Christmas Morning Breakfast

"Hey, folks! Merry Christmas to everyone out there celebrating on this cold and blustery morning. It seems that Santa brought more than presents this year. He delivered a sack of snow. Yes, folks, we got eight inches of snow through the night. It's a white Christmas!"

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas reeled from an old 1984 boombox. Earl hummed as he armored himself in an apron with the words Merry Christmas penned under a fat Santa. Earl had woken about the time of a rooster's crow to visualize the order of things, and now that he was suited up, Earl would begin what he loved most about Christmas- cooking breakfast. In fact, if he could openly admit it, this was the only Christmas festivity he looked forward to each year. He hated the holiday's commercialism, and he wasn't exactly a religious man but a cook, well, he could chef up a delicious feast fit for a large, rounded, bellied Santa.

By the time Bing Crosby's song ended, Earl had the utensils set out and ready for performance. Then he mixed the pancake batter and lined the sausage on a baking sheet. He placed the bacon in a frying pan and dumped the beans into a pot. Next, Earl scrambled eggs and poured the yellowy liquid into another frying pan. He sliced bread for toasting and added cheese to the eggs. A mound of fruit awaited on the counter to be cut and medlied into a salad. Earl busily double-handled kitchen utensils, stirring, flipping, and turning, his arms like an octopus moving in all directions.

Sizzle! Pop! Whirrr! Clink! Bang! Crackle!

The eggs bubbled and the bacon sizzled. The pancakes were stacked higher than his mail (which was immense because Earl hated opening mail, especially his Christmas cards). The sausage browned, the beans simmered, and the toaster popped out evenly brown bread, which he smattered with butter and cinnamon sugar. The fruit became a colorful mixture of sweetness. The smells of breakfast infiltrated the kitchen like spies, and to his delight, a cacophony of noise drifted about the kitchen, sending his spirit into an intoxicating bliss. Everything Earl planned in his head this morning while lying beside his slumbering wife was coming to fruition.

Ring! Steve’s name appeared on his phone. The noise startled him out of a stupor. Earl ran his fingers through his bedraggled hair. Trying not to be a Scrooge, Earl answered it as cheerfully as he could muster. "Hello, Merry Christmas," he chirped. 

"Earl. Steve here," the words vibrated through the phone's speaker. "Merry Christmas. How 'bout this snow? Did you look outside? What a gorgeous Christmas morning! Can't remember the last time we had snow like this on Christmas morning."

Earl glanced out the back window. A blanket of snow layered the ground, with not a footprint, paw print, or yellow spot to be found. As Steve had mentioned, it was stunning.

"Yup, Steve. Gorgeous. I'm a wee bit busy. Could I call you later? Have a wonderful Christmas."

Earl tried desperately to end the call with Steve who could rope anybody into an exorbitant discussion about basically nothing, but Steve took Earl's attention again.

"Hey, Buddy."

"Yes, Steve," Earl said reluctantly. Buddy meant Steve wanted a favor. He also smelled something burning. Earl pulled the oven door. His perfectly browned sausage was now a very crisp black. "Humbug!"

"What's wrong, Earl?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Earl didn't want Steve meddling in his breakfast blunder. He would go on and on with a loquacious explanation of using an air fryer or something. "What is it that you need?"

"Have you ever used an air fryer? It cooks..."

"Yep. What do you need?" Earl asked, cutting him off.

Just then, his wife, Louise, shuffled into the room, half awake. Her eyes searched the kitchen. "No coffee, Earl?"

"Haven't had a chance to make it yet?"

A curled lip would come next, and Louise would scoff at the mounds of food. Sure enough, this scene played out just as Earl thought.

"Earl, your priorities are all wrong. Coffee first, and why are you making all this food? The kids are grown, Steve. They stay at their houses with their kids, opening gifts. Linda invited us for Christmas breakfast, but you refused. Now we have all this food, no one to eat it all, and a mess to clean up."

"Louise, I'm on the phone." Earl swished his hand in the air to shoo her away.

Earl sauntered to the window to admire the snow, hoping it would bring serenity back to the morning. To his chagrin, Steve prattled on about the price of eggs, while Louise heavy-handled the pot as she made coffee.

Earl, fretting at the sight of the black casings, took the sausages out of the oven. The steaming sausages sizzled and popped. Steve was still rambling, now talking about his outdoor lights. 

"Ah. Uh-huh. Listen, Steve. I'm busy," Earl said.

Grasping her coffee cup, Louise hastily left the kitchen.

"Why didn't you say something?" Steve's deep voice blared from the phone.

Earl added a shot of whiskey to his coffee. He hoped to hang up before Steve asked the favor, but Earl wouldn't be so lucky.

"Would you mind letting my cousin join you for breakfast?"

Earl eyed the mounds of food. He had plenty and no guests, and it was Christmas, the season of giving. Earl felt a slight softening of the heart yet was not entirely eager to have a guest he had never met.

"He's en route to the ski resort 60 miles north of here, but the snow has delayed his departure. Claire and I are leaving now to watch the grandchildren open their presents. I see you shoveled your walkway. I got mine done and the driveway shoveled, but of all days, for the snowblower to break. Although, it saved me some money. Gas prices these days are...coming, honey. Thanks, buddy. Claire is waiting. You and Louise have a wonderful Christmas. And be careful out there. Coming Claire. Bye now, Earl" Click.

Earl stood in his kitchen, dumbfounded. Who was this stranger coming for breakfast? Steve should have told Earl his name. He must be a decent person. After all, Steve was a stand-up guy who just talked too much, Earl thought. He took four plates from the cabinet, an extra one just in case another unexpected guest came.

Earl waited and waited. He called for Louise, but she wanted nothing except another cup of coffee and to snuggle in bed with visions of an all-inclusive vacation on a sandy white beach. Not wanting to delay his tastebuds any longer, Earl filled his plate and sat at the table. Before digging into his food, he took a moment to admire the freshly fallen snow that made his backyard a wonderland, as if his home had been thrust into a snow globe during the night. He ate half of his food, and when he looked out the window again, to his surprise, the snow was disturbed. Someone had walked through the backyard, but this wasn't as startling as the man who appeared in his window, seemingly out of nowhere. Earl surmised that this man was Steve's cousin, but why wouldn't he use the shoveled front walkway? Nonetheless, he went to the back door and staggered at the sight of this man's grossly disheveled appearance. Earl opened the door. This man looked at Earl with the right eye as the left drifted. He wore dirty, frayed clothes and displayed tousled hair. This cousin of Steve's was different than Earl would have expected.

The man entered the house, and Earl directed him to sit at the table. Earl filled a plate of food. They ate in silence. Louise, who had pulled herself out of hibernation for another cup of coffee, side-eyed Earl as she pointed to the man.

"Who is that?" Louise mouthed.

Earl cleared his throat. "Sir, Steve forgot to mention your name. I'm Earl, and this is my wife, Louise."

The man said nothing and continued to shove food into his mouth. Earl repeated the introduction and asked the man his name.

"Owen," the man grunted as he continued to eat. 

Louise took Earl to the other room to talk with him. "Earl, that man in the kitchen stinks."

"Steve asked if his cousin could come for breakfast."

"Steve's cousin? He looks ..." Louise paused, searching for words.

"Like a hobo. I know what you're thinking, Louise, but it's Christmas. Surely, we can overlook his uncomely appearance today."

Louise nodded. "I'm going back to bed."

Louise hastily made her way back to the bedroom. Earl returned to the kitchen. An empty plate sat on the table, and the man was gone. Except for the stench of a dumpster, there was no trace of Owen. Earl searched out the back window. He saw the footprints leading to the back door, but none from the back door, as if Owen had simply vanished.

Ding dong. The doorbell rang from the front of the house.

"Earl, get the door," she hollered from the comfort of her bed.

Earl opened the door. A gust of wind blew past his face. A man in a blue down jacket wearing boots and neatly pressed pants stood on the other side of the door.

"Hello, I'm Henry. Steve's cousin."

Earl, dumbfounded again, said, "Henry, uh. Hello."

Earl noticed footprints in the yard. "You could have come up the sidewalk instead of traipsing through the wet snow." Earl saw the man's boots, which had not a single snowflake on them.

"I did use the sidewalk."

Earl stared.

"Earl, right? Did Steve tell you I was coming for breakfast? He says your Christmas breakfast is scrumptious."

After a pause, Earl replied, "Yes, yes. Please come in."

#

It was a cold January 2, and Earl was leaving work. Today was a long day, and he was tired. As he walked, hunger for Louise's pasta and garlic bread burgeoned like creeping roses in springtime. Crowds swam past him as he got closer to the train station. His belly rumbled. In his periphery, a man harboring plastic bags and a cardboard sign that read 'Please Help' grabbed his attention. Earl saw a grisly man wearing torn gloves and broken-soled boots wrapped in a dirty blanket. They stared at one another. A strange familiarity hung between them. Earl couldn't pull his eyes away and that's when he noticed the drifting left eye. 

It couldn't be!

He quickly turned away and rambled to where he would catch his train home, to where he could be warm, and put his feet up, drinking a glass of whiskey as smells of garlic wafted from the kitchen. Then Louise would say, 'Dinner's ready, Earl.' Earl made haste toward Fifth Street, and as he walked, the gruff voice of the man vibrated his whole body.

"Thank you for the Christmas morning breakfast!"

#

Earl stood in the kitchen. Cubes of ice jingled the glass as he swirled his whiskey. Dinner was finished, the dishes were cleaned and put away, and Louise was snuggled in bed. Earl savored the quietness of the holiday being over. Christmas was never exciting for him like it was for others, although this year, he felt an uncanny delectation for it. It was a different feeling that Earl couldn't quite understand. He shook his head and turned on his favorite rock station. 

This old reliable boombox! 

"Good evening, folks! The Christmas season is behind us, but the spirit of giving can continue all year long. Feeding the Homeless, a nonprofit organization, has been helping others for 24 years now, and all because of tireless volunteers. Help this organization continue to help others by volunteering. You can sign up at their website, feedingthehomeless.com. Yes, folks, we can keep the spirit of giving alive. And now, back to the music."

Earl saw the drifting eye and a tattered man filling his belly in a warm house on a cold and blustery morning. The announcement reeled in his head. Earl picked up his phone and searched for the website and suddenly, he understood his change of heart.