Post by spideyfan914 on Dec 26, 2010 2:29:25 GMT -6
‘Twas Christmas Day, and while John Stevenson’s lovely wife cooked a dinner, John himself strolled through the streets of Manhattan.
Bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, and all, he watched as the children played in the light coating of snow. Here was a girl building a snowman with the help of her older brother. And here a father and son sled down a large hill. And here a couple of small boys played with their new air guns, and when they see the girl’s snowman, they shoot its head off.
Yes, Christmas was a joyous season for giving and sharing, for being with one’s family. John’s father would be joining he and Mary this evening, just as they did every year. And yet, this year just seemed so much more beautiful than all the others. He’d even gotten a real tree, instead of the usual artificial one! Though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why – perhaps it was to make up for last year’s disasters – John was simply overwhelmed by the spirit of the season.
It was almost time to return home, and so John began to walk in the direction of his apartment, peering into the windows as he passed. He could see parents sipping hot chocolate and children playing with all their new toys, or in some cases, video game shooters. Truly, John’s only wish was to have kids of his own. And yet, as he watched all the families huddled together by the warmth of fire, he couldn’t help but think of those less fortunate.
After all, not everyone has a family, or even a home for that matter. Christmastime is the season of giving! Why should anyone be left out in the cold, away from the delicious cooking of a talented wife? Realizing this, John made a decision – in the spirit of the season, he would open his doors to all who wished to come! This Christmas dinner would be one for all to enjoy!
And so, the very next time John saw a man huddled underneath a torn blanket, he walked right up to the man and said, “Excuse me, sir, but would you like to join me and my wife for Christmas dinner?”
At first, the man acted as though he hadn’t heard John, shocked that such an offer had been made. Then, he slowly turned his bearded head and replied, “There gonna be any booze?”
John was stunned, taken aback. This was Christmas, season of joy! And all this man could ask was, “There gonna be any booze?” “No!” John curtly cried, and walked away.
He must’ve been anti-Christmas, John thought. But surely, someone else would be more appreciative, and gladly accept the generous seasonal offer. He spotted another man then, walking friskily along the sidewalk as he held his arms close to his body, using only an old smelly sweater to keep warm.
“Pardon me, sir,” John interrupted, “but how would you love to spend Christmas dinner at –?”
“No, you can’t have my kidneys!” the man shouted without even turning to look at John, and he disappeared behind an alley.
Now John was getting frustrated. He was only trying to be a kind, giving soul, and had no intention to take anyone’s kidneys. He was determined to tear from the streets the very next unfortunate person he saw!
Sitting between Pete’s Bar and Harry’s Kosher Diner was a hideous woman for whom no amount of make-up could cover the wrinkles in her face. She held a sign reading, “Will Fuck for Food.”
John didn’t even try. He simply sat down on a bench and came to accept how truly hopeless the endeavor was. Perhaps he’d just go home now.
“Would you mind a small donation, sir?”
John looked up. Before him was a man in an enormous jacket, his gloved hands holding out a small metal can full of change.
“Please, sir, it is Christmas,” the man said through his gray beard and one eye.
“You don’t have any home to go to?” John asked.
“No, sir.”
“No family?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if you’d like, there’s an extra seat at my table.”
A twinkle appeared in the man’s eye. “Really, sir?”
“Of course! It is Christmas.”
A smile grew across the man’s face with gaps between the teeth here and there. John stood up with a smile to match, extending his hand to shake.
“Come on, my apartment’s this way. I’m John, by the way.”
“Chris,” the man replied, vigorously shaking John’s hand, and the two walked off to return home.
“Oh, there you are, John!” Mary cried as her husband walked in, running into his arms. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier – the holiday is just really stressing me out and –”
“Don’t worry about it!” John laughed. “I overreacted too. Is Dad here?”
“He’s in the dining room, reminding me that divorce is un-Catholic.”
“Yup, that sounds like Dad. Listen, Mary, I brought a guest with me.”
“Oh? Is it a friend from work?”
“Not exactly....”
John stepped aside and allowed Chris to walk in. Mary gazed at the man’s uncombed beard and stench of last night’s beans. As he removed his hat, long strands of white hair fell down, and Chris held out his mitted hand to shake with Mary.
“Good tidings, Ma’am.”
Mary stared in shock, then grabbed John and rushed him into the kitchen.
“Listen, Mary, it’s Christmas, and –”
“What the goddamn hell are you thinking, John?? Bringing that man into the house!”
“It’s an apartment, Mary, and he has nowhere else to go!”
“That doesn’t mean you invite him over! Listen, John, Christmas is great and all, but you don’t go inviting shady strangers into –”
“We always have leftovers! It’s not like it’s really any trouble!”
“John Stevenson, you get that man out of my house right now.”
“But –” Before he could say another word, Mary pushed him back into the welcome area. Chris wasn’t there.
“In here!” they heard him call out, and turned around to the archway leading to the dining room, where Chris was already sitting down and talking with John’s father.
“I can see you invited company, John,” his father glared at him.
“Yes, um, Dad, this is Chris,” John stumbled. “Chris, Dad.”
“Thank you for having me, Mr. Stevenson!”
“That’s Father to you. Father Paul. I’m a priest,” he sighed. “And once you’ve invited a man into the house, it’s improper to kick him out.”
“Great!” John clapped. “Then it’s settled.”
John sat down at the table beside Chris and looked up at Mary triumphantly. Annoyed, she left to the kitchen to fetch dinner.
“Wow!” Chris mused, looking around at the family portraits and beautiful ornaments decorating the apartment. “A real indoor Christmas!”
“You’ve never celebrated inside before?” asked Father Paul.
“I have, long ago.”
Mary returned wheeling a cart full of food. She unveiled soup and casseroles and potatoes and chicken and all the things you’d expect to see at a Christmas dinner. To drink, she served juices. After grace, the conversation went on.
“You know, no one’s ever done this for me before,” Chris said gleefully as Mary and Father Paul stared at him in contempt. “Why, last year, I had a cheeseburger for Christmas! And I only got that much ‘cause a fellow gave me a ten.”
“Have you ever considered getting a job, Chris?” Mary demanded.
“Yes, ma’am. But not many are willing to pay a man of my sorts. I used to help clean the streets, but they framed me of theft.”
“You have a record??”
“Yes, ma’am. But I am innocent.”
After that, little words were exchanged. They drank their soup, and ate their salads and potatoes, and chewed on their chicken, but spoke nothing.
The Stevensons did stare, though. They stared at Chris digging into his chicken with rotting teeth. Spots of the bone remained untouched where he was missing teeth, and bits fell into his dirty beard. The smell, alas, remained as putrid as when he’d first come in.
John couldn’t pretend to be happy with how things were going. He was, after all, doing what he felt was right, and yet his wife and his father seemed revolted. The only reason Chris could even stay was out of the priest’s supposedly noble intentions. But John wanted Chris to have a merry Christmas! How could this night be merry, when his family was ignoring the unfortunate soul before them?
He had to say something, to push things along. Perhaps, out of politeness, Mary and Father Paul would follow. “So,” he said, “Chris.” John thought of something to say. “How are you?”
Chris looked up from his strangely carved chicken leg and smiled to show bits of meat between his teeth. “Better than ever, sir!”
He then returned to his chicken as Mary slammed her foot on John’s. He winced in pain and looked over at her. Her face glared as though she’d never been angrier at her husband. But he knew that was a lie.
“It’s a nice apartment, sir,” Chris said without looking up, a tear in his eye. “Nice and big and cozy. It’s the kind of place I would want to live in.”
“Thank you,” John replied, ignoring the tantalizing looks from Mary and Father Paul. “We are very proud of our humble home.”
“I particularly like the picture behind your missus.”
John turned to look at the portrait. “Yes, that’s Mary’s family. There’s Thomas and Joan, her parents, and –”
“But they’re all in Chicago,” Mary interrupted. “I left them when I married John.”
Chris nodded, as he continued to look around and his eye fell upon a jar filled to the brim with cash. “What’s that?”
“Savings,” John smiled. “A year old, somewhere close to three thousand dollars –”
“John!” Mary snapped. “He doesn’t need to know that!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” John held up his hands defensively. “You see, Mary and I are saving up money for our second honeymoon. Not that we’re there just yet, but maybe soon.”
“Well, I for one find that to be beautiful!” Chris smiled. “Brings me right back to my own childhood dreams of finding my own little Miss Chris for Christmas.”
“There’s no reason you still can’t!” Father Paul said. “I’ve married couples at the crème of the crop and the lowest of the low! As long as Lord Jesus smiles upon you, anything is possible.”
Chris chuckled. “Yes, thank you.”
“What’s so funny?” the Father asked, eyeing Chris peculiarly.
“It’s just,” Chris sighed, “y’see, I respect your beliefs, I do, but I just don’t see how Jesus could still be alive after two thousand years. The very concept is absurd.”
John could feel his heart sinking as his father’s eyes lit up with fire. “What are you saying, son?”
“I’m sorry, Father. It’s nothing against you, of course. We don’t need to talk about this.”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve never been to the Lord’s house??”
“I was, long ago. But I gave up my faith in God when he gave up his faith in me.”
“And no wonder you can’t get a job!” Father Paul hollered, standing up from the table. “The Lord must frown upon you! Tyranny! Heresy! Sinner!”
“I, uh,” Chris stared up the Father in shock, in fear.
“You shall burn in Hell for this deed!! You are poisoning our souls!! You are spreading this blasphemy!!”
“I mean, no offense, but I didn’t even bring it up....”
“Repent!! REPENT!!!”
“Oh, come on!” Chris ranted in exasperation, throwing his silverware in the air. “Confession is bullshit! You must know that much, Father! I mean, you’re not going to tell me that you’ve actually spoken to God the Almighty, are you?”
“Of course I have!”
“In your dreams!”
“Exactly!”
“Bullshit!”
“That does it!!” the Father slammed his fists upon the table, making the knives clang against the forks. John looked on in fear as a smile grew across Mary’s face. “John Stevenson, you get this man out of this apartment right now!! We do not accept heretics at our Christmas dinner!”
“Finally!” Mary laughed, standing up and getting the door. “Right this way, Mister Chris.”
Chris stood up in frustration, grasping his knife angrily. “You must be kidding me now! I didn’t do a goddamn thing!”
“Watch that language, you bum!” the Father raged. “The Lord doesn’t look well upon foul mouths such as yours!”
Now John had had enough of this. His family had no Christmas spirit, and he merely wanted to make the holiday memorable. “This is absurd!” he declared. “Chris is our guest! We let him into our home, and you yourself said it would be un-Christian to kick him out!”
“He is un-Christian! You heard him, son! He’s probably a homosexual too!”
“Oh, now that was just completely uncalled for,” Chris groaned, throwing down his knife upon the table. “But if you don’t want me, I don’t want any part with you! I’ll just be leaving now!” Before anyone could say another word, the unfortunate soul stormed out the door without even saying thank you or merry Christmas. After all, if you were in his position, would you wish the Stevensons a merry Christmas?
At first, the Stevensons simply stared in shock and disbelief over what had just happened. Then, at last, the Father spoke, “Well, he’s gone. Now let’s eat!” And Mary said, “Thank God!” And the Father said, “Don’t you be using the Lord’s name in vain!” And Mary rolled her eyes and sat back down with the Father.
But John couldn’t take it anymore. He was fed up with this. He’d been a good man this year! He’d been on Saint Nick’s “nice” list for sure! And here he was, more spirited for Christmas than ever before, and his family had spat in his face.
Considering this, John’s actions are entirely understandable. He didn’t sit back down for Christmas dinner. He yelled at Mary and Father Paul. He yelled, “Merry Christmas, and good night!” and then turned and rushed out of the apartment, without even putting on a coat!
He ran outside and caught up with Chris. “I’m sorry about my family,” John told him. “I still want to try to give you a good Christmas. Just choose a place, and we’ll go there. My treat.”
It was cold outside. John partly regretted leaving his coat behind, as he marched through the snow in his slippers. But he couldn’t go back. He’d made a promise to Chris, and he intended to keep his vows.
The streets were empty now. The children had gone inside to eat dinner with their loving families and accept large amounts of cash from their grandparents. Only that old woman in make-up remained, still holding her sign “Will Fuck for Food” to no avail.
Chris turned into Pete’s Bar.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” John stammered uneasily. “Isn’t there anywhere else you’d rather eat? The diner next door is still open –”
“That’s because it’s a kosher diner,” Chris said. “Doesn’t seem right to eat in a kosher diner on Christmas. But it’s your money, sir – if you want to find another bar, I’d be willing to follow you.”
John sighed in resignation. He’d promised. “It’s fine, Chris,” John said. “Let’s go in.”
And so, the spirited Stevenson and the unfortunate soul sat down at Pete’s Bar. It would be surprising that it was open today, except, Chris explained, the owner had no family to his name. Pete and Chris were good friends, in fact.
John felt uneasy, claustrophobic, but uttered no complaint, knowing he couldn’t very well return home. Pete, the owner, arrived at the bar in an old smelly sweater, held tightly to his chest. “Well,” he declared, “if it ain’t the kidney thief.”
John blinked, as recognition overcame him. “Oh,” he gasped, “I’m sorry! I thought you were a –! I mean – I thought....”
“It’s okay,” Pete replied. “Not the first time I been mistook for a bum, and not gonna be the last time either. Now whaddaya need?”
“First rounds, Pete,” Chris ordered. John quickly added on, “I won’t be having anything.” Chris laughed and said, “He’s just here to pay.”
Pete nodded and started making the drink. He must’ve been taking out the trash earlier, John thought. It was fairly presumptuous to consider him an unfortunate soul simply because he was taking out the trash.
“Sir,” Chris said, interrupting John’s thoughts, “if you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want a drink? I noticed that you weren’t serving anything alcoholic at dinner either.”
John hesitated. He didn’t like recollecting the story, but then again, he didn’t much like anything that had been happening tonight. And so, as Chris thanked the bartender for his drink, John explained the story.
“Mary and I have been husband and wife now for six years. We had our honeymoon in France, you see – we were looking forward to a long and prosperous marriage, with three kids to boot. Well, obviously, that’s not exactly how things went down. The first year of our marriage was great, yes, but then we tried to have kids.
“I’m sterile. It turns out that I can’t have children. Ever. We were both upset about it. Mary – she didn’t blame me, but she grieved all the same. And me, well, I did blame me. I couldn’t stand seeing Mary in so much pain. The very thought of never being able to have kids....”
“Pardon me, sir,” Chris said, “but isn’t that somewhat childish? I mean, there are plenty of Chinese babies waiting to be adopted by lovely American Christian couples.”
John laughed, but half-heartedly so. “That may be true, Chris, but none of them would be MY kids. I want one of my own. And it may be childish, yes, but children always try to escape their problems rather than confront them. So I took up the bottle.
“I wasn’t just a steady drinker, either. I was a raging alcoholic. For years. It started off with late nights, staying at the bar by myself, drinking myself to death. I almost died a few times, in fact. Mary couldn’t stand it. That made things worse.
“I kept drinking. And drinking. And drinking. Soon, I’d be drinking first thing in the morning. It was out of control. Mary asked me to quit several times, but I just snapped at her, yelled at her, told her to butt out and mind her own business.
“Finally, last Christmas, I got really wasted. More than usual even. She yelled at me. I don’t even remember what she said. But it made me angry. And I hit her. Multiple times. On Christmas night, I was beating my wife. My dad had to pry me away before I killed her. It’s a miracle I even survived the night. And Mary....”
Chris stared on as John talked, listening intently. At breaks in the story, Chris took a chug of his beer.
“That was the last straw,” John went on. “I knew I couldn’t risk ever taking another drink again. So I quit. Just like that.
“Been sober for months now. Mary still complains about not having any champagne in the house.... But we’ve been saving a lot of money like that. Every penny I resist spending on alcohol winds up in our vacation jar. It’s my accomplishment for the year.”
John turned to Chris. Realizing the story was over, he gulped another portion of beer. “That’s intense....” Chris mused.
John nodded. “Four years of that. We’re still fighting. Heck, we were arguing just earlier today, about I don’t even remember what. That’s why I was outside when I found you!”
“Wow,” Chris gazed with his one eye. “And you’re still married??” He finished the bottle and slammed it down. “I’d have divorced you years ago, sir!”
His mouth hanging open, John stared at Chris wide-eyed. Then, he turned to the bartender. “I’ll have ONE drink.”
John opened the door slowly and lazily. It was late at night, and he was worried he’d scare away Santa. Of course, Santa came last night, but it’s hard to remember sometimes. Santa had gotten John a shoehorn for Christmas!
The lights flickered on all of a sudden. It was strange and blinding, and John had to cover the tops of his eyes to prevent the sudden influx light from damaging them. Mary sat at the table angrily.
“John Stevenson,” she sneered through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“No. Do you?”
“It’s about thirteen minutes past ten, sir,” Chris announced. “Give or take a few dozen minutes. We were out for three hours.”
Now Mary wasn’t angry anymore. Now she was furious. “You brought him back here?? After everything that’s happened, you brought that man back??”
“Aww, Mary, Chris isn’t that bad!” John laughed, stepping forward and swooping in. “You’ve just got to get used to him, is all!”
“You’re drunk, John! I can smell it clearly as ever!”
“Yup! That’s right! You win the prize!”
Chris cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I suppose I shouldn’t have let him drink all that –”
“YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!!”
Chris put up his arms defensively and slipped out of sight.
“Come on, Mary!” John laughed. “It’s Christmas! Let’s just go to bed!”
“Goddammit, no!” Mary cried as John tugged on her arm, luring her into the hallway. “You’ve been so good since last year! I really thought you were trying!”
“I was, sweety, but we all got to give in sometime. Y’know?”
Mary slapped him across the face. He blinked, shaking it off. He looked at her, then to the bedroom, and instantly rushed for it. As he opened the door, he called out, “If you want to come in, you’d better not be wearing anything!”
“This is going to be a very long confession,” spoke the Father’s voice. John jumped out of the room, startled. Father Paul was sitting on the bed, laptop in hand.
“Oh, you!” John cried out. “What are you doing here?”
The Father sneered. “It’s Christmas, John. I’m here every year, remember? You may have disappeared, but I decided to stick around and have Mary’s back.” He lowered his voice. “Did you know that she has buttons supporting abortionists and gay marriage? I swear, you have no idea who you married....”
John turned to his wife, hurt and offended. “You let him stay here??”
“Yes, John,” Mary yelled, marching into the hallway and getting up close. “And do you want to know why? It’s because my husband, the man who’s supposed to stay by me and protect me and listen to me has proven nothing more than a maniacal lunatic, an incurable alcoholic, a liar, and the biggest mistake of my life!!”
John gazed blankly at her for a moment, taking it all in. “I mean, that’s a whole bunch of things.... So, that whole ‘nothing more than’ bit is kind of off.”
“THAT IS THE LAST GODDAMN STRAW!!” Mary hollered, grabbing John and dragging him out of the hallway, ignoring the Father’s protests against her use of language. She threw him down against the dining room table, knocking down the plates long emptied of the cheesecake dessert. “EITHER YOU GET THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BUM OUT OF MY HOUSE, OR YOU CAN SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE STREETS!!”
John stumbled up, shocked and uncertain what was happening. But he guessed that he was in trouble. The good-for-nothing bum likely referred to Chris, who had no job and was thus a bum. But as John looked around, he had to ask, “Where is That Good-For-Nothing Bum?”
Mary noticed it then, too. Chris was nowhere to be seen. She quickly ran through the kitchen and the entrance room, but did not see Chris anywhere. Then she saw a ring of dust resting on the shelf. Usually, the ring would’ve been covered by the Stevenson’s vacation jar, but now, it was gone.
“He took our money....” she gasped. “He came into our home and stole our savings....” She turned to John, who was still not entirely sure what was going on. “You brought him into our home and he made off with thousands of OUR money!!”
John blinked. “’Tis the season of giving! Maybe we gave it to him!”
“Oh, you’d better hope you didn’t give it to him!” Mary grunted. And then she sighed. “John, let’s just go to sleep and forget this whole night. You’ll sleep off the alcohol.”
“Okay!” John replied. But as he waltzed over to the bedroom, a thought occurred to him. “Wait, you’re mad, aren’t you?”
“You bet I am!” Mary guffawed.
“Aww, why be mad?”
“John, you invited a strange, shady man into our home, and he STOLE OUR MONEY!!”
“It’s not my fault!” he explained. “I was just being spirited! Why can’t you be?”
“BECAUSE EVERY GODDAMN YEAR, YOU GODDAMN RUIN OUR GODDAMN CHRISTMAS!!!”
John stumbled back, insulted by these wild accusations. “Well, maybe I should just go out and get our money back!!” he snapped. “That’ll save Christmas, right??”
She ran her fingers through her hair, exhausted from the night. “John, don’t be absurd. He probably has a knife.” She walked toward the bedroom, expecting John to follow.
But he felt a need to redeem himself. “So?” he asked.
“So he’ll stab you.”
“You probably wouldn’t care.”
“John....” Mary said, turning around. But it was too late. “JOHN!!” she hollered, but he’d already run out the door, shutting it behind him.
John wandered the streets of Manhattan, thinking about what had happened. It was cold and bitter, and he held himself tightly. He had rushed out without even taking time to put on a coat.
As some time began to pass, the alcohol began to leave his system, and his mind began to clear. He recollected the entire day, from the fight of the afternoon to his spontaneous spirited decision to invite Chris to dinner to the wastefulness of the alcohol he’d drunk to the ultimate treachery as Chris robbed the Stevensons of a year’s hard work. That’s what had happened, essentially. John had lost everything he’d built up that year, every trace of a sign that he had ever been sober.
But it was Christmas! This is a time in which miracles can come true! And hope lies just around the corner.
John sat down on the cold snow, thinking. If you were an unfortunate soul such as Chris, and you’d just gotten close to three thousand dollars, where would be the first place you’d go? Looking back on the night, the answer was clear. After all, Chris and Pete were good friends.
John arose and wiped clean his bottom of the snow. He walked through the night, listening in as parents tucked in their restless children. They’d kiss them good night and wish them a merry Christmas. And the children would thank their parents, not for the gifts, but for the food, for the warmth, for all of the love that parents give. “Thank you,” the children say, “not just for the gift of life, but for the comfort of life; thank you for feeding me, and caring for me, and being here for me when I need it. You’re the bestest mommy and daddy ever.”
He could swear that he heard those words. He could swear he heard someone say, “I love you.” He could swear it.
Pete’s Bar was dead ahead. It was still open at this time of night. Even Harry’s Kosher Diner was still lit, and you could even see people sitting at the tables inside. For example, Chris was sitting at one of those tables, across from the old woman who John had last seen holding a sign that read, “Will Fuck for Food.”
Without another thought, John dashed inside the diner. The waiters at the front asked John if he’d like a table, but he waved them off and ran straight for Chris and the old woman. What was that unfortunate soul thinking? “Chris!”
He looked up. “Oh, hi, John!” he smiled, a glisten in his one eye. Before him was an enormous turkey, surrounded by platters upon platters of every kosher dish you could name. “Did you know that they don’t have cheeseburgers here? Criminal!”
John blinked, checking that the sight before him was true. The old woman didn’t have her sign with her, but was certainly the same one, digging into a plate of mashed potatoes as though she’d never see food again. She didn’t speak or even look up. She only ate.
“Chris,” John finally said, acknowledging what was happening. “You’d better not be planning on taking her back to my apartment.”
Chris eyed John quirkily, uncertain at first what he meant. Then, as realization took over, Chris began to laugh. “Oh, you misunderstand, sir! After dinner, we’re parting our separate ways.”
John didn’t quite take this in at first, and so he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I suppose I got the idea from you,” Chris explained. “You were just so into the Christmas spirit, sir! You were all about giving and sharing and accepting each other, although, to be frank, you aren’t exactly well off enough to be giving to others. But somehow, you managed to do it anyway, sir, and I must say I was inspired! You have a miserable life, you see, and yet you still thought about those less fortunate than you!
“I admire that quality, sir. I’ve seen this girl around a few times, and I’ve always thought about how much less fortunate she is than me. I mean, I know this city – I know how to survive. But this girl here – she’s young, confused, scared. She doesn’t know this city and her only means of survival is to surrender herself to it. I finally realized that it’s my duty to help her!”
John was confused. “Young? But her wrinkles....”
“She’s twenty-five, sir.”
John gazed on, amazed. He watched the young girl eat her way through the food, as though she’d never see it again. She’d finished the potatoes now, and was tearing into a large piece of corn. She scraped her teeth weakly against the corn. Pieces fell off, scrambling everywhere, as her putrid mouth picked only half the kernels to eat. Her face was covered in wrinkles so obvious that no amount of excessive make-up could hide her ugliness. She was twenty-five.
He leaned over and took the corn, grabbing the girl’s knife off the table. She didn’t look up as he dug the knife into the cob, picking off the kernels and letting them fall onto her plate. When the cob was cleaned, he put it aside where the mashed potatoes once were, handing the girl a fork as he did so. She grasped in her hand and stabbed the kernels, thrusting them into her mouth and eating as much as her faint heart desired.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Chris said. “I shouldn’t have taken that money without asking you first. But I was worried you’d say no, and in any case I’m certain your missus would say no. I hope you don’t mind – really, I do. But sitting here, just watching this girl eat for the first time in who knows how long.... It just feels right. No one should go without dinner on Christmas day, even if it’s from a lousy kosher diner. I was lucky enough for someone to show me that.”
John sighed in frustration. “It’s okay, Chris. Really, it is.”
“There’s still some money left, sir,” Chris said, pulling the jar up from beside him. “I made sure to look over it real good and keep it safe! I hope you don’t mind, but I did pull out a bit for this girl here to get a hotel room tonight. That’s all I took, though.”
There it was, the Stevensons’ vacation money, readily returned. And yet, somehow, it just didn’t feel right. “I can’t take this, Chris. I just can’t take it....”
“Please, sir, don’t argue. To be frank, you just about ruined your entire life tonight, sir, and you’re gonna need this money a hell of a lot more than I will!”
John knew it to be true. “Will you at least take enough so you can get a room too?”
“Very well, sir, if it will make you feel better. But you take the rest, and make this up to Mary. Go out and buy her something nice.”
‘Twas the morning after Christmas, December 26th. Children were sleeping beside their new stuffed animals, resting cozily in their warm beds. John didn’t care about them, though. He only marched for home.
Reaching for the doorknob, John almost hesitated, but remembered the wise message of old Chris Kringle, the one who started it all. It may be morning, but some would still call it Christmas night, though very late at night. And of course, Christmas is a time for giving, for sharing, for helping those less fortunate, but most of all for being with those you love.
“John!” He had no time to react as Mary thrust herself upon him the moment he opened the door. “Are you all right??” she gasped, hugging John tightly. “I was so worried about you! You must be freezing! Come in!” Mary turned back and hollered into the apartment, “Paul! He’s here!”
Father Paul came running out. “Oh, so now we need to call the police again and tell them it’s all right. Why can’t we all just stay together like a normal Christian family? What is wrong with you people?”
John still stood in the doorway, processing the bizarrely upbeat welcome. Mary looked over to him and frowned. “What are you doing out there? Come in! You’re not still drunk, are you?”
“No!” John said firmly. “No, I’m not. I just wanted to apologize and –”
“Get the hell in here, John!”
“Watch that language, girl!” the Father snapped. “I know you voted for that Muslim in ’08, and you’re going to have a lot of repenting to do!”
Chuckling, John stepped in, and as he turned to shut the door, Mary noticed the small black box he held in his hand. “John,” she asked, “what’s that?”
A smile spread across his face as he looked over to her. “Mary,” he declared, “I found the money!”
“And you spent it?? You spent our vacation money?? Do you even want a second honeymoon??”
“One step at a time!” John said, holding out the black box. “Listen, Mary, earlier tonight, you said that marrying me was the biggest mistake of your life. And let’s face it, we do not act like a lovely wedded couple – I almost think you meant it! A second honeymoon wouldn’t make any sense right now.”
“So, what?” Mary sneered, her arms crossed. “You got me jewelry instead?? Like that’s any better??”
“You aren’t making this easy....” John sighed. “I’m just going to get on with it.” And so, he bent down on one knee, holding out the box, opening it to reveal a small diamond ring within. “Mary, will you marry me again?”
She gasped for a moment, her mouth hanging open, speechless, amazed and baffled by what to say. It was a beautiful ring.
“John Stevenson,” she said, “so far tonight, you’ve invited a strange man to our home without telling me, returned to the bottle after a year of soberness, lost our savings to a bum and spent the rest on pointless gifts, nearly killed yourself....” She smiled, taking the jewel out of the box and slipping it onto her finger atop the other wedding ring. “And yet, somehow, I simply can not turn you away.
“I say yes, John. Yes, I will marry you again.”
The Father stared at all this in fright, in horror. “This isn’t right!” he cried. “You can’t just forsake our traditions like this, going about it whichever way you choose! Weddings are organized, and you must be united by a priest, and –”
“Yes,” Mary said. “Will you do the honors, O Holy Father?”
“This is ludicrous! This is madness! This is heresy!”
John laughed as he stood up. “Dad, if you don’t do this now, we’ll go to a rabbi.”
“Okay, fine! But when you all go to Hell, don’t come crying to me, ‘cause I’ll be in Heaven!”
John and Mary grabbed each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes. They’d been through a lot these past few years, enough to break even the strongest of bonds. And yet, they’d stayed together through it all. Now was a time to make things right, to put aside all their feeble problems and let the natural order of the world have its way. They knew it would work, for could anything short of love have brought them this far?
“John Stevenson,” the Father droned, “do you take this Satanic Democrat to be your abominably wedded wife ‘til only death may do you part?”
“I do.”
“And Mary.... Stevenson,” he went on, “do you take this heretical shame upon his father to be your unkemptly wedded husband?”
“I do.”
He sighed in resignation. “Then I pronounce you horror and wife, eternally bonded in unholy matrimony. You may kiss the bride. May the Lord have mercy on your souls.”
All in all, John thought, it’s been a very merry Christmas. And so, ‘twould be a happy new year.
Bundled in a coat, hat, scarf, and all, he watched as the children played in the light coating of snow. Here was a girl building a snowman with the help of her older brother. And here a father and son sled down a large hill. And here a couple of small boys played with their new air guns, and when they see the girl’s snowman, they shoot its head off.
Yes, Christmas was a joyous season for giving and sharing, for being with one’s family. John’s father would be joining he and Mary this evening, just as they did every year. And yet, this year just seemed so much more beautiful than all the others. He’d even gotten a real tree, instead of the usual artificial one! Though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why – perhaps it was to make up for last year’s disasters – John was simply overwhelmed by the spirit of the season.
It was almost time to return home, and so John began to walk in the direction of his apartment, peering into the windows as he passed. He could see parents sipping hot chocolate and children playing with all their new toys, or in some cases, video game shooters. Truly, John’s only wish was to have kids of his own. And yet, as he watched all the families huddled together by the warmth of fire, he couldn’t help but think of those less fortunate.
After all, not everyone has a family, or even a home for that matter. Christmastime is the season of giving! Why should anyone be left out in the cold, away from the delicious cooking of a talented wife? Realizing this, John made a decision – in the spirit of the season, he would open his doors to all who wished to come! This Christmas dinner would be one for all to enjoy!
And so, the very next time John saw a man huddled underneath a torn blanket, he walked right up to the man and said, “Excuse me, sir, but would you like to join me and my wife for Christmas dinner?”
At first, the man acted as though he hadn’t heard John, shocked that such an offer had been made. Then, he slowly turned his bearded head and replied, “There gonna be any booze?”
John was stunned, taken aback. This was Christmas, season of joy! And all this man could ask was, “There gonna be any booze?” “No!” John curtly cried, and walked away.
He must’ve been anti-Christmas, John thought. But surely, someone else would be more appreciative, and gladly accept the generous seasonal offer. He spotted another man then, walking friskily along the sidewalk as he held his arms close to his body, using only an old smelly sweater to keep warm.
“Pardon me, sir,” John interrupted, “but how would you love to spend Christmas dinner at –?”
“No, you can’t have my kidneys!” the man shouted without even turning to look at John, and he disappeared behind an alley.
Now John was getting frustrated. He was only trying to be a kind, giving soul, and had no intention to take anyone’s kidneys. He was determined to tear from the streets the very next unfortunate person he saw!
Sitting between Pete’s Bar and Harry’s Kosher Diner was a hideous woman for whom no amount of make-up could cover the wrinkles in her face. She held a sign reading, “Will Fuck for Food.”
John didn’t even try. He simply sat down on a bench and came to accept how truly hopeless the endeavor was. Perhaps he’d just go home now.
“Would you mind a small donation, sir?”
John looked up. Before him was a man in an enormous jacket, his gloved hands holding out a small metal can full of change.
“Please, sir, it is Christmas,” the man said through his gray beard and one eye.
“You don’t have any home to go to?” John asked.
“No, sir.”
“No family?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if you’d like, there’s an extra seat at my table.”
A twinkle appeared in the man’s eye. “Really, sir?”
“Of course! It is Christmas.”
A smile grew across the man’s face with gaps between the teeth here and there. John stood up with a smile to match, extending his hand to shake.
“Come on, my apartment’s this way. I’m John, by the way.”
“Chris,” the man replied, vigorously shaking John’s hand, and the two walked off to return home.
“Oh, there you are, John!” Mary cried as her husband walked in, running into his arms. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier – the holiday is just really stressing me out and –”
“Don’t worry about it!” John laughed. “I overreacted too. Is Dad here?”
“He’s in the dining room, reminding me that divorce is un-Catholic.”
“Yup, that sounds like Dad. Listen, Mary, I brought a guest with me.”
“Oh? Is it a friend from work?”
“Not exactly....”
John stepped aside and allowed Chris to walk in. Mary gazed at the man’s uncombed beard and stench of last night’s beans. As he removed his hat, long strands of white hair fell down, and Chris held out his mitted hand to shake with Mary.
“Good tidings, Ma’am.”
Mary stared in shock, then grabbed John and rushed him into the kitchen.
“Listen, Mary, it’s Christmas, and –”
“What the goddamn hell are you thinking, John?? Bringing that man into the house!”
“It’s an apartment, Mary, and he has nowhere else to go!”
“That doesn’t mean you invite him over! Listen, John, Christmas is great and all, but you don’t go inviting shady strangers into –”
“We always have leftovers! It’s not like it’s really any trouble!”
“John Stevenson, you get that man out of my house right now.”
“But –” Before he could say another word, Mary pushed him back into the welcome area. Chris wasn’t there.
“In here!” they heard him call out, and turned around to the archway leading to the dining room, where Chris was already sitting down and talking with John’s father.
“I can see you invited company, John,” his father glared at him.
“Yes, um, Dad, this is Chris,” John stumbled. “Chris, Dad.”
“Thank you for having me, Mr. Stevenson!”
“That’s Father to you. Father Paul. I’m a priest,” he sighed. “And once you’ve invited a man into the house, it’s improper to kick him out.”
“Great!” John clapped. “Then it’s settled.”
John sat down at the table beside Chris and looked up at Mary triumphantly. Annoyed, she left to the kitchen to fetch dinner.
“Wow!” Chris mused, looking around at the family portraits and beautiful ornaments decorating the apartment. “A real indoor Christmas!”
“You’ve never celebrated inside before?” asked Father Paul.
“I have, long ago.”
Mary returned wheeling a cart full of food. She unveiled soup and casseroles and potatoes and chicken and all the things you’d expect to see at a Christmas dinner. To drink, she served juices. After grace, the conversation went on.
“You know, no one’s ever done this for me before,” Chris said gleefully as Mary and Father Paul stared at him in contempt. “Why, last year, I had a cheeseburger for Christmas! And I only got that much ‘cause a fellow gave me a ten.”
“Have you ever considered getting a job, Chris?” Mary demanded.
“Yes, ma’am. But not many are willing to pay a man of my sorts. I used to help clean the streets, but they framed me of theft.”
“You have a record??”
“Yes, ma’am. But I am innocent.”
After that, little words were exchanged. They drank their soup, and ate their salads and potatoes, and chewed on their chicken, but spoke nothing.
The Stevensons did stare, though. They stared at Chris digging into his chicken with rotting teeth. Spots of the bone remained untouched where he was missing teeth, and bits fell into his dirty beard. The smell, alas, remained as putrid as when he’d first come in.
John couldn’t pretend to be happy with how things were going. He was, after all, doing what he felt was right, and yet his wife and his father seemed revolted. The only reason Chris could even stay was out of the priest’s supposedly noble intentions. But John wanted Chris to have a merry Christmas! How could this night be merry, when his family was ignoring the unfortunate soul before them?
He had to say something, to push things along. Perhaps, out of politeness, Mary and Father Paul would follow. “So,” he said, “Chris.” John thought of something to say. “How are you?”
Chris looked up from his strangely carved chicken leg and smiled to show bits of meat between his teeth. “Better than ever, sir!”
He then returned to his chicken as Mary slammed her foot on John’s. He winced in pain and looked over at her. Her face glared as though she’d never been angrier at her husband. But he knew that was a lie.
“It’s a nice apartment, sir,” Chris said without looking up, a tear in his eye. “Nice and big and cozy. It’s the kind of place I would want to live in.”
“Thank you,” John replied, ignoring the tantalizing looks from Mary and Father Paul. “We are very proud of our humble home.”
“I particularly like the picture behind your missus.”
John turned to look at the portrait. “Yes, that’s Mary’s family. There’s Thomas and Joan, her parents, and –”
“But they’re all in Chicago,” Mary interrupted. “I left them when I married John.”
Chris nodded, as he continued to look around and his eye fell upon a jar filled to the brim with cash. “What’s that?”
“Savings,” John smiled. “A year old, somewhere close to three thousand dollars –”
“John!” Mary snapped. “He doesn’t need to know that!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” John held up his hands defensively. “You see, Mary and I are saving up money for our second honeymoon. Not that we’re there just yet, but maybe soon.”
“Well, I for one find that to be beautiful!” Chris smiled. “Brings me right back to my own childhood dreams of finding my own little Miss Chris for Christmas.”
“There’s no reason you still can’t!” Father Paul said. “I’ve married couples at the crème of the crop and the lowest of the low! As long as Lord Jesus smiles upon you, anything is possible.”
Chris chuckled. “Yes, thank you.”
“What’s so funny?” the Father asked, eyeing Chris peculiarly.
“It’s just,” Chris sighed, “y’see, I respect your beliefs, I do, but I just don’t see how Jesus could still be alive after two thousand years. The very concept is absurd.”
John could feel his heart sinking as his father’s eyes lit up with fire. “What are you saying, son?”
“I’m sorry, Father. It’s nothing against you, of course. We don’t need to talk about this.”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve never been to the Lord’s house??”
“I was, long ago. But I gave up my faith in God when he gave up his faith in me.”
“And no wonder you can’t get a job!” Father Paul hollered, standing up from the table. “The Lord must frown upon you! Tyranny! Heresy! Sinner!”
“I, uh,” Chris stared up the Father in shock, in fear.
“You shall burn in Hell for this deed!! You are poisoning our souls!! You are spreading this blasphemy!!”
“I mean, no offense, but I didn’t even bring it up....”
“Repent!! REPENT!!!”
“Oh, come on!” Chris ranted in exasperation, throwing his silverware in the air. “Confession is bullshit! You must know that much, Father! I mean, you’re not going to tell me that you’ve actually spoken to God the Almighty, are you?”
“Of course I have!”
“In your dreams!”
“Exactly!”
“Bullshit!”
“That does it!!” the Father slammed his fists upon the table, making the knives clang against the forks. John looked on in fear as a smile grew across Mary’s face. “John Stevenson, you get this man out of this apartment right now!! We do not accept heretics at our Christmas dinner!”
“Finally!” Mary laughed, standing up and getting the door. “Right this way, Mister Chris.”
Chris stood up in frustration, grasping his knife angrily. “You must be kidding me now! I didn’t do a goddamn thing!”
“Watch that language, you bum!” the Father raged. “The Lord doesn’t look well upon foul mouths such as yours!”
Now John had had enough of this. His family had no Christmas spirit, and he merely wanted to make the holiday memorable. “This is absurd!” he declared. “Chris is our guest! We let him into our home, and you yourself said it would be un-Christian to kick him out!”
“He is un-Christian! You heard him, son! He’s probably a homosexual too!”
“Oh, now that was just completely uncalled for,” Chris groaned, throwing down his knife upon the table. “But if you don’t want me, I don’t want any part with you! I’ll just be leaving now!” Before anyone could say another word, the unfortunate soul stormed out the door without even saying thank you or merry Christmas. After all, if you were in his position, would you wish the Stevensons a merry Christmas?
At first, the Stevensons simply stared in shock and disbelief over what had just happened. Then, at last, the Father spoke, “Well, he’s gone. Now let’s eat!” And Mary said, “Thank God!” And the Father said, “Don’t you be using the Lord’s name in vain!” And Mary rolled her eyes and sat back down with the Father.
But John couldn’t take it anymore. He was fed up with this. He’d been a good man this year! He’d been on Saint Nick’s “nice” list for sure! And here he was, more spirited for Christmas than ever before, and his family had spat in his face.
Considering this, John’s actions are entirely understandable. He didn’t sit back down for Christmas dinner. He yelled at Mary and Father Paul. He yelled, “Merry Christmas, and good night!” and then turned and rushed out of the apartment, without even putting on a coat!
He ran outside and caught up with Chris. “I’m sorry about my family,” John told him. “I still want to try to give you a good Christmas. Just choose a place, and we’ll go there. My treat.”
It was cold outside. John partly regretted leaving his coat behind, as he marched through the snow in his slippers. But he couldn’t go back. He’d made a promise to Chris, and he intended to keep his vows.
The streets were empty now. The children had gone inside to eat dinner with their loving families and accept large amounts of cash from their grandparents. Only that old woman in make-up remained, still holding her sign “Will Fuck for Food” to no avail.
Chris turned into Pete’s Bar.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” John stammered uneasily. “Isn’t there anywhere else you’d rather eat? The diner next door is still open –”
“That’s because it’s a kosher diner,” Chris said. “Doesn’t seem right to eat in a kosher diner on Christmas. But it’s your money, sir – if you want to find another bar, I’d be willing to follow you.”
John sighed in resignation. He’d promised. “It’s fine, Chris,” John said. “Let’s go in.”
And so, the spirited Stevenson and the unfortunate soul sat down at Pete’s Bar. It would be surprising that it was open today, except, Chris explained, the owner had no family to his name. Pete and Chris were good friends, in fact.
John felt uneasy, claustrophobic, but uttered no complaint, knowing he couldn’t very well return home. Pete, the owner, arrived at the bar in an old smelly sweater, held tightly to his chest. “Well,” he declared, “if it ain’t the kidney thief.”
John blinked, as recognition overcame him. “Oh,” he gasped, “I’m sorry! I thought you were a –! I mean – I thought....”
“It’s okay,” Pete replied. “Not the first time I been mistook for a bum, and not gonna be the last time either. Now whaddaya need?”
“First rounds, Pete,” Chris ordered. John quickly added on, “I won’t be having anything.” Chris laughed and said, “He’s just here to pay.”
Pete nodded and started making the drink. He must’ve been taking out the trash earlier, John thought. It was fairly presumptuous to consider him an unfortunate soul simply because he was taking out the trash.
“Sir,” Chris said, interrupting John’s thoughts, “if you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want a drink? I noticed that you weren’t serving anything alcoholic at dinner either.”
John hesitated. He didn’t like recollecting the story, but then again, he didn’t much like anything that had been happening tonight. And so, as Chris thanked the bartender for his drink, John explained the story.
“Mary and I have been husband and wife now for six years. We had our honeymoon in France, you see – we were looking forward to a long and prosperous marriage, with three kids to boot. Well, obviously, that’s not exactly how things went down. The first year of our marriage was great, yes, but then we tried to have kids.
“I’m sterile. It turns out that I can’t have children. Ever. We were both upset about it. Mary – she didn’t blame me, but she grieved all the same. And me, well, I did blame me. I couldn’t stand seeing Mary in so much pain. The very thought of never being able to have kids....”
“Pardon me, sir,” Chris said, “but isn’t that somewhat childish? I mean, there are plenty of Chinese babies waiting to be adopted by lovely American Christian couples.”
John laughed, but half-heartedly so. “That may be true, Chris, but none of them would be MY kids. I want one of my own. And it may be childish, yes, but children always try to escape their problems rather than confront them. So I took up the bottle.
“I wasn’t just a steady drinker, either. I was a raging alcoholic. For years. It started off with late nights, staying at the bar by myself, drinking myself to death. I almost died a few times, in fact. Mary couldn’t stand it. That made things worse.
“I kept drinking. And drinking. And drinking. Soon, I’d be drinking first thing in the morning. It was out of control. Mary asked me to quit several times, but I just snapped at her, yelled at her, told her to butt out and mind her own business.
“Finally, last Christmas, I got really wasted. More than usual even. She yelled at me. I don’t even remember what she said. But it made me angry. And I hit her. Multiple times. On Christmas night, I was beating my wife. My dad had to pry me away before I killed her. It’s a miracle I even survived the night. And Mary....”
Chris stared on as John talked, listening intently. At breaks in the story, Chris took a chug of his beer.
“That was the last straw,” John went on. “I knew I couldn’t risk ever taking another drink again. So I quit. Just like that.
“Been sober for months now. Mary still complains about not having any champagne in the house.... But we’ve been saving a lot of money like that. Every penny I resist spending on alcohol winds up in our vacation jar. It’s my accomplishment for the year.”
John turned to Chris. Realizing the story was over, he gulped another portion of beer. “That’s intense....” Chris mused.
John nodded. “Four years of that. We’re still fighting. Heck, we were arguing just earlier today, about I don’t even remember what. That’s why I was outside when I found you!”
“Wow,” Chris gazed with his one eye. “And you’re still married??” He finished the bottle and slammed it down. “I’d have divorced you years ago, sir!”
His mouth hanging open, John stared at Chris wide-eyed. Then, he turned to the bartender. “I’ll have ONE drink.”
John opened the door slowly and lazily. It was late at night, and he was worried he’d scare away Santa. Of course, Santa came last night, but it’s hard to remember sometimes. Santa had gotten John a shoehorn for Christmas!
The lights flickered on all of a sudden. It was strange and blinding, and John had to cover the tops of his eyes to prevent the sudden influx light from damaging them. Mary sat at the table angrily.
“John Stevenson,” she sneered through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“No. Do you?”
“It’s about thirteen minutes past ten, sir,” Chris announced. “Give or take a few dozen minutes. We were out for three hours.”
Now Mary wasn’t angry anymore. Now she was furious. “You brought him back here?? After everything that’s happened, you brought that man back??”
“Aww, Mary, Chris isn’t that bad!” John laughed, stepping forward and swooping in. “You’ve just got to get used to him, is all!”
“You’re drunk, John! I can smell it clearly as ever!”
“Yup! That’s right! You win the prize!”
Chris cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I suppose I shouldn’t have let him drink all that –”
“YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!!”
Chris put up his arms defensively and slipped out of sight.
“Come on, Mary!” John laughed. “It’s Christmas! Let’s just go to bed!”
“Goddammit, no!” Mary cried as John tugged on her arm, luring her into the hallway. “You’ve been so good since last year! I really thought you were trying!”
“I was, sweety, but we all got to give in sometime. Y’know?”
Mary slapped him across the face. He blinked, shaking it off. He looked at her, then to the bedroom, and instantly rushed for it. As he opened the door, he called out, “If you want to come in, you’d better not be wearing anything!”
“This is going to be a very long confession,” spoke the Father’s voice. John jumped out of the room, startled. Father Paul was sitting on the bed, laptop in hand.
“Oh, you!” John cried out. “What are you doing here?”
The Father sneered. “It’s Christmas, John. I’m here every year, remember? You may have disappeared, but I decided to stick around and have Mary’s back.” He lowered his voice. “Did you know that she has buttons supporting abortionists and gay marriage? I swear, you have no idea who you married....”
John turned to his wife, hurt and offended. “You let him stay here??”
“Yes, John,” Mary yelled, marching into the hallway and getting up close. “And do you want to know why? It’s because my husband, the man who’s supposed to stay by me and protect me and listen to me has proven nothing more than a maniacal lunatic, an incurable alcoholic, a liar, and the biggest mistake of my life!!”
John gazed blankly at her for a moment, taking it all in. “I mean, that’s a whole bunch of things.... So, that whole ‘nothing more than’ bit is kind of off.”
“THAT IS THE LAST GODDAMN STRAW!!” Mary hollered, grabbing John and dragging him out of the hallway, ignoring the Father’s protests against her use of language. She threw him down against the dining room table, knocking down the plates long emptied of the cheesecake dessert. “EITHER YOU GET THAT GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BUM OUT OF MY HOUSE, OR YOU CAN SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE STREETS!!”
John stumbled up, shocked and uncertain what was happening. But he guessed that he was in trouble. The good-for-nothing bum likely referred to Chris, who had no job and was thus a bum. But as John looked around, he had to ask, “Where is That Good-For-Nothing Bum?”
Mary noticed it then, too. Chris was nowhere to be seen. She quickly ran through the kitchen and the entrance room, but did not see Chris anywhere. Then she saw a ring of dust resting on the shelf. Usually, the ring would’ve been covered by the Stevenson’s vacation jar, but now, it was gone.
“He took our money....” she gasped. “He came into our home and stole our savings....” She turned to John, who was still not entirely sure what was going on. “You brought him into our home and he made off with thousands of OUR money!!”
John blinked. “’Tis the season of giving! Maybe we gave it to him!”
“Oh, you’d better hope you didn’t give it to him!” Mary grunted. And then she sighed. “John, let’s just go to sleep and forget this whole night. You’ll sleep off the alcohol.”
“Okay!” John replied. But as he waltzed over to the bedroom, a thought occurred to him. “Wait, you’re mad, aren’t you?”
“You bet I am!” Mary guffawed.
“Aww, why be mad?”
“John, you invited a strange, shady man into our home, and he STOLE OUR MONEY!!”
“It’s not my fault!” he explained. “I was just being spirited! Why can’t you be?”
“BECAUSE EVERY GODDAMN YEAR, YOU GODDAMN RUIN OUR GODDAMN CHRISTMAS!!!”
John stumbled back, insulted by these wild accusations. “Well, maybe I should just go out and get our money back!!” he snapped. “That’ll save Christmas, right??”
She ran her fingers through her hair, exhausted from the night. “John, don’t be absurd. He probably has a knife.” She walked toward the bedroom, expecting John to follow.
But he felt a need to redeem himself. “So?” he asked.
“So he’ll stab you.”
“You probably wouldn’t care.”
“John....” Mary said, turning around. But it was too late. “JOHN!!” she hollered, but he’d already run out the door, shutting it behind him.
John wandered the streets of Manhattan, thinking about what had happened. It was cold and bitter, and he held himself tightly. He had rushed out without even taking time to put on a coat.
As some time began to pass, the alcohol began to leave his system, and his mind began to clear. He recollected the entire day, from the fight of the afternoon to his spontaneous spirited decision to invite Chris to dinner to the wastefulness of the alcohol he’d drunk to the ultimate treachery as Chris robbed the Stevensons of a year’s hard work. That’s what had happened, essentially. John had lost everything he’d built up that year, every trace of a sign that he had ever been sober.
But it was Christmas! This is a time in which miracles can come true! And hope lies just around the corner.
John sat down on the cold snow, thinking. If you were an unfortunate soul such as Chris, and you’d just gotten close to three thousand dollars, where would be the first place you’d go? Looking back on the night, the answer was clear. After all, Chris and Pete were good friends.
John arose and wiped clean his bottom of the snow. He walked through the night, listening in as parents tucked in their restless children. They’d kiss them good night and wish them a merry Christmas. And the children would thank their parents, not for the gifts, but for the food, for the warmth, for all of the love that parents give. “Thank you,” the children say, “not just for the gift of life, but for the comfort of life; thank you for feeding me, and caring for me, and being here for me when I need it. You’re the bestest mommy and daddy ever.”
He could swear that he heard those words. He could swear he heard someone say, “I love you.” He could swear it.
Pete’s Bar was dead ahead. It was still open at this time of night. Even Harry’s Kosher Diner was still lit, and you could even see people sitting at the tables inside. For example, Chris was sitting at one of those tables, across from the old woman who John had last seen holding a sign that read, “Will Fuck for Food.”
Without another thought, John dashed inside the diner. The waiters at the front asked John if he’d like a table, but he waved them off and ran straight for Chris and the old woman. What was that unfortunate soul thinking? “Chris!”
He looked up. “Oh, hi, John!” he smiled, a glisten in his one eye. Before him was an enormous turkey, surrounded by platters upon platters of every kosher dish you could name. “Did you know that they don’t have cheeseburgers here? Criminal!”
John blinked, checking that the sight before him was true. The old woman didn’t have her sign with her, but was certainly the same one, digging into a plate of mashed potatoes as though she’d never see food again. She didn’t speak or even look up. She only ate.
“Chris,” John finally said, acknowledging what was happening. “You’d better not be planning on taking her back to my apartment.”
Chris eyed John quirkily, uncertain at first what he meant. Then, as realization took over, Chris began to laugh. “Oh, you misunderstand, sir! After dinner, we’re parting our separate ways.”
John didn’t quite take this in at first, and so he asked, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I suppose I got the idea from you,” Chris explained. “You were just so into the Christmas spirit, sir! You were all about giving and sharing and accepting each other, although, to be frank, you aren’t exactly well off enough to be giving to others. But somehow, you managed to do it anyway, sir, and I must say I was inspired! You have a miserable life, you see, and yet you still thought about those less fortunate than you!
“I admire that quality, sir. I’ve seen this girl around a few times, and I’ve always thought about how much less fortunate she is than me. I mean, I know this city – I know how to survive. But this girl here – she’s young, confused, scared. She doesn’t know this city and her only means of survival is to surrender herself to it. I finally realized that it’s my duty to help her!”
John was confused. “Young? But her wrinkles....”
“She’s twenty-five, sir.”
John gazed on, amazed. He watched the young girl eat her way through the food, as though she’d never see it again. She’d finished the potatoes now, and was tearing into a large piece of corn. She scraped her teeth weakly against the corn. Pieces fell off, scrambling everywhere, as her putrid mouth picked only half the kernels to eat. Her face was covered in wrinkles so obvious that no amount of excessive make-up could hide her ugliness. She was twenty-five.
He leaned over and took the corn, grabbing the girl’s knife off the table. She didn’t look up as he dug the knife into the cob, picking off the kernels and letting them fall onto her plate. When the cob was cleaned, he put it aside where the mashed potatoes once were, handing the girl a fork as he did so. She grasped in her hand and stabbed the kernels, thrusting them into her mouth and eating as much as her faint heart desired.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Chris said. “I shouldn’t have taken that money without asking you first. But I was worried you’d say no, and in any case I’m certain your missus would say no. I hope you don’t mind – really, I do. But sitting here, just watching this girl eat for the first time in who knows how long.... It just feels right. No one should go without dinner on Christmas day, even if it’s from a lousy kosher diner. I was lucky enough for someone to show me that.”
John sighed in frustration. “It’s okay, Chris. Really, it is.”
“There’s still some money left, sir,” Chris said, pulling the jar up from beside him. “I made sure to look over it real good and keep it safe! I hope you don’t mind, but I did pull out a bit for this girl here to get a hotel room tonight. That’s all I took, though.”
There it was, the Stevensons’ vacation money, readily returned. And yet, somehow, it just didn’t feel right. “I can’t take this, Chris. I just can’t take it....”
“Please, sir, don’t argue. To be frank, you just about ruined your entire life tonight, sir, and you’re gonna need this money a hell of a lot more than I will!”
John knew it to be true. “Will you at least take enough so you can get a room too?”
“Very well, sir, if it will make you feel better. But you take the rest, and make this up to Mary. Go out and buy her something nice.”
‘Twas the morning after Christmas, December 26th. Children were sleeping beside their new stuffed animals, resting cozily in their warm beds. John didn’t care about them, though. He only marched for home.
Reaching for the doorknob, John almost hesitated, but remembered the wise message of old Chris Kringle, the one who started it all. It may be morning, but some would still call it Christmas night, though very late at night. And of course, Christmas is a time for giving, for sharing, for helping those less fortunate, but most of all for being with those you love.
“John!” He had no time to react as Mary thrust herself upon him the moment he opened the door. “Are you all right??” she gasped, hugging John tightly. “I was so worried about you! You must be freezing! Come in!” Mary turned back and hollered into the apartment, “Paul! He’s here!”
Father Paul came running out. “Oh, so now we need to call the police again and tell them it’s all right. Why can’t we all just stay together like a normal Christian family? What is wrong with you people?”
John still stood in the doorway, processing the bizarrely upbeat welcome. Mary looked over to him and frowned. “What are you doing out there? Come in! You’re not still drunk, are you?”
“No!” John said firmly. “No, I’m not. I just wanted to apologize and –”
“Get the hell in here, John!”
“Watch that language, girl!” the Father snapped. “I know you voted for that Muslim in ’08, and you’re going to have a lot of repenting to do!”
Chuckling, John stepped in, and as he turned to shut the door, Mary noticed the small black box he held in his hand. “John,” she asked, “what’s that?”
A smile spread across his face as he looked over to her. “Mary,” he declared, “I found the money!”
“And you spent it?? You spent our vacation money?? Do you even want a second honeymoon??”
“One step at a time!” John said, holding out the black box. “Listen, Mary, earlier tonight, you said that marrying me was the biggest mistake of your life. And let’s face it, we do not act like a lovely wedded couple – I almost think you meant it! A second honeymoon wouldn’t make any sense right now.”
“So, what?” Mary sneered, her arms crossed. “You got me jewelry instead?? Like that’s any better??”
“You aren’t making this easy....” John sighed. “I’m just going to get on with it.” And so, he bent down on one knee, holding out the box, opening it to reveal a small diamond ring within. “Mary, will you marry me again?”
She gasped for a moment, her mouth hanging open, speechless, amazed and baffled by what to say. It was a beautiful ring.
“John Stevenson,” she said, “so far tonight, you’ve invited a strange man to our home without telling me, returned to the bottle after a year of soberness, lost our savings to a bum and spent the rest on pointless gifts, nearly killed yourself....” She smiled, taking the jewel out of the box and slipping it onto her finger atop the other wedding ring. “And yet, somehow, I simply can not turn you away.
“I say yes, John. Yes, I will marry you again.”
The Father stared at all this in fright, in horror. “This isn’t right!” he cried. “You can’t just forsake our traditions like this, going about it whichever way you choose! Weddings are organized, and you must be united by a priest, and –”
“Yes,” Mary said. “Will you do the honors, O Holy Father?”
“This is ludicrous! This is madness! This is heresy!”
John laughed as he stood up. “Dad, if you don’t do this now, we’ll go to a rabbi.”
“Okay, fine! But when you all go to Hell, don’t come crying to me, ‘cause I’ll be in Heaven!”
John and Mary grabbed each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes. They’d been through a lot these past few years, enough to break even the strongest of bonds. And yet, they’d stayed together through it all. Now was a time to make things right, to put aside all their feeble problems and let the natural order of the world have its way. They knew it would work, for could anything short of love have brought them this far?
“John Stevenson,” the Father droned, “do you take this Satanic Democrat to be your abominably wedded wife ‘til only death may do you part?”
“I do.”
“And Mary.... Stevenson,” he went on, “do you take this heretical shame upon his father to be your unkemptly wedded husband?”
“I do.”
He sighed in resignation. “Then I pronounce you horror and wife, eternally bonded in unholy matrimony. You may kiss the bride. May the Lord have mercy on your souls.”
All in all, John thought, it’s been a very merry Christmas. And so, ‘twould be a happy new year.