The Unexpected Angel

Content warning: Strong language

“A white Christmas? Who the fuck needs a white Christmas?”

Work had been slow. Christmas Eve day could’ve been busy, which is why she’d worked a double shift. But then it started snowing just before noon, and people hurried to finish their errands; folks couldn’t be bothered with a late lunch or a break for coffee and a snack when the roads were getting bad. She’d had only three tables all afternoon and hardly made enough to cover the bus fare and the babysitter. Now, to add to it all, the bus was stuck and she had to walk – up hill – the rest of the way home, with cold, sore feet and a couple of unwieldy grocery bags.

Who is this old busybody and where does he get off, thinking he can tell me to relax because, “at least it’s going to be a white Christmas?” Un-fucking-believable.

She took a deep breath then lashed out at him again. “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 gulped for air, 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 shifted and ripped. It happened so fast, there was nothing she could do but watch as the apples and boxes of mac and cheese tumbled into the snow. And then she started to cry.

The old man didn’t seem to know what to do for second, but then bent over to pick her things up. As he slowly rose and dusted off the boxes, she tried to reach for them, but only succeeded in spilling more apples and another box. She watched, teary-eyed and mouth agape, finally stunned into silence. The apples rolled a foot or so, then come to rest against in little mounds of snow. They suddenly reminded her of ornaments on a tree, red and green and shiny, and she thought how pretty it was out there, with big, fat snowflakes coming down and the street clean and pretty and quiet, almost like a scene from a Hallmark Christmas movie.

Almost. Except her groceries were all over the sidewalk. And she still had to trudge home, feed the kids, and play Santa. Fail at playing Santa. She closed her eyes and remembered Jesse’s first Christmas. She’d swore she’d do things differently for him, give him the kind of Christmas she’d always dreamed about, that she’d always imagined. Each year she tried, but then when Cece was born, it got even harder. Money was always tight, but she could usually find a few decent toys at Good Will or the church basement shop, and two years ago, she’d even managed to get Jesse a new (used) bike. But some years – most years? – Santa didn’t bring a whole lot.

Well, if nothing else, we always hang the lights and make brownies with sprinkles. That’s gotta count for something.

This year had been tough because she’d twisted her ankle in September and was out of work for two weeks. After that she’d pinched pennies all fall, planning to get something special at the last minute - and she was so close! But then Cece broke her glasses at the school’s Thanksgiving play and all those pennies slipped through her fingers.

She thought of going home to the kids who’d be buzzing with Christmas Eve zoomies, and wondered how she’d be able to smile and make brownies and tuck them in knowing how disappointed they’d be Christmas morning. Not that they wanted anything big; they knew enough already to have modest dreams. And not that they’d complain; they were used to hand-me-downs clothes, generic cereal, and toys that were sometimes missing a few pieces. But she knew that young hearts can’t help but fill with hope on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas morning when they find that the magic skipped their house - skipped them - they can't help but break.

The old man could’ve walked away. She figured that he’d probably had a long day, too, and was eager to get home to his family; the worn gym bag he carried was probably full of gifts for his grandkids. Why should he spend another minute with this crazy woman who’d just been shouting at him, and who was now crying in the snow? But to her immense surprised, gently took the bag and righted it, then retrieved her 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.

“Give me that. I don’t mind carrying them. Which way?” She didn’t say anything at first. “Am I crazy for even thinking of letting him?,” she thought. But she was so spent, so cold and so heavy-hearted, she decided it didn’t matter if she was crazy. All she could do was slip her mitten back on and gesture with her head up the hill. 

I never would’ve imagined that this old busybody with his rumpled coat would end up being an angel-in-disguise.

As they headed up the hill, the cold air dried her teary face. After a minute or so, she began to speak, first apologizing, and then trying to explain. She told him about Jesse and Cece, the broken glasses, the double shift, and the cheap presents from the grocery store. She wasn’t angry any more – if she ever really was – and she wasn’t looking for pity or sympathy. Mostly she disappointed, and tired. Finally she sighed and said, “I guess Santa’s on a budget this year like everyone else.”

She stopped in front of a big, old, red door, on the right side of an old, white duplex. There were Christmas lights were on in the window, and through the door she could hear the familiar sound of the Queen of Christmas claiming that all she wanted for Christmas was you. She turned and reached for the grocery bags, thanking the man and apologizing again. The man had been very quiet while they walked, and now he gave her a long look. “What’s your name?” he asked. She gave him 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.

In seconds, the kids were running to her, each trying to speak faster than the other. Marcy had taken them sledding and given them cocoa and candy canes, and they’d play games and made paper snowflakes. Brie paid her quickly and let her escape next door; she knew Marcy would want to change clothes and then head over to her parent’s house before the weather got even worse.

Thank you, Marcy. What would we do without you? You deserve a nice Christmas Eve.

All the cocoa and treats meant that the kids weren’t hungry yet, so they sat by their little, silver tree (a treasure she got for just $3 in Good Will one July) and made more paper snowflakes. The kids told her all about their adventure sledding, and she told them all about her adventure when the bus got stuck. After cleaning up the mountain of paper confetti they’d made, she herded them into the little kitchen to make dinner. First they mixed up the brownies – with sprinkles – and popped them in the oven, and then they made the mac and cheese. “Easy peasy!,” Cece happily announced as she stirred in the frozen peas. It wasn’t much of a feast, but Brie was glad that at least their bellies would be full. She’d been thinking that if she rifled through boxes in the back of her closet, she might still have some old junk jewelry that Cece’d like. And was her dad’s old Pirates hat in there, too? It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As she started pulling out the bowls and silverware, she thought she heard a knock at the door. It seemed impossible – they didn’t get many visitors, and no one’d be coming over in this weather - but then it came again, louder. The kids beat her to the door but knew to wait before opening it. She unbolted the lock and tried to open the door slowly, but a cold gust of wind caught it. The big red door swung in with a bang and a swirl of snow, and there on their doorstop stood Santa Claus.

Brie and the kids looked at him in shocked silence, until finally he blurted, “Jesse. Cece. It’s me, Santa.” The kids were still uncertain what to do, and Brie sensed that maybe Santa was, too. She didn’t understand what was going on, but he looked familiar somehow and seemed harmless enough. “Um. Hi Santa.” She paused. “What’s up?” He cleared his throat and stood up a little taller, as though he’d made up his mind about something. With more confidence, he smiled and said, “Since you were extra good this year, I figure’d I’d drop by a little early and pay you a surprise.” 

Well, that was all it took for pandemonium to break loose. Cece squealed and clapped her hands, and Jesse jumped up and down, shouting in excitement. Cece grabbed hold of Santa’s sleeve and started to pull him inside. As he made his way past, he gave Brie a little smile, and that’s when she recognized him. It was the grumpy old busybody from the bus, the one who’d carried her groceries and quietly listened to her ramble. Her angel-in-disguise. Gone was the rumbled coat and gym bag, replaced by a red velvety suit with a matching hat and sack. As he let himself be pulled inside, she realized he was also carrying big bags of...Chinese food?

This is either the sweetest thing or the weirdest. But crazy people don’t just show up at your door bearing Chinese food, do they?

Santa had indeed brought dinner. And presents. Much to Cece’s dismay, he insisted that they eat the food while it was still hot, but Jesse was excited - he’d instantly recognized the bags from the little place on the next block. He told Santa that Chinese food was a New Year’s Eve tradition. It was a treat Brie’d managed a few times, which she now realized had made an outsized impression on him. Santa just told him to enjoy the chicken chow mein and said something about it being a new year with new traditions. Brie wasn't sure what he'd said exactly, so she asked him to repeat it – it wasn’t a new year, yet, after all – but he just shook his head and helped himself to more spare ribs.

Once everyone was completely stuffed and all of their hands and faces had been wiped clean, Santa announced that it was time for presents. He let the kids lead him back to the front room and the little silver tree. He sat himself on the old sofa next to the red sack, which was sitting on the floor where he’d left it on the way in. The kids plopped themselves down by his feet, sitting wide-eyed and cross-legged. He looked at them each carefully, scratching his beard, clearly thinking something over. Then he nodded his head and started rummaging in the bag. Carefully he pulled out two stuffed animals: a monkey with a red ball cap, and a blue elephant with oversized ears, lined with pink. He paused. Brie figured he didn’t know which one to give to which child, but he needn’t have worried. Cece shyly reached for the elephant, and Jesse – who loved baseball - cheerfully took the monkey. Santa smiled, relieved. “That’s Horton,” he told Cece, “and that’s George.” Then looked through the bag some more, pulled out a book, and began to read. 

He began with Horton’s story, and they discovered the Jungle of Nool. Then they heard about George’s adventures in New York City. Santa's voice was deep and smooth, like the narrator in a documentary. After a few minutes, he seemed to get warmed up. He began doing the voices, louder and softer, gesturing and pausing in all the right places to pull them in and build suspense. They ran with dinosaurs and baked cakes with mice, saw a boy create a world with a crayon, and learned how toys become Real. He grew quiet after that particular story, and Brie wondered if he was thinking of other children and other Christmas Eves.

Brie looked over and saw that the kids were finally getting sleepy - Cece was already beginning doze – and decided it was time to call it a night. The kids could tell that there were more presents in his bag, but they were smart enough not to ask about them; after all, Santa had lots of other kids to visit that night.

Brie sent them up the stairs to change into pajamas and brush their teeth, promising she’d be up in a few minutes. Once she knew the kids were out of earshot, she sat down on the couch next to Santa. “Thank you so much,” she said quietly. “I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, or what brought you back, but….but this was…this was something else. This was really special.” He smiled, pleased that everything had worked out. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. Brie grimaced a little. “Yeah, you were a Christmas angel and I was a…. I was totally rude to you.” He told her it was nothing, that we all have those days. “Maybe,” she said, “but I’d totally deserve it if you left coal in my stocking.” She chuckled and shook her head, then stood and started to head upstairs. She told him that if he waited, she’d make them some coffee when she came back down.

She wasn’t gone that long – the afternoon of sledding and the evening with Santa and his stories had worn the kids out – but when she went back downstairs, he was gone. He’d left more presents by the little silver tree, gently used toy cars and dolls, and even more books. She checked the kitchen just in case he’d made his way back there, but the kitchen was empty, too. He’d washed the handful of dishes they’d used and put all of the leftovers in the fridge. She went to grab something left out on the table, and realized that it was a little black box, like something from a jewelry store. Was this a present for her? She could understand the books and toys, but this? She picked it up and noticed that a piece of paper had been tucked underneath. It was the receipt from the food, and she saw that he’d left her a note on the back.

“You don’t deserve coal. You’re a good mother. Merry Christmas”

Brie sat down, holding the little box and the note, and thought about the day. She thought about the double shift and the apples in the snow, the paper snowflakes and the brownies and bags of Chinese food. She thought about the boy creating a new world with the crayon, and about love making a tattered toy rabbit Real. She thought of Christmas morning, and she smiled.

Yes. A new year with new traditions indeed.