Only four more minutes and he can get up. That’s the rule. No earlier than 7:00.
A small stream of light comes through his window already, where the blinds don't quite touch, and he can hear some shuffling noises on the other side of his door.
He is sure the tree is all lit up. The ornaments, the ribbon, the angel on top… He can picture it all. Including the scooter that he has wanted so badly.
It’s there under the tree, silver and shiny. It has to be. And it wants to be ridden.
Three minutes left.
He wonders if Santa liked his cookies last night.
Fidgeting wildly, he kicks his covers off as he sits up and faces the door.
Three whole minutes is such a long time to make a kid wait.
He stares at the crack underneath his door and wonders if it is big enough to see through.
Second thoughts are a waste of time; he is already up off the bed.
One step to the left to avoid the creaky spot on the wood floor, three more big steps forward and he crouches down. It’s hard to get his eye close enough to the ground or the door because his nose gets in the way. He scrunches it as far as it will go, but he still can’t see much.
Shadows. That’s it. Doesn’t help at all.
He lifts his head and looks back toward the clock next to his pillow.
Two minutes.
Two minutes may as well be forever.
He starts to pace around his room, stepping over the creaky spot, just in case his parents hear him.
Walking toward his window, he peeks out the blinds. The sun is so bright he can’t look at it. No snow today. Florida isn’t really known for snow, but a kid could hope.
One minute.
Just one more minute!
His breathing gets faster and his heart starts to race. He could beat his heart to that door, though.
The doorknob calls to him and he reaches up for it. Everything in him wants to turn it, but he knows the rule.
How long is this minute going to last?
The anticipation might actually kill him. This is a brutal form of torture and he could burst from the incredibly long wait.
That clock is still working, right? Nothing is happening. How would he know if it stopped? He could be waiting in here all day! His Mom and Dad would come get him if that happened, right? They wouldn’t let him miss Christmas just because his clock stopped.
The seven appears with the two zeros after it and his hand slips on the doorknob from the sweat of excitement.
That won’t be enough to stop him. He grabs the knob with both hands and turns it as he pulls the door open with his entire force.
The lights from the tree light up the hallway and he trips on the bare wood floor as he tries to turn the corner so quickly.
He falls hard on his knees and slides just a bit in his pajamas. The pain screams at him and forces the tears out of his eyes.
He has to pull back to grab his right knee, but through the blurry tears, just around the corner, he can see a small sliver of shiny metal. And through the grimace on his face, a small smile appears.
*Fiction