The Fourth Gift—Wyatt Dalton


“Sorry.” He said as he entered the already crowded elevator. “Sorry, excuse me… sorry.”

His apologies were met with grumbling from the impatient occupants, and even a groan here and there. He could have waited for another elevator, that would have been easier for everyone, but he, like everyone else was very eager to get where he was going.

You have to understand, he had someone very special to see; someone he hadn’t seen in quite a long time; and his arms were currently full of the presents he wanted to give to her. In fact, he could think of nothing else other than the smile that would light up her face when he gave these gifts to her. That’s why he was in such a hurry, and why he didn’t want to wait for the next elevator—he couldn’t wait any longer. Carrying all these things however, especially when he was also dragging his overstuffed suitcase behind him, made moving around somewhat… awkward.

As he shuffled deeper into the elevator, apologizing for every inch he took, his suitcase managed to get itself caught on the door, and he was jerked to an unexpected halt. The sudden stop knocked him off kilter, and in desperation, he flung his arms out in an attempt to regain what he had lost: namely his balance.

As a result, three very unfortunate things happened: first, as he flailed around, his hand brushed up against the elevator control panel. Where once only a select few of the buttons were lit up, now, to the other passengers extreme annoyance, many more were glowing with a dull yellow light; and secondly, also to the extreme annoyance of his fellow passengers, the gifts that he had been carrying fell to the ground and scattered themselves haphazardly under foot.

The poor man was stunned by the sudden shock of it all, and stared stupidly at the control panel where his hand still rested, before realizing what had happened and giving his fellow passengers his most apologetic look—he was met with annoyed glares and tense silence, broken only by a cough from somewhere in the back of the little room.

It was when he bent down to retrieve his things, praying that they had not sustained too much damage during their ordeal, that he discovered the third and very unfortunate thing to happen to him in what was a very short amount of time. The realization came with the sound of the elevator doors closing, that he did not have his suitcase. It had never made it inside the elevator with him! But by then it was too late, and as he desperately turned to reach for it, his hand was stopped short by the doors as they closed shut.

He sighed, accepting that there was nothing he could do for it now, and went back to gathering in what was left of his belongings—which, as it turned out, was not much.

The gorgeous bouquet of lilacs and yellow daisies and sunflowers had broken apart: the flowers were scattered all over, stepped on, and broken. What little he had managed to salvage was pitiful to say the least.

Also, to his dismay, the box of expensive chocolates had busted open. Much like the flowers had, the delicate little candies were scattered all over the floor. There was no way he could give those to her—any thought of her petite little lips spreading into that broad smile at the first taste of the once decadent delights faded as his once good spirits continued to crumble.

His one saving grace was that, as far as he could tell, the carefully wrapped gift box had escaped completely unharmed.

That was enough to make him smile a little: he knew that she would love what was inside that box, even though the gift didn’t feel complete without the other components. He reached for it, wanting to rescue the beautiful wrapping before it too suffered a very unfortunate fate; but before he could close his hand around it, the elevator dinged.

All in a rush, his fellow passengers pushed to get out, kicking around stray flowers, candies, and yes, even the box. Crying out, he lunged after the box, almost tripping a business man in a fine suit. The man cursed at him, but he didn’t care, all he thought of was protecting this last precious gift. He was so, so close to catching hold of it, when the foot of one of his willfully oblivious fellow passengers landed squarely on top of the box, nearly crushing his fingers, and audibly shattering what was so lovingly hidden inside.

After that the elevator quickly cleared of everyone except for a silver haired old woman, and, of course, him—sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the mess he had made, crushed box in lap, head in hands—and then the doors closed again, locking him in with his misery.

“Not even a single apology. Not a single finger lifted to help.” He looked up at the sad words from the old woman, the tears welling up in his eyes mirrored by those in hers. She was looking down on him, not in pity, but with empathy, and a kind, sad smile on her sweet face. “She must be very special to you.”

“She is. She means more than anything to me.” He said as the tears threatened to pour out. “I just want to see her happy.”

“Oh, dear, everything is alright, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy.”

He looked around him, at the gifts that were supposed to be for her, and that were now all destroyed, and he sadly shook his head. “No, she won’t. Everything is ruined.”

At this her smile broadened and all sadness left her eyes. “Not everything.” She said as she held out a stuffed bunny—white, with green eyes and a pink nose. It was the fourth gift, and the one he had forgotten in the chaos of all that had happened. “I saved this from the stampede. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

He stood, slowly, and sniffed as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He said, a smile spreading across his face. Just then the elevator dinged again, and the doors opened up to his floor.

In his excitement he forgot about everything else and ran out into the hallway, holding on to the bunny as if his life depended on it. He eagerly counted the doors as he sped by, searching for the right one; and he wasted no time when he did finally find it. But he hardly had time to knock twice before the door was flung open and a little girl leapt into his arms.

“Daddy! I missed you sooo much!”

He sighed and hugged her tight, burying his face into her hair. “I missed you more.”

When eventually she let go, he reluctantly set her down and crouched so that they could be at the same height. She was bouncing up and down, and biting her lip trying to contain her excitement; and he simply looked at her, and chuckled to himself, waiting for the question that he knew was coming.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Did you bring me anything?”