too. For Treyzon and Zalina, they were too transfixed to show any emotion. Then a message appeared on the main screen:

You have just experienced a time

Where your ancestors survived holidays

In conditions too cruel for this rhyme.

Look at all of the displays—

Now, you know who, what, and how.

I’m Grandad Joe who set all of this up.

As you know, I am gone now,

But I wanted to fill your Christmas cup.

We were all in tears. We hugged. Still, as we turned to leave a figure crept up and brandished a firearm in our faces. Gil gripped again.

“I’m Colin Rothbane and I wouldn’t reach for that, sir,” the offender suggested. He was tallish and gawky. He must have weighed a hundred and ten pounds. The weapon in his hand seemed to be heavier than him. His skin color was that of dried bark or mud. He was probably Treyzon’s age.

“Okay,” Gil said, “Let my wife and kids go. This can be settled with cash.”

“I don’t want your money. I want to make sure you took in that message.”

“We did. Trust us. We did,” I attempt to reason.

“Yes, we know it’s from our grandad. He’s no longer here but he obviously wanted us to know this bit of history,” Treyzon spoke up.

“We’re not giving you anything,” Zalina replied. “You’re a coward for even doing this. Who do you think you are? Scaring families into coming to this place. You’re a blackguard,” she asserted.

Rathbone approached my daughter. I slid my hand into my purse which held my own .22 pistol. As he got into her face I motioned for Gil to draw his firearm.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. Rathbone turned around. Zalina kicked him to the floor, his gun falling beside him. He was down on his knees with his hands behind his head. With both pistols trained on him, Treyzon had already alerted the authorities. The police stormed through the doors, weapons drawn. After carrying Rathbone away, I gathered with my family. We bound into the SUV and headed home.

“I told you this wasn’t such a good idea…but I’m glad about the first part. That was nice,” Zalina mentioned. “I could have done without Mr. Rathbone, though.”

“I’m glad that the cops were able to save us from what could have been a much worse situation,” Treyzon mentioned.

“But we all got a beautiful Christmas lesson,” Gil said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That we should love each other and know our history even at the risk of our own lives.”

On the drive back to Hockessin, we all sang Negro Spirituals and reflected on our recent experience, both bad and good.