The Unimaginable Christmas

Well, at least no one peed on me today.

Gary got the mall Santa job this year because facing Christmas alone was…unimaginable. Not that it was going to help him tomorrow, but at least it got him through Christmas Eve. Or rather, Christmas Eve Day. He had thought it would be a fun distraction, and it was, at first. Most of the kids were sweet or shy or excited; to his surprise, he found that bratty parents outnumbered bratty kids 2:1. But the redundancy of must-haves, pretty-pleases, and can’t-live-withouts, coupled with the loop of tinny Christmas muzak and the voice of the elf pushing Santa photo packages, made the hours drag by in mind-numbing sameness.

Given this headache, it apparently wasn’t quite mind-numbing enough.

At first, he’d tried keeping a tally of what the kids asked for. He thought it’d be fun to make a little database and graph it; that was the type of thing he’d done with Becca and Ben and their Halloween loot years ago. That idea lasted about an hour. They all wanted so much stuff. Playstations, Xboxes, and Nintendos he could keep track of, but who could remember all the different games, and all the toys related to all the games? He was pleased and surprised that Legos seemed to have made a comeback, although he suspected that the Lego Store’s location across from Santa Land almost certainly played a role in that. Books, per se, weren’t popular requests, although most days at least one or two kids asked for a Kindle of one type or another. Beth would have liked that. She would’ve said “Reading is reading!” Through almost 30 years of pushing books as a school librarian and she’d kept up with the times. She always knew what the kids were reading and how. It would’ve been 30 years this year.

A is for Apple. B is for Bear. C is for Cancer.

Once the final girl in line put in her 11^th hour request for “anything-from-Frozen-but-really-please-a-singing-Elsa-doll,” he clocked out as Santa for good. After three weeks of this, he thought that being alone might not be too bad after all. For a while. Maybe. At least he’d get a call from the kids tomorrow and hear how the grandkids liked their presents. Things had been easier when they all lived close by. Kids can be demanding, but then they grow up and find that jobs and spouses can be demanding, too. One day the house is full, the next everyone’s a flight away.

Now it was 6:30 pm. His Santa suit (complete with matching hat, gloves, and sack) was squashed into his tattered gym bag, and his forehead was leaning against the cool glass of the 71B. It wasn’t very crowded to start with, and it got less so at every stop. Apparently, the snow had begun early afternoon, shortly after his shift started. The fluorescents at the mall effectively stopped time, but he’d heard the parents chattering about a white Christmas for a while, until the flurry of excitement turned into warnings of bad road conditions, and the crowd tapered off. More than one parent joked about Rudolph really earning his kibble tonight. “Ho! Ho! Ho!,” Santa Gary said merrily. “So clever,” is what he thought dryly. Tonight, Santa’s kibble would be a #33 from Wok Around Town: an egg roll, chicken chow mein, sweet and sour pork spareribs, and pork fried rice. Maybe for a special treat, he thought he might an order of crab rangoon, too.

Then I’ll watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” and…what? Fall asleep crying? Jeez. Merry Christmas to me.

Gary had been dozing when the interior lights of the bus turned on. “Sorry folks, we’re stopping here. Really stopping.” He blinked a bit as his eyes adjusted and looked out the window. It was still snowing, and he saw that they were near the end of the route, at the bottom of Negley Ave. When neither he nor the only other passenger left moved, the driver explained that the bus couldn’t make it up the icy hill and couldn’t turn around, either. Apparently a PRT crew was dispatched to get them out, but she said they’d be better off walking if they could since “it would probably be at least an hour or two, but really god only knows how long with all this snow.” Then she walked off the bus, muttering and lighting a cigarette.

He looked at the other passenger, a woman sitting closer to the front. She was maybe 20 or 30; he couldn’t really tell since she was bundled under lumpy layers and wearing a bright knit hat pulled down low over her ears. Her eyes were closed, and she was slowly shaking her head. As he rose and picked up his bag, he watched her snatch up a backpack and a couple of grocery bags, balancing them awkwardly as she made her way off the bus. By the time he stepped down onto the snowy curb, she was cursing at the driver. The driver didn’t seem too phased; she turned her back and waved the passenger off, still smoking and now talking on her phone. He figured she had to wait with the bus and maybe called someone to explain to why she was going to miss Christmas Eve.

You’re not going to get too much sympathy from the driver, lady.

There was no one and nothing else around except some parked cars buried under the fresh snow. He took in the snowy sidewalk, the lampposts with their frosty, glowing domes, and the big, puffy flakes still coming down strong. It was rather pretty, like a scene from a Christmas card - at least if you took away the bus. The other passenger hadn’t gotten far and was still grumbling at the driver, or maybe at the storm? He knew he shouldn’t say anything. He should turn up his collar, put his head down, and start walking. It was only six or seven blocks to the restaurant, and then another to their – his – house. But he couldn’t help himself. “Give her a break. There’s nothing she can do,” he said. He thought of the parents at Santa Land. “At least we’ll have a white Christmas.”

He'd tried to make it sound light - a “look for the silver lining” kind of thing - but instantly he knew it’d been a mistake. Beth would have known what to say and how to say it. Whether it was a natural instinct or all that experience with kids, she always knew how to put people at ease. His words seemed to have the opposite effect. The woman whirled around so fast that he jumped back a little in surprise. “A white Christmas?,” she snapped. “A white Christmas. Who the fuck needs a white Christmas? You know what I need? I need to get home! I need to fuckin’ get home with my fuckin’ groceries and my fuckin’ 99 cent presents and make some fuckin’ shit dinner.” She paused just a second and then went on, even louder. “And then, then I need to make all Santa-like and wrap this fuckin’ garbage and…and…” ….and as she fumbled for the right words and tried to gesture in exasperation, one the bags she holding tore, spilling boxes of mac and cheese and some apples into the snow. And then she started to cry.

Oh no-no-no. I’m so in over my head. What on earth do I do now?

For a split second, he considered trying to comfort her, but given how badly his first attempt at saying something went, he decided instead to bend over and pick up the spilled groceries. He stood up slowly, dusting the snow off the boxes. Still crying, she tried to grab them, but she only succeeded in spilling more apples and a box of brownie mix. “Here, let me help you,” he said. He gently took the bag and righted it, then retrieved the food and carefully put it back inside. She took off her mitten and wiped her face with her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…I know it’s Christmas, and I shouldn’t… I just…,” she trailed off and shook her head.

Gary reached for the second bag. He didn’t always know what to say, but he usually could figure out what to do. “Give me that. I don’t mind carrying them. Which way?” She didn’t say anything at first, but then slipped her mitten back on, got a better hold of the backpack, and gestured with her head up the hill. He was relieved that she was going in the same direction he needed to go. Gallant gestures were all well and good, but it was cold, and his old bones didn’t want to be walking miles out of the way on a night like this.

At first they walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of the snow crunching under foot. But after a minute or so, she quietly started to speak. She explained that she’d tucked some money away especially for Christmas, wanting to make it special this year, but her son had broken his glasses a few weeks ago, so that had taken care of that. Today she’d worked an extra shift, hoping between her pay and tips she could get something nice for dinner and some small toys for her kids. But, things were slow at work on account of the snow, and after taking out what she needed for the sitter, she’d only ended up with enough for the usual groceries and a few little odds and ends from the grocery store. She finally sighed and said, “I guess Santa’s on a budget this year like everyone else.” Gary could tell that she wasn’t angry, just was frustrated, and disappointed. He listened and nodded. That much he could do.

Soon she stopped in front of a small, white duplex with big old, red doors. Like the rest of the block, it was a bit run down, but neat. Nothing special, he thought. She reached for the bags. “Thanks,” she said. “And sorry again.” Gary gave her a long look. “What’s your name?” She gave a weak smile. “Brie. Brianna.” He nodded. “You’re very welcome, Brie,” he said, and he wished her a Merry Christmas. She unlocked the door and slipped inside. He watched the big red door close, then noticed the blinking lights ringing the front window. In the window (which had to be drafty, he thought absently), someone had hung paper snowflakes. Snowflakes cut out by little hands. He heard the kids running (up a front hall?) and squealing greetings to her, and her muffled voice saying something that sounded, if not cheerful, at least not tearful.

Nothing special on the outside, perhaps.

While the snow drifted down around him, Gary remembered Christmases past at another small house just a couple blocks away. The oversized lights he’d hang on the shrubs the day after Thanksgiving; they couldn’t go up any sooner because Beth always said that you can only properly celebrate one holiday at a time. The year Ben insisted on a “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree; it was an anemic-looking thing (Can trees can look anemic?), but also surprisingly pretty in a simple sort of way. The Christmas Eve they’d spent in the ER when Becca was eight and broke her arm sledding at Park Hill. The piles of sugar cookies the family always made together, and how - as their cookie cutter collection grew - the original Christmas trees, stars, and snowmen were joined by butterflies, dogs, and all sorts of crazy things. He pictured Beth doing holiday crafts with the kids; how they’d sing along to Christmas classics or listen to the Nutcracker. Beth - the consummate storyteller – loved the Nutcracker, and would bring to life the Christas Eve party, and the battle with the Mouse King, and Clara’s wonderous dreams. He’d sit reading a book and listen to the songs and the stories and the laughter while they made miles of paper chain garlands and blizzards of paper snowflakes. On Christmas Eve, they’d all pile on the couch and watch a movie – the movie. Once the kids were tucked in, they’d wait for them to fall asleep, then open a bottle of cheap wine (all they could afford back then). Giddy conspirators, they’d whisper and eat cookies, wrap presents, and play Santa.

A sudden noise – a car horn? a door slam? – broke Gary’s reverie, and he realized he wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. Taking a deep breath, he brushed the snow off his shoulders and continued up the block with a new purpose to his step. It didn’t take long to reach the restaurant. The dark interior was decorated with a festive mix of Christmas lights, red paper lanterns, and a three-foot tall, saxophone-playing Santa. Mrs. Li came up from the back. “The usual?,” she asked. He looked at the Santa and smiled. “No,” he said. “Not tonight.” If she was surprised by what he ordered, she didn’t show it. He told her he’d return for it in an hour, then headed back outside. One hour isn’t very long, he thought, but it would have to be enough.

He hurried to the house as quickly as he was able, nearly falling twice on the slick sidewalk. Once inside, he made the rounds, first through the kids’ rooms, and then to the attic. Ben’s old Hot Wheels collection. A bag of Groovy Girls. Some stuffed animals, but not the ones with the fur loved off! No, only a few that had yet to become Real. That thought led him to the bookcase in the den to search for The Velveteen Rabbit. Then Guess How Much I Love You? And of course, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. And then more and more books because, well, because Beth. Before long, the red velvet sack was bulging.

Given the blustery weather, he decided to pull the suit on over his clothes and jacket; Santas are supposed to be jolly and fat, so the suit was good and roomy. He opened the front door and started to step outside, but then realized he'd forgotten something. Someone. He closed the door and tried to think. Slowly, he wandered from to room, until he found himself in his bedroom. Their bedroom. After a moment or two, he opened the top drawer of the little dressing table and poked through the jewelry, watches, and lipstick tubes until he found a small, black velvet box. Would she mind? Would she be pleased? He opened it and looked inside. The gold pendant shined on the little card, a matching gold chain threaded through the loop and tucked neatly underneath. He’d given it to her so many years ago. It was their very first Christmas together. They hadn’t been married yet; they hadn’t even been dating long. She’d laughed. “Is this in case you have a hard time remembering my name?” He’d blushed a little, then smiled shyly. “No chance of that.”

B is for Beth. And then for Becca. And then for Ben.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the restaurant, a hundred dollars lighter and two bags of hot and hearty Chinese food heavier. The snow had stopped, and folks had shoveled – or trampled – the snow on the sidewalk, so walking was a bit easier this time around. He put the red and white hat on one more time and continued down the block, back toward the small white duplex with the big red doors.

Christmas Eve dinner? Check. Presents for the kiddos? Check. A gift for Brie? Check-Check-Check.

“Oh yes,” he said aloud. “You never, ever, forget the mom.” Gary took a deep breath, thought of Beth for the thousandth time that night, and smiled. Now it was really time to play Santa.