"Please fasten your seat belts and place your chairs in an upright position to prepare for descent into Bermuda....'' The airline stewardess's voice cut through my thoughts and started that nervous, sick feeling forming again in the pit of my stomach. I was still blaming myself for not being smart enough to invent yet another excuse to avoid coming home for Christmas.

Unfortunately, after five years of meetings, scheduling conflicts, and financial obligations, mom had heard everything short of a severe illness, and I was all out of elaborate fairytales. The thought of facing my parents again brought back all those feelings I had when I had just graduated from university in Canada. I was a scared twenty-two year old who came home to Bermuda after being away at school for four years. The cause of my discomfort then was that I had to tell my parents that I had been offered, and was accepting, a job from a New York Bank. I remember feeling horrified at having to face them, but thrilled at the opportunity to start my adult life in a city like New York. The truth is that I never much cared for island life and I always felt that Bermuda was just too small for me. I hated that everyone knew me and or my family wherever I went, and I hated the lack of choice with everything you did. I remember arriving in New York loving the anonymity of the big city, and the power behind doing and seeing something different every weekend. I loved the rushed feeling of the city with no obligation to be friendly to strangers. My career was everything and Bermuda just didn't fit into my plans of being a successful, independent, business woman of the ninety's. "Welcome to Bermuda'', the stewardess' words emphasised those feelings again, and as the plane touched the tarmac, I completely forgot that I was indeed a successful business woman. Instead, I immediately reverted back to that scared inexperienced child who just graduated from university, and who was forced to face her mummy and daddy. "Oh God!'' I thought to myself, "this is going to be the longest week of my life!'' I slowly and without enthusiasm shuffled out of the plane towards baggage claim and then customs. I felt awkwardly out of place surrounded by package laden locals who had flown away to shop for the holidays. Standing at customs surrounded by `the home shopping network' it occurred to me that I hadn't taken the time to buy one solitary Christmas gift for anyone in my family. I lived in New York and I would have to do my Christmas shopping in Bermuda, how ironic! I took one last deep breath, and then positioned my mouth into what would look like a sincere smile before stepping through the doors that led to the area where my family was waiting. As I stepped through the automated doors, I immediately became the ringmaster of a chaotic circus. Family members I didn't know I had, were telling me from all sides how grown up I looked and how great it was to see me. My head was spinning trying to put names and faces together. I couldn't believe how I could have forgotten that many family members! The car ride home was just as confusing as my arrival in the airport. Everyone was doing their part to update me on five years of changes in the twenty minute ride home. My head bobbled from side to side as I politely pretended to be interested in all that had happened in my absence. Actually, all I wanted was the nearest pillow and a comfortable bed. My hidden plan was that if I was forced to come home, the least I could get out of it was a few days of much needed rest, as I had been working way too hard in New York. Unfortunately, I guess I should have remembered the first rule of business. That rule being the best laid plans could change at the drop of a hat and I should always be prepared with an alternative plan. My symbolic hat dropped as my mom casually announced; "we remembered how much you enjoyed decorating the Christmas tree, so we waited until your arrival to decorate ours together.'' I tried to camouflage the look of pure horror that I knew was making it's way across my face, as it became painfully obvious that my whole family had planned this little get together to decorate the tree and welcome me back. Resigning myself to the fact that sleep was not on my immediate agenda, I began to mentally prepare myself for the claustrophobic evening I knew lay ahead of me and I couldn't possibly enjoy.

However, despite my determination to be miserable and non-interested, I couldn't help but feel an instant warmth when I walked into the house and my old bedroom. Mom had kept it pretty much as I left it and no amount of resistance could have prevented the wave of nostalgia that came over me while looking at the memorabilia of my school days and my childhood. I don't know if it was the combination of being at home in Bermuda, seeing my old room, or surrounded by my family but I actually found myself enjoying the evening.

While mom and dad shifted through the stacks of old Christmas albums, my sister and I plowed through the big boxes of Christmas decorations recanting old stories of when we were younger. My brother and brother-in-law sorted out the Christmas lights for outside the house, and my sister-in-law made quick work of dispatching eggnog and other Christmas treats, while professionally dodging the younger children who were running around the house getting into everything. Despite what would under normal circumstances appear to be the most unconventional of assembly lines, within three hours the house had transformed from it's normal conservative state, to a festive barrage of red, green and white. During the hours of conversation that followed, I remembered looking at the Christmas tree and smiling. Despite the amount of time that had past with the different additions and subtractions to the ornaments, the tree standing next to the fireplace looked identical to the last one I saw five years prior. In that moment; with the loud Christmas music blaring in the background; everyone straining their voices over everyone else to be heard; the smell of pine in the air; the laughter and reminiscing of Christmases past; I felt like I had never left home. Before drifting off to sleep that evening, I thought of the last five Christmases since departing Bermuda and wondered how I could have forgotten this feeling. I never really bothered to decorate my apartment in New York with much creativity; there was no reason to. I had a small artificial tree with set decorations and I usually displayed the few Christmas cards I received. However, I usually spent the majority of the holidays at dinner parties with work associates and never really had the time to worry about such trivial matters. When did I change? I always made such a big deal about the holidays when I was home in Bermuda. When did it stop meaning anything to me? I was actually feeling a little sad and I would be surprised when this feeling would continue to resurface throughout my reluctant visit home. I woke up the next day feeling more rested than ever before. I lazily looked around for a clock and resisted my first impulse to spring out of bed in a panicked state noticing that it was already ten o'clock. I never slept that late in New York and I started to think about why being in Bermuda made such a difference. It then occurred to me that other than the subtle sounds of birds outside, there wasn't the normal harsh sounds that I was used to. There were no garbage dumpsters being emptied from the street, no sirens blaring, no car horns or loud traffic. With the `city band' playing early mornings and late into the evenings, it was amazing I slept at all. After quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt I stumbled What is success without people to share it with...

breakfast. While giving her a long explanation of how I only drank coffee in the mornings, she interrupted, mentioning something about Codfish and potatoes. I suddenly felt ravenously hungry and decided that the coffee for breakfast policy needed to be revised. While gulping down an ambitious pile of potatoes mom mentioned that I had a phone call from my friend Shelley, who wanted me to call her when I had woken up. Shelley was someone I hadn't thought about in years. We were very similar and were once very good friends.

We met in high school and eventually went to the same university in Canada.

She was just as ambitious as I was and the only real difference between us, was that after her four years hiatus in school, she came back home to Bermuda.

I had heard she was doing quite well working in one of the local banks. We were like high school girls again gossiping on the phone when I returned her call and I was thrilled to accept her offer to reacquaint me with the island.

I felt like a real tourist as she gave me an extensive tour of the island pointing out all the changes since I'd been away. While eating lunch overlooking a beach on South Shore, I mentioned to Shelley that I had forgotten how truly beautiful Bermuda is. "You could almost forget it's Christmas time when the weather is this perfect,'' I exclaimed. She laughed and sarcastically quipped "missing your white Christmases in New York?'' Without giving it a second thought I immediately responded with "you mean grey don't you.'' I was stunned that I would instinctively downplay New York over Bermuda; where did that come from? Spending time with Shelley again turned out to be great fun. She also helped me solve the family gift dilemma, which had been weighing heavily on my mind, by offering to take me shopping that evening. I was slightly stunned when she mentioned that the shops would be open late that evening. She laughed hysterically at me surprise commenting "my goodness, you act like Bermuda is in the dark ages and doesn't even have indoor plumbing? Late night shopping is a great way to get caught up in the Christmas spirit with everyone else who will be roughing it in the last minute crowd. Trust me, after fighting the crowd this evening, you'll feel like you never left New York.'' While shopping that night I understood what she meant.

Bermuda had become just as sophisticated in the business areas as what I had become accustomed to in New York. However, it still managed to keep that comfortable island feel which made it so special and unique. I found everything I needed in the way of gifts for the family and was surprised by how differently I remembered things compared to the reality of the situation.

The evening turned out to be very revealing in other ways as well. I kept bumping into old friends I knew from school and people who knew my family. I felt oddly missed as I was accepting dinner invitations and planning boating trips with old friends for the remaining time I was home. I didn't feel at all inconvenienced or claustrophobic, and actually felt a little disappointed that I didn't have enough time to spend with everyone. Christmas Eve was also surprisingly enjoyable. The family tradition had been to have dinner with my brother's in-laws in Somerset at their annual Christmas party. We would travel the longest route to Somerset stopping occasionally to look at all the colourful houses with their outside lights and decorations. The best part of the ride would be the sing-a-long to Christmas Carols on the car radio which would inevitably start every year on this trip. This year was no different as our imitation of the `Partridge family Christmas' echoed from the car throughout the ride. Arriving home from the party that evening the tradition continued. Mom and Dad assumed their normal posts to prepare to open their gifts as the family watched. My sister handed out presents usually with a story attached to every other one; I was assigned trash control duty ensuring the discarded gift paper found an appropriate home; and my brother would adjust the volume on the music constantly and chime in with the usual bad jokes. Once my parents opened their gifts mom right on cue from five years before, tried to encourage me to open at least one of my presents before Christmas morning. The suspense always gnawed at her and she was dying to see which one I'd open first; but I'd never admit to being curious and always waited leaving her slightly disappointed. The script of Christmas past stayed exactly the same as always. Mom staying up most of the night finishing her Farine and Cassava pies for Christmas dinner held the next day; my parents waking me up early Christmas morning to open my presents as they both watched; and my mom's inevitable question of "which present did you like the best?''; all identical experiences as my previous years home. Christmas Dinner, which was actually lunch with the whole family at my sister's house the next day, also stayed true to form. Sitting down to dinner with fifteen family members all very loud and vocal. The smaller children at their own table and the adults, which consisted of anyone over fourteen, at the main table. Someone would start things off by saying the words "someone should say grace?'' On cue and in unison my brother and nephew would shout the word "GRACE!'' and the chaos began. Christmas crackers would be pulled, the jokes inside would 38 Bermuda Christmas prompts banker to come home so identical to when I was home it could actually be scripted from one year to the next. However, all the negative feelings I had associated with this type of family event had disappeared. They had been replaced with warm feelings of belonging. I felt comfortable being with my family and being in Bermuda, a feeling I had displaced or forgotten from younger years. The rest of my time after Christmas day went by quickly and just when I was happy to stay, I had to leave. Saying good-bye at the airport was more difficult than I thought it would be a week earlier. I was actually depressed picturing my empty apartment with no one waiting enthusiastically for my return, combined with the cold, wet streets of Manhattan. I hugged my parents, trying not to cry, and one by one kissed my other family members. My friend Shelley had come to the airport to see me off. Promising to make a better attempt at keeping in touch, I hugged her good-bye and glanced at her curiously as she slipped a piece of paper in my hand. I boarded the plane and found my seat quickly. It was only then that I started to open the piece of paper in my hand. On it simply were the words "what is success without people to share it with'' and the name of a manager and address of a bank in Bermuda. I leaned over and pulled out my small Powerbook computer with the intention of revising my notes for a meeting I had scheduled the next day. My intentions however, transformed into a new letter beginning with; "Dear Sir, I have been employed with the Bank of New York for five years and I want to come home.'' PHOTO ADULT RUNNER UP -- Ms Lisa J. Barnes won second prize for her story about a Bermudian, who returns to the Island for Christmas after many years abroad.

CHRISTMAS SHORT STORY CONTEST CPN