When The Magic Almost Died

************

"Dunky?" I wasn't sure if I was having a nightmare, or waking up to a bad dream, but there was no doubt that Bethy was shaking my shoulder.

"Go away," I grumbled pushing her hand away from me, "you promised, remember?"

"Dunky, it's morning." Was that fear in her voice?

It couldn't be morning, I'd just gone to sleep, and besides mom and dad hadn't yet come to tell us that Santa had been here with the usual after midnight rush to the tree.

"Can't be, go away."

"But it's day light out."

That got my immediate attention. I squeezed one eye open. Sure enough, it looked like morning was swimming into our bedroom through the window. How could that be? Something was very wrong here, and the fear in Bethy's voice became contagious.

"Now don't worry Beth," I said using her proper name for the first time in my life, "mom and dad probably just fell asleep and never heard Santa come is all." Who was I fooling? That would never happen, I thought, as I climbed out of my bed putting on my slippers and robe.

"You think they're still asleep? Shouldn't we wake them?"

Fair questions, but I didn't have much more than questions to offer myself. Instead I suggested that we go check out what was waiting under the tree first. That brought her up short, and made her eyes open wide. Amazing, she'd forgotten it was Christmas morning, and that Santa had to have been here and gone a long time ago. She nearly beat me out the door this time as we rushed like always to the tree.

There was something ominous about seeing the tree with the lights out, and the train parked quietly on its tracks as it wouldn't have been if this had taken place during the traditional after midnight rush. Sure all the presents were piled up under the tree wrapped in beautiful paper and fancy ribbons, waiting to be torn away, but this was morning. All of those presents should have been opened hours ago, and there they sat like dynamite without a fuse.

"What do we do now Dunky?"

"Let's go have breakfast," was about all I could croak out.

"You think Mommy and daddy will be up by the time we finish eating?"

"Maybe," I managed, then a great idea hit me, "but if they don't, we can fix them some breakfast in bed!"

We got half way through our bowls of Kix when dad came into the house through the kitchen door, and grabbed both of us up in his arms shouting, "Merry Christmas!" and nearly squeezing the breath out of both of us in the process as we were danced around the tiled floor.

"Merry Christmas munchkins!"

Then the door to mom and dad's bedroom opened up and out stepped Grandma Betty in curlers and a floor length burgundy robe.

"It's about time you got home, is everything all right, what about the baby?"

Bethy and I looked at each other then, we only knew of one baby born on Christmas day before this day.

"Both ladies are doing great," dad said, and I smiled at Bethy, "Doreen came screaming into the world at five AM weighing in at nine pounds three ounces, and 27 inches in length mom, and you two have a new sister to look after."

How about that, dad even named her after my favorite Mouseketeer, as I had suggested. The pout on Bethy's face was priceless.

"Say, did you guys check out what Santa brought yet?"

We of course could only shake our heads no, we didn't have enough breath to speak, and suddenly we were carried away into the front room. With dad flipping the switch that lit up the tree and started the locomotive to chug along its tracks as we entered the room, Christmas had arrived.

************

High noon, January 1st, 1957, Kathy, along with Becky, and Beth, sat on the sidelines in the Beach's basement as Bobby and I stepped from the shadows at each end, and into the light closer to the middle. Bobby with his twin Colt 45's and me with my new gunslinger rig, stared each other down as we drew closer and closer, step matching step we came towards each other for a show down. Bobby snarled with cocky disdain under his Stetson, sure that no single six shooter could evenly win against his two handed draw. While I did math in my head to keep from laughing myself silly, thus giving away my advantage, my arm hung down straight by my side ready for action. A week of practice in my own basement had me ready, but I had to be close enough for this to work, range was everything.

We drew within six feet of each other before stopping, Bobby was gonna make sure that I couldn't say that he missed, knowing full well that with only one six gun shooting at him he could faint being grazed. We waited breathless, watching each other intensely for the other to make the first move. Then I saw it, his face twitched. He was going to draw first, even if that made him the bad guy. As I said Bobby hated to lose.

We both slapped leather, but the gunslinger rig gave me a lightening draw. However, Bobby didn't really have to aim, just shoot to claim his victory, while I had to try and dodge his shot while aiming from the hip. I fanned three shots so fast that even I was surprised, as Bobby at last pulled the two triggers on his Colt's.

"Too late Bobby, your dead," I said cool as the snow outside.

"No way Dunk, you know you only winged me, you ain't that good a shot. Your the one who's dead," and he actually laughed in my face, "no way you can get out of the way of two blazing Colt 45's.

"That would normally be true Bobby, at least without evidence to the contrary."

"What evidence? There aren't any cameras here to prove me wrong."

"Well that's true enough," I drawled, making my point slowly now that I had his curiosity, I bent down to pick up the three rosy spent bullets, so as to savor the moment through eternity, "however, I'm not the one showing bullet wounds either, so I'm sure you missed me," and I heard all three girls giggling as I Showed Bobby the three plastic bullets and pointed to the three red splotches on his white T-shirt. All three across his chest from the lipstick that I had borrowed from my mother, and smeared all over the gray plastic bullets, "those look like chest wounds to me Bobby, and that's a sure kill."

Looking down at his chest my best friend, and now my bested enemy, was stunned senseless. In his excitement he hadn't even felt the bullets hit him, though there was no reason why he should have, because they barely had enough momentum coming out of the barrel to hurt a fly, just barely making it out to six feet if there was no wind.

"Bang... bang... bang, your dead," I said each word slowly for effect.

He did the only thing that he could do, he clutched his chest and gave the most pitiful death scene ever performed, taking two whole minutes to crumple to the floor.

As I said, 1957 was a great year for the American automakers, Mattel, and me. In fact I think it was their best year since it took two wonderful years in succession to make it happen.