Christmas at Tinsel Town

Christmas at Tinsel Town

Trying to find a gift during the Christmas season can be a daunting task, but when you’re twelve and trying to buy your mother the perfect gift with your own money for the very first time, it is nearly impossible. Brian Fisher would learn that hard truth when, at Thanksgiving, he had decided that he wanted to pay for his mother’s Christmas present himself. His mother, Sophia, was his best friend, and he thought that she could use a little cheering up since her accident. She had clumsily missed the final step one groggy morning, and she had broken her ankle. Naturally, he wanted to give her something more special than the little cards he made her every year. He would make her a card, of course, but he wanted to really give her something special, and he wanted to see her face when she opened his perfect gift.

In his quest, he would get a glimpse of a little bit of the magic that is only possible at Christmas.

His father, William, had cautioned him that it may be too much responsibility, but when Brian assured him that he could do it, his father reluctantly relented. He had picked up a newspaper route in the early morning hours before school but regretted it every morning when he opened the door and felt that bone chilling air. He soldiered through though which made his father quite proud of his little man. He woke up the moment his alarm began blaring at five o’clock, unlike his little brother, Tyson, that slept like the dead and needed at least fifteen minutes before anyone in the house could speak to him, and he diligently delivered every one of his papers on the route before he came back to get ready for school. He had worked hard those four weeks leading up to Christmas.

The money that he earned from his four weekly paychecks was put into a glass mason jar that he kept over his dad’s workbench in the garage for safekeeping. He religiously put the money from each paycheck, minus a little something for himself, of course, into the jar and promised himself that he would not open it until he was ready to get his mother’s present. He had kept his promise, something that surprised even him, but when he opened the jar, he found that it would not be enough.

The day he opened the mason jar and only three days before Christmas, he found the perfect gift to give his mother. It was the limited edition Holiday Barbie, and he knew that his mom would love it the instant that he saw it in the Toys R Us catalog at his friend’s house. She always talked about how much she loved dressing up and playing with her Barbie when she was a little girl, and he thought it would be a small, but thoughtful, token to show just how much she meant to him.

The only problem was that his diligent saving had only gotten him forty-two dollars and the price tag for the doll was over fifty. He needed to find a way to make a little more money. He figured that fifteen dollars might be just enough and twenty would be perfect with tax and everything, but he had no idea how he would do it. He wouldn’t get his next check for the paper route until the day after Christmas, so that was no help. He knew he could ask his dad for the money, but he was determined to accomplish this by himself. He would only ask his dad if it was necessary, as an absolute last resort.

He decided that he would ride his bike around town and see if any of the local mom and pop businesses needed any extra help. He knew that he was too young for most jobs, but he also knew that many of the local shopkeepers would gladly pay kids under the table for little jobs here and there. His friend, Todd, had gotten some sweep-up work for the barber down the street, Mr. Peluso and his friend, Liam, had earned some money helping old Mr. Mangino with some light painting at his pizza place across town.

Brian set out early the next morning, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon of snow covered spruce trees that lined his street, and his parents were still sleeping in their bed, his dad no doubt snoring like a chainsaw. He wondered how his mother slept at all sometimes. He knew he might be in for a long day, so he made sure to bundle up with some fuzzy Christmas socks, long johns, his bulky Steelers jacket, matching Steelers beanie, face mask, and thick gloves. He imagined he looked like an inflatable snowman that had been dressed as a Steelers fan. The wind from last night’s brief storm had died down, but the fresh coat of powder that had dropped, four inches, would make riding his bike difficult, at least until the plows had done their thing and cleared some paths. The main roads would have been cleared mostly by now, so he decided that he would just walk his bike to Highland Avenue and start there.

He decided to start with Mr. Peluso since the old man had let someone that he knew work for a few bucks before, but the sweet old man told Brian that business was a little slow this Christmas and he didn’t really have any work for him. The old man offered him a few dollars to help, but he refused. He didn’t want a handout. He wanted to do this himself, had to do this himself. The chubby kid with frizzy hair and the tattered Guns N Roses shirt at the Red Apple convenience store across the street had been slightly less hospitable when he told Brian, in not quite so eloquent terms, to get lost and threw a carboard box at him.

He tried to be positive, not to let those early failures get to him, but that was when he realized the truth. He got a feeling similar to a gut punch when it happened. He had been thinking that there were two days before Christmas, and while that was technically true, he never considered that he would need to give his father time to go buy the Barbie. He really only had one day. Today was it.

His head, like his heart, sank. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself as he mounted his bike in the parking lot of the Red Apple.

He resolved at that moment that he would give everything he could today, until dark at least. By dark he had better be home or his “ass would be in a sling” as his father would say to him on occasion. He rode around town as fast as he could, and the icy wind blasted him in the face as he did. He could see in the various storefronts that the thin unprotected slit across his face was getting redder by the minute. He visited places like Vinny’s Italian Ristorante, Joseph’s Italian Market where they have the best sausage in town, Eastman’s Pharmacy where Martha, the nice pharmacist, offered to give Brian the entire twenty dollars because she thought what he was doing was very sweet, Tommy’s Hot Dog Shop, the old man there likewise offered Brian the entire twenty, and Mangino’s Pizzeria, but in every case, zilch.

He had been very tempted to take the offers of the nice pharmacist and owner of the Hot Dog Shop, but he thought it was bad enough that he would likely have to go his dad, hat in hand, and admit that he came up short for his mother’s Christmas gift. Plus, if he was being honest, that old man had kind of given him the creeps. He remembered a chill going up his spine when he smiled at him, and he left rather quickly, hoping that his parents wouldn’t want to get hot dogs for dinner any time soon. The thought of asking his dad for the money was nearly unbearable. His father would buy it, of course, and he would tell him that he tried his best and all of those other platitudes that parents tell their kids, but he would always know the truth. When it mattered, when he wanted to do something nice for the most important person in the world to him, he had failed.

By the time he had walked out of the Shop N Save in the shopping center on State Street, the sun was already beginning to go down, and the temperatures were dropping fast. The wind was forming snow drifts all over the parking lot. His shoulders were slumped, and he was dragging his feet as he walked back towards his bike. The grocery store was the only place left in the plaza that he hadn’t checked, and he didn’t have time to go anywhere else. It was going to be dark in less than an hour and his parents would begin to worry if he wasn’t home by then. He quickly put on his winter protection and mounted his bike to head home, but just then, he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced over to the left to see what it was that had gotten his attention, and he was amazed to see a large movie theater with bright lights shining from the marquis. It read MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM TINSEL TOWN NOW SHOWING IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. The lights around the sign appeared to be flickering. That wasn’t there a minute ago, he thought. Was it? How the hell did I miss it? His brow furrowed in thought. He had lived in Crystal Creek Falls his whole life and he had been in this shopping center dozens of times while running errands with his parents, but he could not remember ever seeing a large movie theater there. He vaguely recalled an old rundown building with what could have been a sign or something on top, but after his very long and unproductive day, he decided that he was too tired to think about it.

The wind whipped and howled around him as he mounted his bike, the tiny snowflakes sparkling intermittently in the dying sunlight. He barely even felt the slit across his face now, and he hoped that he hadn’t gotten frostbite. His breath showed in front of his face in a rapidly disappearing cloud. He sat on his bike for a moment debating going into the theater to see if they had anything for him, and he was almost about to just call it a day and head home when he saw the sign. It was a small Help Wanted sign hanging in the glass window next to front entrance. He shrugged. Nothing to lose, I suppose, he thought. It’s either that or give up.

He set his bike against the wall and walked over to the front door. He tried to pull the door, but it appeared to be locked. He knocked on the door and the wind, almost as if it was answering the knock, whipped around him again. The snow swirled around the parking lot, shimmering again in the fading sunlight, like sugar crystals flying in the air. Just when he had turned around to leave and put his hand on the handlebars, he heard the door open.

“Hello, young man,” the voice said before he had turned around. The voice sounded warm and inviting. “How can I help you?”

Brian turned around. Before him stood an old bespectacled man with a crooked nose and a white mustache and beard. The man’s eyes were kind, and Brian could have sworn that he saw them twinkle, but he convinced himself that it was simply the reflection of light. “Hi, sir. I saw your Help Wanted sign in the window and I was wondering if you might still need some help,” Brian said.

“Oh,” the old man said, thoughtfully. He put his hand to his chin for a moment and then suddenly he said, “Gosh, where are my manners? Come on inside, young man. You must be freezing your little jingle bells off.”

Brian laughed. “Yes, sir. Thank you,” he said as he moved past the old man as he held the door open.

He stood at the spot just inside the door and shook the snow off of his coat, stomped his boots on the carpet, and took his hood and beanie off. “Please, you can lay your coat and hat on the counter there,” the old man said, and motioned with his hand to the glass counter to his left as he walked past him and into the lobby.

The inside of the theater was beautiful. The lobby was much more opulent than the multiplexes that he and his friends frequented with tattered cheap carpeting and scuffed linoleum floors. There were none of the arcade games, Icee machines, refrigerators full of sugary beverages and overpriced water, or microwaves and hot dog rollers. There were similarities of course, like the glass countertop displays of the candy selection or the carboard pinups and movie posters around the lobby, but the differences were vast. The wine colored carpet appeared to be a fine woven tapestry that you might find at a middle eastern bazaar. It stretched over the floor towards a humongous marble hearth with a roaring fire and there were two tall, backed leather chairs placed in front of it. He felt the fire begin to warm his bones almost at once.

The intoxicating whiff of freshly buttered popcorn drew his gaze toward the glass counters with the candy displays. He recognized a few of the candy brands, but others he had never heard of and the ones that he did know had strange packaging, very plain compared to what he remembered them to be. He even saw candied cigarettes, and he knew that they had stopped selling those long ago. The prices were different too. They read ten cents on most of them and five on the others, not the ridiculous amounts people pay today. On top of the counter stood a large gold cash register. It was one of those old fashioned jobs that would have been right at home in a candy store in a Disney movie or Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium.

“So, how can I help you, young man,” the old man said as he sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He groaned. “These old bones don’t do so well in the winter. That’s why I stay by the fire most days.” He gestured for the boy to sit down.

Brian sat down blowing in his hands and shuffling them together. “Thanks, sir,” he said. The old man put up a dismissive hand and waited for Brian to continue. “Well, I saw your sign on the window, and I was wondering if you had any work for me.”

“You,” the old man replied. His face looked surprised. “How old are you son?”

Brian lowered his head. “Twelve,” he replied.

The old man tapped a finger on his chin. “Hmmm, that wouldn’t exactly be legal, now, would it?” The old man paused. “Aw, but what the hell, it’s Christmas. You can come back tomorrow, and I’ll find something for ya to do.” The old man frowned when he saw the kid’s face.

“That won’t help me,” Brian muttered.

“What do you mean, young man?”

Brian spilled his guts. He told him all about how he had boasted about buying his mother a gift with his own money. About how he wanted to cheer her up after she broke her ankle taking a tumble. About how he had worked for a whole month on a paper route and still going to school, and about how he had come up short. When it was all out, he began to cry.

“That’s okay,” the old man said as he leaned over and patted his knee. “How about I give you the twenty dollars today and you agree to come back and help me tomorrow?”

Brian looked up. His eyes beamed through the tears. “Really?” Brian asked.

“Of course, it’s Christmas,” the old man said and laughed. Brian laughed too. The old man pulled a nice, crisp twenty dollar bill out of his shirt pocket. The bill had a small face on it. Brian hesitated for a moment but then took the bill from the old man.

“Thank you,” he said, sheepishly.

“Nonsense,” the old man said with another dismissive wave. “Now, you better get on home, young man. Your mom will start to worry.”

“Yes, sir,” Brian said and put on his jacket. “Thank you.”

“No problem, kid. Merry Christmas,” the old man said. Brian could have sworn, he saw his eyes twinkling again.

He got home just before dark, just before his ass would be in a sling, and just in time for dinner. He had a ravenous appetite from all the riding around town he did, and the wonderful smell of popcorn and candy in the theater didn’t help matters. He scarfed down two helpings of his mother’s chili, and he normally didn’t even finish one. After dinner, he gave his dad the money and his dad agreed to buy the doll.

He went to sleep and dreamed of his mother’s face when she opened her gift and how she would hug him tightly. He rode his bike up to Tinsel Town at first light. He was a man of his word, and he had agreed to help the old man, but when he got there, the theater was gone. All that stood in its place was an old, rundown building with boarded up windows. He wondered if it was a dream.

Somewhere, he heard a faint jingle of bells.