The Night Before The Night Before Christmas

 Here's another cynical little Christmas story...


People said I looked like Old St. Nick Himself. It's not like I could deny it or anything. I was fat and had a long white beard and mustache. All I needed was a red suit trimmed in white fluff and a big wide size fifty-two black belt with a huge silver buckle on it. And a goofy hat of course.

To bad I didn't much care for kids, destructive evil  little terror machines that they were. I could have been Santa any day of the week. Hell, I couldn't even go out shopping during the Christmas season. Every brat in the store would flock around me like I was their best friend  and try to drag me after them to show me exactly what they wanted so I wouldn't screw up.

I would ask them their name and then I would pull a wadded up piece of paper out of my pocket. I would pretend to find their name on the list and tell them they were bad this year and weren't getting anything but coal in their stockings. They would run off crying and tell their mothers that Santa was being mean and she would drag the child back and tell me how ashamed I should be of myself.

My snappy response to her would depend on whether I had already been to Tenny's Tavern, or just getting ready to go there. Needless to say, it was much easier to stay out of the department stores from Thanksgiving till Christmas. It's not like I had to go to Walmart that often anyway, living alone and all. If I did feel like going, it was as much to torture the kid's as anything. At least that's what I told myself.

Well, it just so happened that I had to go out a couple of days before Christmas to get some toilet paper of all things. Yeah, I could have just gone to the Convenience Mart but they only sold the 250 sheet rolls of that fluffy stuff laced with smell nice. Perfumed shit paper in my bathroom was about as useful as a campfire in the middle of the Sierra dessert at high noon. I don't know what it is about getting old and going to the bathroom, but if you could package the smell, you could get rich selling it as instant wallpaper remover.

Anyway, I needed a couple of rolls of toilet tissue and I hadn't broken a single kid's heart yet this holiday season, so I went to Walmart. It was the night before Christmas Eve. Every isle was packed to overflowing with crying, blatting, snot nosed kids, perspiring panicky mothers and even a few brave but confused fathers. It was instant bedlam. I was surrounded before I even made it to the paper products. They were like a pack of hungry wolves in a feeding frenzy, slobbering and gesticulating wildly. No, it wasn't slobber, it was more like foaming at the mouth like the rabid animals they were if you ask me.

A Walmart Associate came to my rescue just as a filthy little boy wearing only a torn lightweight jacket grabbed the bottom of my heavy insulated parka and gave it a jerk to get my attention.

"Santa!" he shouted over the chorus of fifty other screaming juvenile delinquents. "My name is Jimmy Kelvin, what are you bringing me for Christmas?"

The Walmart Associate was trying to get my attention too. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. It's a fire hazard to block the isle's like this."

I ignored the Associate. I wasn't sure if he meant my rather large girth was blocking the isle or if it was my growing little throng of rabid admirers. needless to say, I couldn't resist the opportunity to crush all these kids hope in one fell swoop. I pulled out my handy list and ran my finger down the page like I was looking for a name.

"Ah! Here it is, Jimmy Kelvin."

The boy's eyes got real big like someone was squeezing his head so hard they were going to pop right out. I had him right where I wanted him so I let him have it.

"Say's here Jimmy Kelvin was a bad boy! You're getting coal in your stocking!" Then I looked up at the crowd of kid's and yelled out, "You're all getting coal in your stockings!"

An unearthly silence fell over the mass of indignant dwarfs. As I listened to Jingle Bells playing on the intercom system, I could see the mothers covering their mouths in utter astonishment. Every child was staring daggers at my head and a few had already started crying. Except Jimmy.

He stared up at me with the biggest smile I had ever seen, missing teeth and all. "Really, Santa?" he asked excitedly. "Because daddy lost his job and they turned the electric off so we don't have no heat. Our firewood is almost gone so we can use the coal you bring us, we can burn it in the fireplace! Wait until I tell Susan! Thank you Santa!"

"Sir, you're going to have to go now," said the Associate.

I let him lead me away. I was totally dumbfounded by what the little boy Jimmy had said and wondered if what he said was true. Of course it must be, there is no way a little boy could lie to an adult like that so convincingly. Here I was trying to torture the child and he made me feel like a heel.

I convinced the Walmart hoodlum that I needed some Scott Tissue -- I had a gas attack right then and there to prove it -- so he said he would get it for me rather than have me start another riot in his store. I paid for the stuff and left.

Out on the sidewalk in front of the store was a skinny old guy in a Santa suit ringing a bell and standing next to a Salvation Army pot like they always do this time of year. Right off to the side and leaning on the brick storefront was a little girl in a ragged sweater, shivering in the cold.

When I walked out, she looked at me, then at the skinny Santa ringing the bell, then back at me.

"I knew he wasn't the real Santa!" She said. "You're the real Santa!"

I was tired. Somehow, I had hoped it would be different this year, even though I knew I couldn't be that lucky.

"No kid, I'm not Santa," I said. "And if I were, you would get coal in your stocking for standing around, bothering strangers on the sidewalk!"

There, I thought. I guess I told her. But as I looked into her eyes, I saw a sparkle there and the beginning of a smile. Before I could do anything, she ran to me and wrapped her arms around my legs, giving me a big hug.

"Oh, thank you Santa! Thank you, thank you!"

I couldn't believe it. What is up with these kids tonight? Then I realized she was giving me the same line as the boy inside had.

"Hey, little girl?"

"Yes Santa?" She said, looking up at me.

"You have a little brother inside?" I asked, motioning to the store.

"Yes. Jimmy and I broke our piggy banks open to buy our daddy a present. He went in to get it."

"Dirty little kid with a torn jacket?"

"Yes, that's him," she said, looking down at the sidewalk.

"So you must be Susan. Why are you standing out here by yourself?"

She was silent at first, but then answered.

"We drew straws. He lost. Neither of wanted to go in, everyone always stares at us. We're kind of poor. Besides, he can carry it by himself."

"Carry what?" I asked.

"A bag of charcoal."

"Oh for christ's sake!" I fished in my pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it at her. "Here, now you can buy two or three blankets for when the charcoal runs out!" And then I stormed off.

***

"Damn little nuisances," I muttered.

"What's that you say, Fred?" Asked Bill, the bartender Tenny's Tavern.

"The little pests! What in the hell are parents taking their kids to the store for when they're Christmas shopping for them anyway? Haven't they got any sense at all?"

I went right to the bar after I left Walmart. I wasn't feeling good and I knew a few Gin and tonics would cure what ailed me. If I felt pity for a kid then I knew I was coming down with something.

"Ah, I wish I had kids."

"What the hell for? All they are is snot machines covered with a thin layer of skin. Buckets of it I tell you. They leave a trail of slime behind everywhere they go."

"You were a kid once too you know," said Bill.

"Not like the ones they hatch today I wasn't, disrespectful chubby little freeloaders that they are. I had calluses on my hands before I was four. Most of the kids today don't even know what a callus is!"

"The kids today didn't grow up in poverty like we did during the depression, Fred. Would you be happier if they did?"

"It doesn't matter how they grow up. It doesn't change the fact that not a one of them puts in an honest day's work until they become adults."

Right about then a skinny guy stuffed inside of a grubby denim jacket two sizes too small stumbled through the door. He staggered to the bar right next to me and ordered a beer. Bill brought him his drink and when he pulled out his wallet to pay for it, some pictures fell out on the floor. The man didn't even notice. He drained his glass of beer just as quick as the bartender got back with his change and ordered another.

"Hey buddy, you dropped something," I said, pointing to the floor where the pictures had fallen.

He glanced down at them -- almost falling over as he did -- and just ignored them. Even though he could barely stand, his beer guzzling intensified if anything. He ordered another.

Thinking that he was simply to drunk to bend over and pick up the photos, I got off my barstool and scooped them up for him. Naturally, I couldn't help but glance at them and was shocked to actually recognize the smiling faces that had been captured on film.

The photographs had been handled so much they were actually soft and limp in my hand like a dollar bill that had been in circulation so long it was at risk of disintegrating. The normally firm photo paper was soft and flexible; the images imprinted on them now faded and dull. Still, they couldn't have been that old because I recognized the filthy little boy, Jimmy Kelvin and his shabbily dressed sister, Susan. Except in the photo's, they were neither dirty nor shabbily dressed.

"Kelvin?" I said, holding the pictures out to him.

His head snapped around but he was having difficulty focusing his eyes. He stared at the photos like they were some contagious foreign growth on my hand that he might be infected with if he wasn't careful.

His wallet was still on the bar right next to the change from a fifty-dollar bill he had used to pay for his drink. I could see a wad of green poking out of it, must have been hundreds of dollars if all he had was a fifty.

"Leave me alone fat man," he said, turning back to the bar.

I knew this was none of my business, and I didn't even like kids in the first place. As I looked at the happy smiling faces in the faded pictures I couldn't help but think about what might be going on. If the kids weren't lying then it all boiled down to this. Their father was sitting here in a bar with a wallet full of money while they had broken their piggy banks to buy a bag of charcoal to try to heat their house.

"Cute kids." I said even though I almost choked on the words. "How old are they?"

He ignored me.

"Jimmy looks to be around eight. The girl, Susan must be at least ten." I guessed out loud.

That brought his head up and around again.

"What do you know about my kids?" Asked Kelvin.

"I know they look like they just came out of a Nazi concentration camp, and you're sitting there with a pocket full of money getting drunk like there's no tomorrow."

I actually saw a little reaction in his bloodshot eyes though I don't know how he managed. He went back to ignoring me.

"There is no tomorrow. Not for me," he slurred almost inaudibly. "And not for them."

A big chill washed over me. You know the feeling. Your hair feels like its crawling across your skin, your scalp tingles. It sounded to me like the crazy bastard was going to kill himself and the kids! What happened to my simple little life of hermitage, minding my own business and verbally abusing kids one month out of the year. It looked like this lowlife sitting next to me made a career out of abusing kids. I had to do something, even if it was something good for the boy and girl.

"So, Mr. Kelvin, where'd you get the money?"

No response.

"Jimmy says you lost your job and your house is cold and dark. Him and Susan are out buying you a Christmas present." I must have finally hit a nerve because he spun around again.

"Shut up! You don't know anything about me fat man! You have no idea what I've been through!"

I wiped the spittle that had flown from his mouth off my face.

"Yeah, you're right," I said. "And I don't even care. But what about the kids?"

"You don't have to worry about the kids, not after tonight."

I decided to change my approach seeing as Mr. Kelvin was obviously wallowing in some sort of self-serving cesspool.

"The kids have a whole life ahead of them. Just because you are a pathetic excuse for a father is no reason to take away their chance of a good life. They seem to adore you by the way."

"You don't know what you're talking about. Kid's are a pain in the ass. And those two are about as bad as they get."

"Nonsense, Kelvin. Kids can't be held responsible for their shortcomings."

This was totally against my nature, to stand up for kids like this. Some unseen force must be moving my lips against my will. At least that's what I thought as I continued.

"After all, you are their father. If they are brats, it's your fault not theirs. Besides, they look like little angels in the photos, they can't be all that bad."

"Those pictures were from before their mother left," he mumbled.

"Drover her off too, eh? I asked.

"No. She's dead. I told you. You don't know shit mister."

I was starting to get the picture now. His wife had died and here he was wallowing in self-pity, probably blaming the kids for all his woes. I would have thought his children would have been something to help hold him together under the circumstances. Wait, what the hell am I thinking? What is happening to me, I don't even like kids!

"Listen Kelvin, I met your kids. They are sweet innocent bundles of joy trying their best to bring you a little shred of happiness."

"Every time I look in their faces I see their mother," he sobbed. "Why did God have to take her?"

"God?" I said. "Look buddy, right now God has his hands full just keeping the Pope from slobbering all over himself when the bishops put him up on display. I'm sure he doesn't have time for us little folk. You're not one of those guys who go around blaming everything on God are you? Because if you are, you're wasting your time."

 "Just because you don't believe in God is no reason to..."

"It doesn't matter what I believe," I interrupted. "If there is a God, and I'm not saying there is or isn't, but if there is then I'm sure he has all these Angles and other guys helping him out. Don't you think? And if that's the case, then someone else besides God wasn't doing their job and that's why your wife died. Maybe. Perhaps."

Now I was really going off the deep end. I was about as close to God as a firecracker is to an atom bomb.

"Maybe God put me here to save your children. And you too I guess." I couldn't help but cringe having said that. But Kelvin must have finally started thinking about what he planned on doing. His tongue started loosening up a bit.

"I stole it, he said.

"Stole it? Stole what?"

"The money, dumb ass. You asked where I got the money. I figured if I was going to off the little runts, I might as well go out in style."

Boy, this guy was heartless! Worse than I ever thought of being.

"Well," I said, "maybe you could take that bundle of cash and go out and buy your kids something nice instead of killing them. You ever think of that?"

"No. I ain't thought about anything except my dead wife for the past year. And myself," he added.

"You know your kids are walking around in the cold with nothing more than rags on don't you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

The irony of it all. I was giving him the same spiel the angry mothers gave to me when I made their children cry. How enlightening. I actually felt bad about it now, thinking about all the crying kids I had left in my wake. Thinking about Jimmy and Susan and about how hard their lives already were with their mother dead and buried. I should be ashamed.

I had laid the crumpled photos of the kids on the bar. Kelvin reached out and dragged them over in front of him. He picked them up in his dirty trembling hands and stared at them through tear filled eyes, crying like a baby. I was embarrassed. Especially when I started crying too.

"I've been a real idiot haven't I Santa?" He said, looking over at me.

"I'm not..." I started to say I wasn't Santa, but then I thought, oh, what the hell.

"Yeah, Kelvin, you've been bad for sure. Under the circumstances, I'll let it pass though. You just get your ass home and sober up. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and you need to go buy your kids a present. Then go out and get a damn job so you don't have to steal anyone else's money."

Kelvin got to his feet and said, "I'll go take it back right now, I stole it from the church a couple of blocks down the road."

I thought about it for a second before I answered. Oh well, in for penny, in for a pound.

"Nah! I wouldn't do that, Kelvin. If you get caught putting it back, you might get arrested. I'm sure if the church thought you were putting the money to good use, they would just as soon you had it. The couple of hundred you took won't make that much difference when it comes to them building their new four million dollar sanctuary."

***

Kelvin stumbled out the door of Tenny's Tavern and whent right home. The next morning he told his kids about the wonderful thing that had happened to him last night and how different things were going to be from now on. He told them he had met Santa Claus in a bar. They giggled and laughed but he didn't mind. He turned his life around and they all lived happily ever after.

And what about me, you ask? I realized I had been a little harsh on all the kids too. I rented a Santa suit and marched in the Christmas Eve parade, tossing handfuls of candy to the kids standing on the side of the street. Well, maybe I was throwing the candy at the kids instead of to them, but even that was quite an improvement for me. Rome wasn't built in a day after all...