Nick Name: kmw Word Count 982 Gon’ Be Waitin’ “Dad? Dad?” Aaron’s anxiety heightened with each call. “Dad. Dad, I’m talking to you.” The old man unsteadily perched on his grandson’s shoulder. Each movement was a wobbly struggle to keep afloat. Aaron reached out, but they were too far away. “What?” the old man asked. “Get back in here,” Aaron snapped, half-bark, all concern. “It’s okay, Daddy,” the little boy said. Both his puny 5-year old arms tussled with the burden of the old man’s weight. “I got him.” “Who’s got you?” Aaron returned. He peered down the slant of the roof at the concrete driveway. He’d hate himself for it later, but he briefly dreaded the bodies slamming atop his SUV. “Get in here.” For a second, Aaron Sr. looked to shift out of control. No way little Aaron was about to let go either. Both son and grandfather would plunge together. “Stay right there. Right there. Right. There. I’ll come and get you.” “Who asked ya?” the old man said. “Com’on, boy.” The child was scared, but had no intention of giving up the journey. “We’re okay, Daddy.” Cursing a storm under his breath, Aaron went inside. He returned wearing a bomber jacket and carrying blankets. His first attempt to climb out faltered. Like he suddenly realized what he was doing and thought not. Aaron Sr. and little Aaron were settling in a corner between the chimney and the gutters. The boy labored to help the older man take a seat. Grumbling, and lacking any grace whatsoever, Aaron climb-crawled through the window out onto the shingles. Like some fumbling Spider-Man clown, he dashed along, his eyes alternating between tight-closed dread and bug-eyed trepidation. “What are you laughing at?” he shouted. “You.” The old man coughed and hooted. The youngest Aaron moved to aid his father. “No,” the father commanded. “No. You stay there. Right there. Don’t. Move.” Once in reach, little Aaron took his father’s arm. Helping Aaron sit, the boy never realized it was all pure momentum, Aaron’s adrenaline-filled desire to get it over with. With a grimace, the oldest of the trio massaged some arthritic pain behind one of his knees. “You okay, Grandpa?” The old man smiled reassuringly at the boy. “This’s crazy,” Aaron said, still comprehending it all. “This’s just pain crazy. It’s dark. And it’s cold, Dad.” The senior Aaron frowned. “No one tol’ you to come out here.” Bracing his heels against the gutter, Aaron flapped open a blanket and threw it around the boy. “We waitin’ for Santa Claus,” the young Aaron said, all gap-toothed grin. “That a fact?” the father muttered. “Yep,” the boy went on, “just like you used to. Grandpa told me.” “Did he now?” Aaron asked. The boy nodded vigorously. “Don’t need that.” The old man waved off the blanket. “I got me a coat on.” Aaron had no intention of wrestling out here. “Take it, Dad. Or I swear I’ll drag both you back inside.” “And he’ll be coming from there.” Pointing into the sky, the boy singled out a star. “Right there.” Reaching around to throw the blanket over the old man, Aaron barely glanced. “I know. North Pole. North Star.” Despite himself, the grandfather tugged the covering close around his chest. “Where yo blanket, boy?” Zipping up, Aaron stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine.” He looked over the homes on the street, looked out at the houses beyond those, everything lightly kissed by snow and draped in modest holiday decoration. The boy said, “Grandpa told me every Christmas Eve you and him used to sit right here and wait.” “Yeah,” Aaron said, “we did.” “That you sat here and talked and just waited.” The old man nodded. “That’s right. Every year. Didn’t matter how cold. Didn’t matter if it snowed. Or it rained. Didn’t let nuttin stop us from nuttin, boy.” After a moment, the boy asked, “How come we never do that, Daddy? Sit on the roof?” “We live in an apartment, boy.” “What are you fools doing?” All heads turned to the window so adventurously climbed out of earlier. “We waitin’ on Santa Claus, Mommy,” the boy blurted. “Santa Claus? You gonna get yourselves killed. Get in here.” “Go on back downstairs,” the old man said. “We fine.” “Aaron?” she scolded. “You lost your mind?” Aaron shrugged in helpless defeat. She called into the house, “May? May? May! You know what these fools’re doing?” From somewhere inside came, “Dey sittin’ on da roof waitin’ fo’ Santy Claus. Leave ‘em alone.” Trapped in the beam of his wife’s copy written ‘you-do-know-your-family’s-crazy?’ stare, Aaron squirmed. “Com’on, Mommy,” the boy invited, “wait wit’ us.” The woman went back in, closing the curtains with an angry flip. “Don’t worry none ‘bout her,” the old man said with a smirk. “Man.” The boy stared up at far more stars than he ever got to see back home. “Bet we gonna get a clear shot’a Santa when he comes round, eh, Daddy? How far was he before you saw him?” “Well,” Aaron, Sr. chortled, “yo daddy never actually saw him. Always fell asleep. Woke up in bed next morning, it’d be all over.” The boy was flabbergasted. “Well, I ain’t going to sleep. Gonna sit right here with you guys ‘til he comes. All night.” He rocked anxiously. The junior and senior Aarons shared a quiet smile. The boy couldn’t stay awake past nine and they both knew it. As his young son rambled excitedly, Aaron again looked across the neighborhood, suddenly seeing it the way he once did, covered in an aura that a child eagerly embraced this time of year. The way he did once upon a time. He took in the nostalgic melancholy filling the lines of his father’s freezing face. Smiling, Aaron glanced discreetly at his watch. A tad under two hours to go.