The Christmas Interruption

I bent over the keyboard, trying to form words. None would come. The piece was due by midnight, and I didn’t have as much as a sentence finished yet. Of course, I had writer’s block before. But this was nothing like it. Peter meant well, I’m sure. It was a very thoughtful gift. For years we sang the Twelve Days of Christmas at the hospital back home to the patients on Christmas Eve. I understood his reasoning, but this was too much.

“Pipers! Pipe down!” I yelled into the hall. Eleven of them. Can you imagine? They never stopped piping. I thought they must pipe in shifts. It was nonstop since the moment they arrived.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” one peeked his head into my study, peering around stacks of books and manuscripts. “We’re pipers. We pipe. We pipe for twelve days straight.”

“Do you die then?” I shot back, not really wishing death on the eleven of them.

“Please, Ma’am, it is paramount that we participate in the piping. We pipe as a present from Peter.” He bowed and backed out of the room.

I picked up a legal pad and a pencil. Sometimes words came better when I wrote them rather than typed them. There was an instance of silence, and I thought the pipers had petered out. I curled up in my overstuffed chair, pen and paper poised and ready… and it started again. There was no escape. It was like some terrible dream. They piped all day, morning, noon, and night. Their tunes changed throughout the day, but at the same time on any given day, the tune was the same as the day before. I set my watch by the tune they piped. What had I ever done to deserve eleven pipers piping?

Then it hit me. It had been eleven years. Eleven years that Peter and I sang that song every Christmas Eve to the patients at Pineview. I put aside my pencil and paper and, for the first time, listened to the piping as if I had never heard music before. It was the last night I’d hear it. My editor would have to wait. It was as if Peter himself was piping, and my mind was filled with a wealth of memories from those times. There were peppermint candies and pinstriped pajamas. There was Peter. There was a simpler time. There was a plethora of smiles on the patients’ faces. There were so many happy memories in that piping.

Suddenly, the piping muse struck, and I was deeply ingrained in my work. The sun poked its head above the horizon with a beautiful hue I had never seen since moving to Pittsburgh.

“M’Lady?” A voice pipped from the side of the room. “We’re through piping.”

“Wait!” I proclaimed, and ran into the hallway. I saw the pipers packing their pieces. It couldn’t be. It was over already. So soon?

“We bid you ado, My Lady,” the head piper spoke up. “Our time has passed. We wish you farewell!” The bowed graciously as they backed out of the door.

It was then that I realized the true meaning of the pipers. Although things may seem an interruption, they are a part of your life that you will always remember and enjoy.
Word Count: 546