The Gift

How can an unwanted gift keep on giving?

“What’s this?” Henry’s old gnarled hands fumbled with the brightly decorated basket full of goodies. He stared suspiciously around his front yard. “I am not feeble, yet. I don’t need taking care of,” he shouted at nobody. “I’ll leave this where you put it. You can give it to someone else who really needs it.”

The big dead bush shed more of its leaves as it rustled at him. “Look on the bottom of the basket.”

Bushes don’t talk. Henry knew that. “You stand still long enough for me to hobble over there and I”ll give you more than a piece of my mind, youngster.” The neighborhood kids constantly invaded his yard grabbing their frisbees, balls, or each other while playing tag.

“This is private property, you know.”

“It’s the gift that keeps on giving. Mom says so and she never lies.”

Henry’s lips trembled in fury. “K’eep talking, kid. I’m headed your way.” He stumbled, almost falling as he took the first step down his stairs. “Darn it. Top one’s loose again.” The second step screeched up at him as rusty nails gave way.

“Don’t hurt yourself, old man. O.K. I’m leaving.”

Henry’s eyes bugged out as the dead bush lifted itself out of the ground, roots and all, and began dragging itself past his dilapidated wooden fence. He gasped at the basket leaning precariously out of his grip.

That is when he noticed the type written note on the bottom. “Take what you like, add what you want. Give the basket to someone else without getting caught doing it.” - One of your neighbors.

“Do Gooder,” Henry scoffed.

He steadied himself. “Least you could have done was take the dead bush with you,” he shouted. Living on his Social Security meant forgoing fixing things up, even if he could. He’d been denied disability.

Leaning down to deposit the basket back on his porch felt like more than his body could manage. Henry sat down on his rocking chair with the basket settling on his lap. “Trespassing again,” he grumbled at the gray squirrel stopping to peer up at him.

When he looked up, the dead bush was missing. The squirrel chattered angrily at him, tail bobbing around like a magic wand. “No way did you do that. Here. Have at it.”

Henry surprised himself. He watched his free hand reach for the crackers, pass them by, and sail a cookie towards the squirrel. “Did my hand just do that?” He stared at it as if it were not his own.

“Cool, Henry.”

A kid had replaced the dead bush. “Can I do that?”

“What’d you do with my bush?”

“You said you didn’t want it. My club needs it for kindling. We’re going to have a picnic. Want to come? That would be more than cool. You have a scary enough rep to keep the big kids away. They’re always bothering us.”

Henry felt the unfamiliar seismic shift of a frown becoming a smile that chuckled out loud. “Sure. Catch.” His hand sailed a cookie towards the kid, who caught it, and sailed it toward the squirrel.

And that is how the club got two new members joining them, Henry and the grey squirrel. Word spread. It was hard for Henry to shuffle over to the clubhouse in an abandoned lot nearby. His front yard became the new defacto meeting ground.

Big kids steered clear. One call to Henry’s old cop partner did the trick. Siren’s blazing and big kids fled like wildfire. The club mowed Henry’s lawn and weeded the yard so they could play s croquet with Henry’s old set.

The basket lay empty with its contents pilfered by the kids, but it had done it’s job. It had been the key unlocking the door of the gift that keeps on giving.