The snow fell softly as I weaved through the market stalls. The late afternoon sun keeps the snow from accumulating on the cobblestones but I intentionally feel for each step as my eyes keep on the group ahead of me. These teenagers are moving fast from their excitement with what the night is to behold which is completely opposite of the indifference they carry when in the classroom. And I, always the one to slip on ice when I am rushed, am just trying to keep up.
We had spent the morning wandering the holiday markets admiring the handmade wooden decorations, glass baubles, and ornate nutcrackers while snacking on candied nuts. We had stopped to listen to musicians playing in the square, a few of the students getting into the mood and making up a dance. But like all teenagers, they finally gave into their stomachs which has led them to the savory aromas from the food vendors. As I catch up, I see Gabe.
“Mulled wine” he smiles and shoves a mug into my hand.
“While we have a moment…” I drag him over to a stall with handknit sweaters.
“Do you like this one?” I ask with a bit too much excitement as I hold up a green and white sweater with a snowflake pattern. I typically am not a holiday person but I can always find a reason to have another wintery sweater.
“Isa, you knitted a sweater just like that last year.”
He is right. He is always right.
“But it's pure Bavarian wool!”
He rolls his eyes at me then scans the stall. “Why don’t you buy some yarn instead? It is more like you to make a sweater than buy one. Plus, it will give you an excuse for why you will unfortunately have to miss my holiday party.” He mocks my voice as he hands me some balls of yarn.
They were so soft. I imagine the perfect sweater I'd knit in my apartment alone over the holidays. He knew me so well.
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“I don’t need an excuse to be a recluse but agreed this might seem more socially acceptable.”
The only thing I ever question Gabe on is his insistence to lead the 8th grade class trips to Europe every year. He is the de facto trip leader since he is the school history teacher but he makes it into our personal bucket list trip that conveniently aligns with the 8th grade history curriculum. ‘It’s a free trip to Europe!’ he exclaims every fall, badgering me to join. ‘Haven’t you always wanted to go to Paris/Rome/[insert European city here].’ Since I have nothing else better to do in December and it is two weeks away from my responsibilities of teaching math to middle schoolers, I always agree.
Every year we deal with whiny, spoiled teenagers and their overbearing parents who volunteer as chaperones as a consequence of leading this trip. This year’s trip is especially painful as the fretful new English teacher, Oliver, has also joined. It seems he came with the personal mission to follow me around like a lovesick puppy. Somehow, he still has not figured out I am not into overly affectionate men.
But earlier this morning…those worries drifted away as the sun twinkled in the soft snowfall. The small Bavarian town nestled in between snow capped mountains that glistened in the early light. The ambience captured the ire of most of the students.
After I purchase enough yarn for a sweater and Gabe refills our mugs, we stroll back towards the student. We take our time to breath in the fresh mountain air mixed with sweet roasted nuts and savory meats. The sun is starting to drop low in the sky and throws shadows on the ornate wooden Christmas pyramids which are dramatically highlighted by the glow from the candles at their base. I can see the soft rising heat work to move the fans of the decorative pieces. I have never much enjoyed celebrating the holidays the way I was raised - flashy and overdone - but this I could celebrate.
The town center is full of 200-year-old stone buildings of all colors, all capped in gabled wooden roofs, and all decorated for the holidays in a way that complimented the timeless town. At that moment I almost enjoyed the holiday decorations strung about town.
We gather up the students and their parents to find a spot to watch the parade. As the villagers and tourists pack in tight, the energy grows from a calm pleasure to a vibrant excitement that matches the teenagers. Even Oliver seems to be free of the constant nervousness he wears and joins Gabe and I in conversation without making it awkward. The palpation of anticipation for the Krampusnacht parade has taken over the town.