This short story is an adaptation of O. Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi.”
Beautiful. Gentle. Gracious. These are the things Bradley loves most about his newlywed wife, Virginia. This would be their first Christmas together since the accident.
About six months ago, on the 4th of July, Brad suffered a freak fireworks’ injury, which left him temporarily deaf in both ears and permanently blind in his right eye with scars on his face from third degree burns. For nearly three months, he laid in a hospital bed not knowing if he’d ever see again.
Ginny came to see him every day. She made it her “privileged priority,” as she called it, to leave teaching ballet early in order to be the first person Bradley sees in the morning and the last he sees at night. If she could’ve slept there, she would’ve. It was an ongoing joke between the nurses that they could set their watches to her keeping of visiting hours. What’s most remarkable about Virginia is the love in her heart that never wavered toward her once physically active yet now debilitated husband.
She never let bitterness or anger set in. She didn’t even question God over the grief she was feeling. If anything, she saw the hapless incident as being within the realm of divine sovereignty, similar to what theologians call felix culpa or “happy fault,” which is when an apparent disaster yields happy consequences. In this case, the accident made her love for her high-school-sweetheart expand like an expanding universe of affection—emotions widening, lengthening, heightening, and deepening more than she could’ve ever imagined.
If she weren’t next to his bed, holding his hand and stroking his strong fingers, she could’ve been found kneeling at the altar of the small chapel in the hospital wing. Most people, including those who don’t consider themselves religious, go there to pray for healing for loved ones. Even atheists, in time of desperation, could be found there negotiating with God, demanding a divine signature of a conditional contract of repentance at the evidence of a prescribed miracle. But not Ginny. She went to chapel to worship freely and thank God for one more day with her crippled spouse. Brad, however, did not share her enthusiasm.
Matter of fact, he took the loss of his hearing and sight quite hard, just as anyone would have, suspect to acute trauma. And the fact that the accident wasn’t his fault added insult to injury.
An incorrigible white spark from a child’s Sparkler landed into the large paper bag of professional grade pyrotechnics, which was carelessly placed adjacent to Brad’s armchair as he sat on the lawn, under the stars, enjoying the patriotic festivities on a humid summer night in Georgia.
If it were possible to compare Bradley’s love for Virginia with something inanimate, it would be his grandfather’s upright piano that’s been passed down to him in the family-will after his grandfather’s premature death. Brad barely remembers his “Papaw,” as he used to call him. Whenever Papaw spent time with his only grandson, he held him on his lap, tucked securely under his wing. And with the other arm, he played, disputably, the most beautiful classical music in the postbellum South. At the time, Bradley’s infamous colic would disappear almost like a charmed spell the moment his grandfather’s fingers danced across the ebony and ivory keys. What Brad remembers most is the feeling of being close to Papaw whenever he pressed and played on “Good Ole May,” as Papaw liked to call her.
Unfortunately, over time, the law of entropy has spat, chewed and clawed at the rickety old box of wood. In jest, Brad likes to say, “The wood wouldn’t even make good fuel for fire.” But what he says immediately following shows where his heart truly lies: “But I wouldn’t get rid of this heap-a-junk for all the peaches in Fort Valley.” And he hasn’t.
Good Ole May stands proudly against the wall of Bradley and Virginia’s living room, which, as it turns out, is also their dining room. Christmas cards from years past decorate the front of the vertical wood made of solid walnut. The only thing that’s been unsalvageable is the piano bench that Brad has thrice tried to fix without success. He’s been using an upturn, rusty bucket as a cheap substitute for now, until he can save up enough money to buy a new bench.
No one else in the family shares Papaw’s affinity for music but Brad. As a child, Brad was touted in his hometown of Macon as a “piano prodigy” but his “pride prevented him from making something of himself” as people with small minds like to gossip about others they’re prejudiced toward. The truth is Brad doesn’t like to play on any other piano but May. He says, “It takes all the fun out of playing when I can’t feel Papaw playing with me.”
There’s another reason Bradley loves to play the piano—for the joy it brings Virginia whenever his fingers parade across the musical blacks-and-whites. She can never help herself to his charism. Every time he takes to the piano, she dances and twirls like a smitten schoolgirl. Now he would have to wait—only God knows how long—to see Good Ole May and his tiny dancer, again, not to mention suffering the loss of hearing his wife’s voice as she’d sing the tunes his fingers used to hum.
On Christmas Eve, Brad was nervous, the way a groom is nervous the night before his wedding day. He wanted everything to be perfect for Christmas, even without the use of his eye. Surprisingly, he’s gotten along quite well without it—the way a tenant grows accustomed to the workings of a dilapidated building by an absentee landlord. It’s been Ginny’s upbeat attitude that’s steeled his mind and nurtured his soul back to health.
The only serious problem facing the extraordinary newlyweds, who love to give more than they receive, is their poverty status. That is to say, they are penniless for Christmas. (It’s quite unfortunate that sometimes the people who could do the most good with money are the most poor. That’s probably because they know from experience the difference between what people truly need and what people merely want.)
Brad and Ginny have sold almost all their personal belonging to pay back the hospital bills. The happy couple was barely making a living before the accident, so they were not in a position to afford health insurance. Besides, Brad has always been remarkably healthy. He wasn’t anticipating being laid up in a hospital bed for months-on-end without work or pay. Now Brad finds himself struggling to put food on the table. But making matters worse is the fact that this is their first Christmas together since the accident, and Brad desperately wanted to purchase something special for his tiny dancer.
Christmas for Ginny has always been the most important day of the year. It’s a magical day when anything is possible, like the unprecedented miracle of God taking on human form; it’s when a supernatural star led the Magi to the infant God-man, lying helplessly in a symbolic feeding trough; and it’s when men met God face-to-Face in a humble manger to worship him and feed from him. Ginny loves Christmas for both its majestic beauty and historical truth. She understands, however, that this sacred day has been tainted with folklore and commercialism, but experience and wisdom enable her to see these gilded traditions as a way to bridge the gap between the sacred and the profane. For Ginny, a gift for someone special on Christmas is a reminder of the greatest Gift ever given. So naturally Ginny wants to give Brad something special for Christmas. But she, too, finds herself without two pennies to rub together. Then, suddenly, an idea flashes across her mind that makes her eyes water, feeling the internal warmth that comes with giving wholeheartedly.
I know the perfect gift! she shouts inside her head. A piano bench. Brad desperately needs one. She begins to fantasize how her husband will well up with pride, sitting on a stool, purchased just for him and his piano. But how am I gonna afford it? Her facial expression shifts. I have nothing. And I own nothing, she reminds herself.
It’s Christmas Eve morning and Brad leaves for the day. Ginny paces around their tiny apartment twirling her long, beautiful brown hair. Inevitably she ends up in the bedroom, facing the vanity mirror as women often do when they want to talk to themselves about something important and private. Her reflection is the inspiration she needs. A delicious thought makes her sing out loud: “Yes! Thank you, Lord!”
Instantly, she grabs her wallet and leaves the apartment so fast she nearly forgets her coat and hat. Since they don’t own a car, Ginny has to walk five blocks to a place that buys hair for children with cancer. Thankfully, the owner hasn’t left for the day. Ginny raps on the door with all the impatience of a child on Christmas morn. She explains her situation.
“Let me see it,” requests the woman. “The longer and healthier your hair is, the more money I’ll give you for it.” Ginny takes off her hat. Long brown hair cascades down like a chocolate waterfall nearly touching the floor. The woman blushes upon seeing Virginia’s crown of glory. “Oh, sweetheart! You should turn around and leave here at once before I change my mind,” says the awestruck shopkeeper. “Your thick, silky, luscious hair. Oh, Dear. I can’t do it…”
“But I need the money. Please….”
The desperation in her voice makes it clear that Ginny is not only doing this for the kids with cancer but also for someone special. The wedding band on her ring finger also tips her off.
“Okay. But if I cut one lock, I won’t be able to stop myself.” Once the sheers separate Ginny from her prized possession, the woman can’t stop saying, “Your husband better appreciate the sacrifice you’re making for him.”
No one saw, neither the woman nor the angels in heaven, the sparkle of light that accompanied each tear in her eyes. Two streaks streamed down her face, tears mixed with joy and fear. The moment felt like an eternity. She felt the paradox of emotions that comes with making such a grave sacrifice. The reason for this is that Ginny swore to never cut her hair again, since she was an orphan. It was her only escape from her apathetic foster parents. They never abused her but, then again, they never showed her love, either. Her adolescence was spent hiding behind beautiful, brown curtains.
As tears fall so does her hair. Scissors key the last lock. Ginny then puts on her hat, grabs the money and runs out, impatiently. She knows exactly where to go.
Every night after dinner, they enjoy holding hands as they stroll to the music store. And every time, she catches Brad eyeing the piano bench in the window. She begs him to come inside with her but he pretends not to be interested. The price has always been out of the question, until now.
“I’ll take it!” she cries impulsively, the moment she opens the chimed door. The salesman’s baffled look forces her to clarify: “The piano chair in the window. It’s not sold. Is it?” She marches straight to the counter and opens her hand on top of the glass case. A wad of money unfolds like growing moss. “Would it be possible to put a bow on it?” she asks excited for the outcome.
“Of course,” says the salesman. “It’s Christmas!”
Meanwhile, Brad bargains with the owner of a second-hand store. By this point, he’s gotten pretty good at reading lips.
“You’ll love the piano! And I need the money! I’d really appreciate it if I could get the full price I’m asking for.”
The man lowballs him.
“But I need more money… I need to buy my wife a set of combs. Beautiful combs. Pure tortoise shell. With jeweled rims,” sighs Brad. “And you haven’t even seen it. I know you’re gonna love it. It plays remarkably well for being so—”
“I’m sure it does,” interrupts the gentleman, who’s also hard of hearing given his advanced years and service as a squadron leader in the Army. “Look, I’ve already got two pianos. They’re just sitting here, collecting dust, since January.”
Desperation flashes across Brad’s face. The man could see it in his eyes—a young man intoxicated with love, willing to sell his soul if need be.
“I’ll tell you what,” he propositions. “I’ll take the piano if you take a look at something… I have a granddaughter who’s sick with cancer. Sadly, it’s robbed her of her joy. And now chemo has taken her hair. She no longer has any need for this.”
From an embroidered napkin, he unveils a Tarina Tarantino Trinket Hair Corsage. “It retails at $200. And it’s yours if you want it… But no exchanges.” Brad annoyingly looks inside the man’s hand. Then he notices something quite extraordinary about the corsage.
Every trinket on it happens to be something Ginny loves:
A strawberry.
A star.
A cameo.
An elephant.
And her favorite flower:
A peach rose.
“It’s made of Lucite, opals, Swarovski crystals, silver, and suede,” he adds.
“I’ll take it,” answers Brad, surprised by how fast he fell in love with her replacement gift. “I think she’s gonna love it more than the combs.”
“I’ll pick up the piano after Christmas,” exhales the portly shopkeeper.
They shake hands as each one shouts—“Happy Noel!” “Happy Noel to you!” Brad is out to the door like a cheerful child.
It’s getting late. Ginny is at home cooking supper, Brad’s favorite Christmas Eve dinner—pork chops. She’s already filled their stockings with their favorite fruits and nuts. And she’s cleaned and vacuumed the apartment, twice. The decorations are paltry but heartfelt. Sadly, there are no presents under the fake Christmas tree. But that doesn’t seem to bother Virginia who’s dressed their yule log with handsome and handmade ornaments.
She’s had just enough time to shower, style her new hair, and put on Brad’s favorite dress before he comes bursting through the door. With both hands on either side of her petite hips, she stands blocking the bench that’s tucked under the piano.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Darling,” she says happily.
Brad stands speechless. Ginny smiles again hoping to excite him out of his silent torpor. Wearing a patch over his right eye, she studies his other eye to see its reaction. There’s an expression in it that she’s never seen before. It terrifies her. It’s not anger. It’s not disapproval. It’s not even surprise. Quite frankly, she would’ve preferred any of them to the peculiar expression on his face.
“Bradley, please don’t look at me that way. I cut and sold my hair because I couldn’t have lived through our first Christmas together without giving you a present—something that I know will make up for my stupid, impulsive decision to cut my hair. Oh Darling… Please don’t be upset,” she pleads. “I had good reason. And my hair will grow fast! You’ll see… Oh please say, ‘Happy Noel’ to me! Let’s be merry!”
“You cut your hair,” he says in disbelief.
“Yes. I cut it and sold it for a good cause, too!”
“You cut your hair?” he repeats himself.
Ginny doesn’t know what else to do, so she steps out of the way to expose her sacrificial gift—the piano bench. Still, he says nothing.
She moves toward it and nervously starts talking, “The guy at the music shop said that it’s the most comfortable and durable seat he has, or had.”
Slowly, he starts to come out of his trance.
“But—” he starts.
She intervenes, “It’s made of solid walnut. And the top is cushioned with premium leather,” concludes Virginia, emotionally exhausted.
Lost for words, Brad walks toward his wife. But he also feels drawn to his gift. He steps toward the bench, wrapped in a silky red bow, and smiles. Ginny is unable to see the expression on his face, for she’s standing behind him. Brad turns around. Although he only has one eye, it shouts his appreciation louder than he could ever speak. With one hand she covers her right eye and smiles back. They laugh. Kiss. And embrace.
“Let’s stay here and never leave each other’s arms,” he whispers in Ginny’s ear.
“Are you still mad at me? Do you hate your gift? Am I stupid girl?”
He pulls away to see her whole face.
“No, my dear. Thrice no. You’re more beautiful to me now than ever before.” He pauses and then covers his face with his hands before he throws his arms down: “I’m the one you should be mad at. I’ve been a stupid boy.”
“What do you mean, my darling?”
“I sold May to buy you this. I was going to wrap it.”
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the hair corsage as he begins to explain everything that happened at the store. Ginny gazes at it as if nothing else exists. Instinctively, she goes to twirl her hair but stops with her arm in mid-air and then slowly raises it to her tightly curled hair.
From a deeper level of love, she speaks, “You sacrificed May for me? To gift me this handsome hair clip?”
Brad smiles and walks toward the piano. “Let me play a song for you so you can dance for me one last time.”
A week later, on New Year’s Day, Ginny visits the hospital to find the girl wearing her prized possession. As soon as she enters the room, her eyes lock on to the little girl, who plays with her new hair like it was a broom, sweeping it back-and-forth across the dark wood floor. That’s her, she thinks to herself, recognizing her own hair anywhere. The sight of it on the sweet girl makes her smile. And for the first time, Ginny doesn’t miss it. She walks toward her and sits down next to her.
The girl scoots and speaks with a touch of enthusiasm, “You must be the nice lady who donated your hair.”
“Yes, I am. But that’s not why I’m here.”
Ginny holds out her hand.
“My corsage! I can’t believe it!” shouts the tiny patient, still in her hospital gown. “Thank you so much.”
“Of course. I really enjoyed wearing it but I knew that you really needed it,” adds Ginny. “May I?” she asks, finding the perfect spot for it in the girl’s long chocolate hair.
Sacrificial love is the ultimate gift. The Magi—the Wise Men—gave wisely because they started the tradition of presents at Christmas. Like the Magi, Bradley and Virginia gave wise gifts because they gave from sacrificial love. Now, every time their story is told, the list of the wise men (and women) grows.