Little Drummer Boy

When Leonard came home that day after his last concert, it was the small hours of the morning and all he wanted to do was crash into his bed and sleep for the next four days. The tour was over, he was exhausted, and Christmas was just around the corner. You’d think playing drums in a metal band was easy. 

Pfft. Christmas. The most commercial holiday in the world. Nothing about it was appealing to him: not the lights, not the Santas, not the Christmas trees, nothing. 

When he pushed the door open to his house, all the lights were off – of course, it was five in the morning, what did he expect? – but it was also eerily silent. Normal, that early in the morning, right?

But what Leonard thought really weird was that the house was empty. Yes, at 28 years old, he still lived with his parents – what’s the shame in that? – but they were gone. Where were they? Leonard tried to rack his brain for anything they might have told him, a text they might have sent, or maybe even an email? No, nothing. They were gone, and he was all alone. There were no Christmas lights that his parents loved so much, no Christmas tree, no Santa in the garden. 

Then again, he hadn’t been home in the past three months of touring the country, but he had hoped to see them when he came home. He was used to all-nighters, so instead of crashing into his bed like he wanted to do, he went to the kitchen to get himself some food and something to drink. He kept the light off because he preferred the dark to the light, anyway, and put a frozen dinner in the microwave. Three minutes to wait.

Leonard stood in front of the kitchen sink and stared outside the window, at his neighbors’ house: they had probably won the Christmas decoration contest this year. He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

Something shiny caught his eye on his left and he turned his head. It came from the paper bin, next to the fridge, and he reached for the envelope. Gold glitter. His favorite. Leonard almost dropped it back into the bin when the words in fancy calligraphy on the front, caught his attention.

There was no name, but just the address with some music notes on the edge. The previous owners of the house, Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, had died some years ago: Leonard knew they had been musicians as well at some point in their life, but they were old. He had met them maybe once when his parents bought the house. 

He pulled out the invitation inside – still covered in gold glitter, leaving some on his fingers. He wiped his hands on his black chain-covered paints, leaving trails of glitter. Ugh. He’ll have to put those in the washer.

To whom it may concern:

You are hereby invited to the annual Christmas gathering at the New York Opera House!

 On December 24^th, at 7 p.m. Bring your instrument! 

Unless you are a pianist, organist, or percussionist, then come as you are.

We are looking forward to seeing you soon!

Leonard snorted. Why would they send this invitation to this house if his parents were not musicians and had never gotten this before, and if the Cameron’s were dead? 

The microwave made a little ting sound, announcing that his meal was ready. A lasagna at five in the morning was just perfect. Leonard put the invitation on the kitchen table, took the now cooked meal from the microwave, and started eating. The glittery invitation called to him, acting like a tiny disco ball in his kitchen, thanks to the neighbors’ Christmas light reflecting on it.

He ate the lasagna in record time, even though the middle was still a little cold while the edges were burning hot: typical. When he was done eating, he took the envelope again and flipped the invitation over, looking for any other indication on it. But apart from the date, the time, and the address, there was nothing else.

He put the paper back on the table and this time he went to bed. He slept until late the next afternoon, but when he came down for some breakfast – at five in the afternoon; yes, he needed to get his sleeping and eating schedule back in order – the house was still very much empty. 

On the fridge, which he hadn’t seen in the dark earlier that morning, was a small note from his parents, telling him they were spending the holidays and more in Europe, that they loved him very much, and that his mother had left him loads of frozen meals in the freezer. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Now I have to spend Christmas alone.” Though he didn’t like Christmas, he still liked the moments spent with his family. He didn’t believe in Christmas or whatever, but he did believe in spending time with loved ones. And right now, his parents were on the other side of the world, without him. 

The golden invitation was still lying on the table, waiting, calling, taunting him. 

“Screw this,” he said, taking the glitter paper between his fingers. He checked the date on the calendar – December 22^nd – and figured out how to get to New York. He found some Grey Hound tickets for the next morning and spend the rest of the night sleeping. When he woke up, he changed in his best clothes – a chain-covered and ripped pair of jeans with a Metallica t-shirt and a leather jacket covered in pins and spikes – and stuffed a few things in a backpack: some snack for the long ride to New York, several pairs of drumsticks, and some money.

He climbed on the bus and made himself comfortable for the long ride ahead. He slept, he ate, he listening to metal while drumming on the seat in front of him, and he slept some more. By the time he got in New York, it was December 24^th, and it was snowing huge white and fluffy snowflakes. The whole city was alight with Christmas lights, Christmas cheer, and Christmas ma– don’t say it, Leonard thought to himself.

He followed the GPS on his phone and arrived at the New York Opera House just five minutes before the due time. Two men dressed in red and black livery with Santa Clause hats stood at attention on either side of the giant double door. Leonard showed his invitation and the men invited him inside. 

Leonard had never walked inside an opera or any fancy building like that. Sure, he had seen his fair share of big buildings: one didn’t do a metal concert in a small room. You needed space, you needed height, and you needed volume. But this was a whole other level of big. It was fancy.

He walked down the long corridor on the red carpet, following the noise of people getting ready to sit at a banquet table. Because that’s what it was: a banquet. Everything was shiny and gold and covered in glitter. But what surprised him the most was that everyone was dressed either in tuxedos or fancy gowns. 

Wait. What?

Leonard stood still in the doorway as the whole room fell silent and all eyes turned on him. For the first time in his life, he felt very self-conscious about his black chain-covered, ripped, and spiky clothes, his long greasy black hair, his freckles, his old Doc Martins, and his severe acne. 

He was about to turn around and flee when–

“Welcome, young man!” a man in a modern tuxedo said. “You were the last one we were waiting for! Come sit!”

Leonard didn’t even realize that his legs were carrying him where the man had pulled out a chair for him, between two elegant ladies – because people were seated like that all around the table: man, lady, man, lady, man – and kept his head down. Around him, conversations started again and the people seated close to him tried to include him in their lively conversations.

Time passed, and slowly, Leonard started coming out of his shell, saying yes or no or laughing along with his table companions. At some point, he even started to drum on the table with his fingers while waiting for dessert. And for the first time in his life, no one told him to stop or told him he was annoying or anything. The young man across from him even told him that he had a good beat.

Who were these people?

But Leonard was not done with surprises: dessert came around, brought in by red and black-livery dressed men carrying mountains of colorful pastries on golden trays: cupcakes, macarons, donuts, cakes, and everything in between.

When everyone had gorged themselves in all the sweetness they could handle and more, the man who had invited Leonard inside the banquet room asked everyone to take their instruments and to follow him through the foyer and into the concert hall. Leonard really didn’t feel he was concerned about this, preferring to eat more cookies and cupcakes and stuffing his face with them. Before long, he was all alone at the table, dozing off from too much food.

“Hey, are you coming or not?” someone said.

Leonard turned around and recognized the young man who had told him he had a good beat, holding a violin. “Yeah, no,” he said. “I’m not really into that kind of music if you hadn’t noticed…” he motioned to his outfit.

“So? We could use a drummer.” The guy winked at Leonard whose cheeks started burning like hot coals.

“I doubt there’s a drum set in this place…”

“You’d be surprised. Come on! It’s Christmas, you don’t want to be all alone, right?”

“I don’t–“

“And don’t tell me you don’t like Christmas: you came all the way here.” He grabbed his hand and dragged Leonard down the hall, through the foyer, and into the Concert hall. Everyone had already found a seat in the semi-circle, and the man who was welcomed him seemed to be the orchestra director.

“I don’t have scores–“

“You don’t need them,” the boy said. He guided Leonard to the Percussionist’s place where there were more drums and instruments than he was used to on a basic drum set. But this was even better! The boy handed him a pair of drumsticks that were on a chair, but Leonard shook his head.

“I’ve got mine, thanks.” Leonard took out the four pairs he had in his bag and sat on the chair he had no idea what was about to happen or what he was supposed to do, but he wasn’t scared at all. Maybe this was the Mag– don’t say it.

The director tapped three times on his lectern with his baton, grabbing everyone’s attention. He started to gesticulate in ways that Leonard did not understand, but everyone else seemed to, and they all started to play a piece. Leonard could not say if it was from Mozart, Chopin, or some other white-wigged dude from the past, but when the director pointed at him to start playing, Leonardo couldn’t say no.

He started very softly, not wanting to disrupt the piece with his drumming, but the director made him play louder and louder and louder until he couldn’t hear the others and only his drums, and his eyes were locked on the director. 

The piece went on like that for a long time, and Leonard lost all track of time. It could have been three minutes or three hours, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was playing in the New York Opera Concert Hall with people dressed in fancy tuxedos and gowns, and no one had judged him for his outfit, his drumming on the table, or his deafening play, right now. 

When the director stopped moving and did the closer gesture with his hand, everyone stopped breathing or making noise. Leonardo realized that they had arrived at the end of the piece, whatever it was. 

Everyone turned around to look at him, smiling, but Leonard just grinned: that had been the best music he had ever made. Maybe that was just the Magic of Christmas, he thought, finally finishing that sentence.

One after the other, the people stood and walked away in groups of two or three, chatting softly, as if nothing so magnificent had just happened. The Concert Hall emptied, and it was just him with his drums, his drumsticks, and his smile. From where he sat, he could hear a few words drifting back to him from the foyer, but he couldn’t make them out.

Leonard grabbed his bag and left the Opera building, heading to the Grey Hound station. Around him, snow was still falling gently, dancing in the air, and Christmas lights illuminated the city. He jumped on the first bus that would take him home, sleeping all the way; he woke up only when the bus stopped in his town. Everything was white, covered in snow, and the walk to his home didn’t take long. The snow was crunching under every step and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping them warm. 

Pinned to his front door was a small note written on gold, glittery paper: 

Nicely done, Little Drummer Boy! It was an honor playing with you!