Mary and Jo - a Christmas Story

Santa baby, hurry down the chimney tonight

The worst thing about Christmas is the songs. Crazy making earworms that burrow into my brain. My boss, Iggy, has the same dozen Christmas songs on a loop from December 1 until we close the bar at midnight on Christmas Eve.

It's not like I woke up one day and decided to kill myself, and as many people as I could take with me. Or maybe I did. It's hard to remember. It just seemed like a good idea, one with no real downside. I’d been thinking about it a lot. When I would do it? Where I would do it? I thought about where I could get hold of weapons. How long could I go before someone took me out? Should I take a hostage?

The logistics of being an active shooter is both problematic and straight forward. You want to shoot as many people as possible, in the shortest amount of time, before someone stops you.

Where to do it seemed pretty straightforward. The bar, of course. I'd worked at the Red Hand for nearly three years now, which made me the longest-serving member of staff, even longer than Iggy.

 Santa baby, a '54 convertible too, light blue

I climb into my faded silver Nissan. It was cold outside, like that other Christmas song I hated, but not yet snowing.

Every night I drive the same route to work and think about when I would do it. The optimal time that would cause maximum chaos and confusion. I have to admit I like the idea of being able to make people fear for their lives while getting their full attention. Make them WAKE THE FUCK UP. Christmas Eve, I had decided. On Christmas Eve the bar would be full of holiday pub crawlers.

Everything is screwed. The planet is simultaneously burning and drowning. The capitalist elite rules us like we are just so many peasants scrabbling in the dirt, fighting over the crumbs that fall from their tables.

The only hope of escape from late-stage capitalism is to live off the grid. Maybe on some co-operatively self-sustaining farm, or under a bridge with veterans missing more pieces of themselves than just their limbs.

When I was younger, I considered going into holy orders. Weird, right? I don't believe in God, and Jesus is just a myth. But I like the idea of committing your life to a higher purpose, living simply and in community, helping people.

 Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot

People need to wake up. It's that simple. People need to be taught a lesson. They need to stop sucking the world dry like a bunch of vampires who ingest fossil fuel instead of blood. I need to get their attention. Nothing ever changed through polite protest. New life is birthed through blood and tears and with the announcements of angels.

Life can be snatched from you in less than a heartbeat. You can lose everything you own at someone else's whim, or through someone else's negligence and you're stuck under that bridge forever. Stop consuming, stop wasting, stop breeding. Fewer people, less drain on the planet, right?

Even as I think about it, it's hard to see it as a bad idea although though objectively it is. If I got caught, I'd land in jail for life, without a doubt. But I don't plan to get caught. I will cause as much attention-getting carnage as I can and use it to throw myself into eternity. Like fireworks on New Year's Eve that build to a crescendo and everyone goes "Aaaahhhh!" as the gunpowder fuelled lights fly across the sky.

 Santa honey one thing I really do need, the deed to a platinum mine

I park next to the back door of the bar, but not too close to the dumpsters. They’re locked down to stop homeless people ferreting through them in hopes of finding discarded booze bottles, miraculously still full. Or the packs of pork rinds and chips we threw out when they hit their expiration date.

The patron's car park is full. Gabrielle, the ex-military bouncer with PTSD from Afghanistan, perches on a stool by the entrance and makes jokes with the smokers. She waves at me as I get out of the car. I wave back and go to the trunk.

I haul out a backpack holding two Glock 9mm pistols, extra ammo, duct tape and cable ties. I walk up to the back door and quietly shut and lock it. Then I go around to the front door. I'd started making a habit of arriving through the front door from time to time so no one would think it strange.

Gabrielle, or Gabby, as we called her, is the queen of the Red Hand. Everyone loves her. She is smart, funny, tough as nails, and takes crap from no one. But today, instead of just saying hi as I hurry through to start my shift, she stops me saying "Hey, how you doing today? Can I give you a Christmas hug?" 

Swinging my backpack to the other shoulder, I say "Sure!" What else could I do? Gabby wraps her arms around me and hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe. She whispers in my ear "I know this has been a hard year for you and I want you to know I'm praying that things get better for you. Something real special is going to happen soon, I just know it."

My eyes immediately tear up and I hug her back. There is a lump in my throat and I can't reply. I just nod. Then I go inside and clock on.

We close at midnight Christmas Eve and will see our biggest crowd at about 10pm. I stow the backpack under the bar instead of in my locker. I shove it behind the boxes of straws. I figured no one would be looking there. We hardly use straws any more because no one likes them stuck up the noses of sea turtles.

 I really do believe in you, let's see if you believe in me

A woman sits alone at the very end of the bar, staring down at her hands. I get closer to take her order and see that she is VERY pregnant. And also very young. How did she get past Gabby?

"Can I get you something?" I ask her.

The brown-skinned young woman smiles at me and rubs her huge belly. "Uh, just some water, please".

"Our finest vegan soup coming up!" I joke and place a glass of water in front of her, settling it onto a napkin. "When are you due?" I ask.

She grimaces. "Not soon enough."  

The bar crowd is smaller than I had anticipated and there was no immediate need for my bartending skills.

"You live around here?" she asks me.

"Yeah, I have an apartment over a garage. It's pretty cool except that at 5am every morning, without fail, the owner revs up his truck underneath before he leaves for work. You?"

I pull over a tray of silverware and start polishing the pieces. 

"I was in the tent camp under the overpass, but we got moved on a few days ago. They took our tents and everything. I'm staying in a shelter, but I missed the curfew to get in tonight. I was taking a train to my sister's place and when I got there, they weren't home. So I came back on the train and it was too late."

I knew the shelter she meant. It was pretty rough and not the place for a young about-to-be-mom. It wasn't uncommon in cold weather for someone who missed the shelter curfew to hang out in the heated bar until close. Then they’d head to the bus depot, which was open 24/7, to wait out the night. "What's your name?" I ask?

"Marie." She says.

"I'm Jo."

Just then, the door flies open and a crowd comes in. I promise Marie I'd comp her dinner and dessert, then start serving the noisy group of women that had just entered.

"Barkeep!" a tall woman wearing a Ramones shirt shouts cheerfully "A round of your finest tequila gold!"

Thankfully they were a bunch of happy, rather than sloppy, drunks. They are drawn to Marie like moths to flames. They ask her all about her pregnancy (going great, no problems), is there a dad in the picture (no).

I don't quite know how it happened, but time zipped by so quickly that it was nearly midnight and I hadn't been near the backpack behind the boxes of straws, or even given it much thought. I was about to call last drinks when I saw Marie's face turn white and her hands grip the edge of the table where she was now sitting with the group of raucous women.

"GABBY!" I bellow. A nanosecond later, Gabby barrels into the room, obviously expecting a fight, looking around.

"She's in labour!" I point Gabby in Marie's direction. I'm childbirth phobic and I nearly faint but manage to call 911. Meanwhile, Gabby shoos everyone outside and starts taking care of business.

When the ambulance arrives, lights flashing, everyone was out of the bar and gathered in the carpark. Everyone except for Marie, Gabby and me, that is.

I am rubbing Marie's back and making encouraging sounds when the paramedics run in. I gratefully step back and let the professionals do their thing. Then, the loud cries of a baby.

The paramedics smile. One of them says "She's perfect!"

I run outside and scream to the waiting crowd "It's a girl!" and run back in as a cheer goes up.

 Postscript

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring, I don't mean on the phone

We watch Emma play with the wrapping paper that had held her very first Christmas gift. A lot had happened since Marie gave birth in the Red Hand.

Unable to bear the thought of her returning to the shelter with newborn Emma, I offered to have them move in with me. I picked Marie up from the hospital when she was discharged and settled them into my apartment. They took my room and I made myself comfy on the sofa for the first few months until eventually, we shared a bed.

Stable housing and a safe place to sleep made a huge difference to Marie. She found a job, and I found a therapist with whom I could talk through my anger at the world, my sense of helplessness and despair in the face of relentless social and environmental destruction. I feel a little scared at how close I came to, well, you know.

Now, when I feel overwhelmed, I can talk about it. I see solutions that don’t involve hurting others, or myself. Emma gives me hope that I can still change the world she is inheriting, or at least my little corner of it, for the better.

Hope. The thing I didn’t know I didn’t have.

We grew so close that I couldn't imagine the two of them not being in my life. We sat on the sofa with our arms around each other, watching a little Christmas miracle giggle under the tree. 

Marie and I had already exchanged gifts, but I had one more for her. I pulled a small, square box out of my pocket and sank to one knee. I popped open the box to reveal the ring.

"Marie, will you marry me and let me love you and Emma for the rest of our lives?"

Marie's eyes widened in surprise and in what I hoped was happiness.

"Oh, Josephine! Yes! Yes!"