The Lonely

 

A song was playing on the radio of some car that was driving by me slowly. I’d recognized it from a Christmas play I’d seen when I was very young, like seven. Now I was eighteen, a grown man, and walking away from my parents’ home, down the street I’d lived on since I was born, which I doubted I’d ever walk back down again. The car rolled at the stop sign and the song took me back.

 

 

 

There is the Lonely, There is the Lonely, Don’t forget…The Lonely.

 

 

 

The melody got stuck in my head as I walked. Now I was a Loner, a Rebel! This was my time now. If my family wouldn’t stand behind me, then I didn’t need them.

 

My father and I…There was a fight.

 

I told Dad I was joining the Army. I thought he’d be so proud, but as usual, I was so wrong. I dropped the bomb at dinner, where we sat around an antique table, Mom’s cooking wouldn’t sit in my stomach. Bomb deployed, and suddenly everything slowed down, became quiet. The air became thick as Dad’s expression changed, and his glare bore a hole straight through me. Warning sirens went off in my head, all hell was about to break lose.

 

He stood up with such ferocity that the table came up off the ground.

 

“How could you do this to us Son!”

 

He hollered at me like an angry bear. My Father’s a big man, a former Russian Wrestler and Sambo Champion, so when he raised his voice it shook my confidence like a shaken baby. I’d planned on this happening, I’d prepared for it, but when it came down to it and he was really standing in front of me, everything went right out the window. I knew it was now or never though, somewhere deep down, I found the courage to stand up and face the music.

 

“What do you mean how could I do this to YOU?” I insinuated, “I did this for you, to make you proud!”

 

“Dropping out of school to join some hooligan bunch of animals with guns does not make me proud! You want to be treated like an animal then we should have stayed in Russia! We came here to give you a better life and this is how you thank us?”

 

“Dad I’m not going to be treated like an animal, I’ll be a soldier and I’ll fight for what I believe in like Grandfather—“

 

“—Grandfather was a fool!” My father caught himself as if his own words hit him like a bullet train. I could see his face burning bright red, his eyes were on fire. He slumped his shoulders like the weight of the world finally became too heavy, and ran his fingers through his thin hair. “Grandfather did not know what he was doing to his family…”

 

“But yet he fought bravely against the Germans when they invaded Russia, he was protecting his family!”

 

“BY GOING OFF AND GETTING HIMSELF KILLED!” The heavy fist of my father slammed down hard on the delicate table, and everything in the room seemed to jump, “I will not see my only son go off and die for a rootless cause like his crazy grandfather!”

 

Then it was on. The whistle had been blown and we both started yelling about Grandfather. I never knew my Grandfather, but from what I’ve hear tell, he was a hero. My uncles would tell me stories ever since I was small about our heroic ancestor, how he held off hundreds of Germans with only a platoon of men. Out-gunned and out-numbered, he managed to sneak up close enough to grenade German tanks and stop the Nazi’s dead in their tracks. Hearing those harrowing tales of valor, I knew I wanted to be just like Grandfather, and I think my father always knew it too.

 

My father and I shouted and fired at each other like artillery, aiming insults and accusations like arced torpedo’s slamming into each other’s thick skin, or maybe it was our thick skulls. We jousted and battled, butting heads like angry rams, until finally a small, insignificant scream brought us both to a screeching halt.

 

My mother sat in her chair whimpering softly, her hands over her mouth, looking up at me as if I’d shot her husband, the way she usually did when I stood up to Dad. And in the midst of her husband’s angry eyes, a tear rolled down her cheek. I’m not sure if that tear was for me or for him though, I just wasn’t sure of anything anymore. As usual, I was wrong about them.

 

My Mother reached up and touched my arm from her chair.

 

“Son,” she whimpered, “you’ve only just turned eighteen.”

 

This I had thought about. I could imagine how my parents would feel seeing their only son come home in a body bag before he could even raise a glass to toast. A shudder ran down my spine, but I pushed it back. I wasn’t about to come home in a body bag. They still though I was their little boy and were concerned about me getting hurt, they didn’t think I could take care of myself. Did they even think I was strong? Did they even think anything of me, anything at all? I had to show them that I was grown up. If there was anything that needed to be said, it had to be said now. It would end tonight.

 

I stood up straight and looked right at Father with the same strong gaze he always bore through me with. Without mercy, I launched my last missile. “I’m a man now!” He remained silent. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do or what I can and cannot be because I can do it myself! I don’t even need your permission to go do something honorable that I thought would make you proud! You know what, I don’t even need you to be proud of me. I’ll do this for me, not for you!”

 

There I stood in the face of my father, just as tall and just as demanding, and boy did I feel good. He was just looking at me with that hardened stare, not saying a word. I could see it in his bloodshot eyes, I knew I had won. He took a deep breath and I knew his defeat speech was coming. Maybe he’s shake my hand, smile with pride at his son, grown so much since the baby pictures adorning the walls.

 

“Well,” he growled softly, “you are a man now.” I felt like a million dollars. “Since you are a man I guess I do not need to keep you under my same roof as men have their own roofs, I do not need to share my food with you tonight, I do not even need to keep you in my family because men have their own families! You are not my son, you are a man, now go out into the world and be a man! Go now!”

 

I stopped for a second, I didn’t think I’d heard what he was saying. I just stood there and wiped the strong look off my face.

 

“GO NOW!” he repeated. All of the sudden I couldn’t think, everything sped up in my head. My thoughts whirled about and the walls closed in around me. Checkmate.

 

Sheepishly, I squeaked, “No.” That did it.

 

My father charged around the table like a runaway tank while my mom screamed for him not to do anything. Too late. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and yanked me out from where I stood. My chair caught on my foot and flew out from under me, causing me to stumble and fall helpless to his strength. He started to drag me toward the door, but I regained my footing and fought him. He’d never take me alive. We wrestled on our feet in the living room, knocking family portraits off the walls. The Christmas tree crashed to the ground amid our struggle, the glass star shattered across the floor. I tried to hit his hands away, successfully landing a weak blow to his head. He turned around and punched me upside of the skull so hard I could hear jingle bells in my ears, or maybe that was my mom screaming. I fought with everything I had against his hands, but it was no use. My father opened the door to what was now his house only, chucked me outside onto the pavement walkway, threw my jacket out beside me, and slammed the door. I heard the deadbolt lock, as well as my mother crying inside, but I guess it didn’t matter.

 

So I ended up walking down our street. The car that rolled at the stop sign finally hung a left and the music I’d remembered from years ago faded into distant memory. Some Christmas Eve, I thought. Some Christmas Eve indeed.

 

It was starting to get dark, but I wasn’t worried. I knew I could stay with my friends. I wondered why people made such a big deal about getting thrown out; it seemed so easy to get by. So I kept walking down towards Brandon’s street a couple blocks away. Brandon was cool, we’d known each other since the third grade and his mother was like my second mom. I knew he’d let me stay.

 

His house was huge, a big two story mansion with a two car garage. I walked with a swagger up to the door and rang the bell without a care in the world. I waited a few seconds, expecting him to run downstairs and open the door. After about a minute, I rang the bell again. To my dismay, still no answer. I backed up so that I could see the window to Brandon’s room and yelled for him to come down. I thought maybe he was upstairs on his headphones like he usually was. What a bonehead. I finally got impatient and fumbled around on the ground for a rock, finding a nice sized piece of granite. I wound up and chucked it at his window...it arched in the air and sailed through the glass with a crash!

 

“Whoa I didn’t mean to do that!” I exclaimed. Oops. Then like an idiot I remembered Brandon telling me that he and his family were going cross country for Christmas. Damn. Well, I don’t know who broke their window, it wasn’t me! Needless to say, I left in a hurry.

 

Alex would be home for sure, but walking to his house would suck because he lived a mile away. After about half an hour, I finally reached his street and saw his family’s car in the driveway, I was in luck. I knocked on his door and his mother answered, greeting me with a botox smile. She’d given me rides home from school a few times, so she at least knew who I was. “Hi, is Alex here?” I asked as politely as I could.

 

Right then her smile faded, “oh I’m sorry, he’s spending Christmas with his Grandmother in Maine, but he’ll be back before New Year’s.”

 

I was definitely disappointed but didn’t let it show. I didn’t know Alex’s mom very well, so explaining that I’d been given the Almighty Boot by my family on Christmas Eve was just too awkward. I could have chanced my luck and asked if I could stay anyway, but I didn’t even know how to ask for a glass of water, so I just sorta mumbled “okay thanks,” and she closed the door. I started off toward my other friends houses, down the list of my pals I knew would never let me down.

 

Jordan’s house: Church mission. Mike’s house: Mexico (I swore under my breath in Spanish as I left his house). Zack’s house: Robert’s house. Robert’s house: Skiing (and they didn’t invite me!). Amanda’s house: No.

 

Great, just great. Now it was dusk and I though I felt a rain drop. All my friends were either visiting their families or hanging out without me. What a Christmas Eve, I thought. What a Christmas Eve indeed. I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t have a place to stay, but I quickly pushed the thought to the back of my mind. There was no way in the world that my situation could get that dire, I mean, it just couldn’t happen to me. All I needed to do was think for a minute.

 

By this time I was in Towne Square. I realized it had finally gotten cold enough for the ice rink to open up, and it was then that I started to realize how cold I was really becoming. I pulled my down jacket around me a little tighter and sat down at the fountain, all I needed was a little time to think. Or maybe what I really wanted was a little time to be in denial.

 

Across the square I saw a family putting on their ice-skates. A husband, a wife, and a little boy about 7 were all smiling as they laced themselves up and stumbled out onto the rink. The boy fell and took his mother down with him, and as the father tried to help them up, he ended up falling right down with them too. Flat on the ice, they all started laughing uncontrollably. I even chuckled a bit but then caught myself and stopped. They looked so happy together, and I know every happy family in public has their problems in private, but they just looked like they’d left their problems at home for the evening. I was reminded of something familiar from a long time ago, what seemed like only a distant dream.

 

Then, and idea hit me like snowball in the face, an idea that I didn’t think was very good at all, but an idea nonetheless. Since I couldn’t see any other option at the moment, it was golden. I rummaged around in my jeans pocket for some change. Fifty cents. Awesome. The pay phone was right across the square. I needed no invitation.

 

I hesitated before I dialed the number, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to say. Finally I gathered my courage and deposited all the money I had on me, my fifty cents. The dial tone came on and it rang a couple of times. Finally, someone familiar answered the phone in a groggy voice.

 

“H’llo?” said the voice.

 

“Tan! It’s me!” I tried to sound as good-spirited as possible. I thought Tan and I could just pretend like nothing ever happened and go on being friends.

 

“What the f**k do you want a*****e?”

 

Okay maybe not. “Wait, don’t hang up please!” I was literally desperate, “look uh, I’m sorry about Rachel…”

“I’m hanging up.”

“WAIT, please! Look my parents threw me out, I used my last chuck change to call you and see if maybe we can just forget about that whole deal with Rachel and go out for a drink or something.”

 

“Go sell your body for a place to stay because you’re not staying with me.”

 

“Oh c’mon Tan! It’s freezing out here, you’re not going to leave me hanging after we’ve been tight for so long.”

 

Then I heard a click and the dial tone came on, as did the streetlights for the night. My heart sank to my feet, and I held the phone to my ear for a minute longer. I was now officially out of bright ideas. I didn’t know what else to do. I never thought it could happen to me.

 

 

 

Looking out the window, to see a line of footsteps, footsteps belonging to…a little boy

There is the Lonely, There is the Lonely, Don’t Forget…The Lonely.

 

 

 

Now I definitely felt raindrops, and saw tiny splotches of water start to appear on the pavement, faster and faster. The street lights began to come on for the night, one by one. The glare reflected off the black ice concrete and their sheen stung in my eyes. The ice rink began to empty as people hurriedly unlaced their skates and headed home for Christmas Eve dinner’s and hugs, while I stood at the payphone with no place to go, and no one cared. Father didn’t care. I dropped the phone from my hand and let it hang off the hook, I didn’t care.

 

My hair started to drip wet, it was officially raining, but I didn’t care. “No one cares.” I picked a direction and began walking. I didn’t care where I went. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I came to the edge of the square and walked for eight more blocks trying to get lost without luck. 

 

I didn’t know where else to go, so I turned left, and kept walking.

 

I came to the chain link fence that surrounded the chapel, and hopped it, catching my jacket on one of the wires as I landed. I tugged it loose and must have torn it, though I hardly noticed in the midst of the freezing rain. It was really starting to come down, and I began to feel as if the clouds were chucking rocks down at me—hail—I pulled my hood over my head and kept walking, all that did was get my hair even wetter.

 

St. Catherine’s towered above me as I stood before the steps; the stairway to Heaven seemed closed to me. The stained-glass angels seemed to be looking away from me, and the robed statues stuck their noses up at me as if I were unworthy. I looked up in the direction they were looking in to see if I could see what it was, yet I saw nothing but angry black clouds and falling ocean spray. Ice chips assaulted my face and eyes, so I lowered my head again. I lowered my head to the statues that would have none of me. Stone hearts.

 

I didn’t want to be here. All of the sudden I wanted to run away, this place felt defeating. I felt like a worthless nothing standing soaked in rain with mud caked on my jeans and a torn up down jacket. I wasn’t good enough for this place, here I stood at the steps with my heart in my hands, but I wanted to put it back in my pocket and walk away. If it weren’t for my frozen bones that seemed to be turning to ice, I probably would have too. But then I heard music inside…It was the song I’d heard earlier, another verse.

 

 

 

I follow the footsteps, and come to a stairway leading to…a mansion

There is The Lonely, there is The Lonely, don’t forget…The Lonely

 

 

 

I ascended the steps and went inside.

 

Once through the double doors, warm air engulfed me, giving me a hug. I was glad I’d come in, I felt like I’d find mercy here. I hadn’t exactly been a good catholic through out my life, but for some reason I knew they’d understand. I can’t explain why I felt welcome, maybe it was the red carpet which seemed laid out just for me, or the ambience of the candles burning by the wall, or maybe it was the statue of the lady holding the baby by the manger. Something told me I’d be loved if I came here, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed. I held it in though, even though no one would have noticed if I’d cried.

 

It looked as if Christmas Eve mass was going on. From the back of the church where I stood, I could see that the pews were fairly full save a couple in the back near me. That would do just fine. I quietly scooted my way into one of the back pews and slumped down onto the hard wood with a sigh. No one turned around or seemed to take any notice of me, they fixated themselves on the bald man in the flowing gown up front at the altar.

 

“Glory to God,” he said commandingly.

 

“And also in Heaven” mumbled the audience monotonously, as if they weren’t real. The priest began his lecture of which I did not pay attention. Too much was on my mind, and I was still cold and wet. I took my dripping jacket off and rolled it into a makeshift pillow on the pew, laid my head down, and stared up at the ornate ceiling. A rendition of the Michelangelo had been commissioned on the church ceiling, beautiful work, the artist was to be commended. Eventually I put my feet up on the pew as well and laid face up, staring at the angelic world above. The Ave Maria began to play on the organ and the choir sang a lullaby so sweet and soft that I was invited up into the fresco and drifted through space and time. My eyes finally closed and I forgot my wet clothes and dire situation, drifting off into some other world only God knows where.

 

Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and opened my eyes. Two men, both in black with white collars stood over me, one leaning on the arm of the pew. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t still dozing, and then looked up at them in affirmation.

 

“Excuse me sir,” said the one directly above me in a low voice, “we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

 

Quickly I sat up, mortally confused. “Wha-why?” I stammered.

 

“We don’t want any trouble sir,” explained the other one in almost a whisper, “if you would kindly collect your things and—“

 

“What do you—!”

 

“—shhh!” they interrupted holding their hands out, “please mass is in session.” I continued in an energetic whisper.

 

“What do you mean collect my things? It’s a church! Why can’t I stay?”

 

“I’m sorry sir, but that is not allowed.”

 

“Not allowed!” I practically yelled. If we would not have been speaking in low voices, I would have been yelling. “What the hell I—“

 

“Perhaps you can go to the homeless shelter downtown.” They thought I was a bum, what with my torn jacket and muddy jeans I must have looked the part.

 

“But that’s 20 miles!” I protested, “It’s hailing out, what the hell!”

 

“Sir, please refrain from swearing in a house of God.”

 

By this time I was on the edge of the pew unable to contain my utter bewilderment. My mouth practically hit the floor in a classic what the f**k. Choking on syllables and stammering like a blundering fool, all I knew was that I was cold and couldn’t go back outside. The only words that came to my mind were,

 

“What the Hell!” Then more words spilled out like a whirlwind, “I mean seriously if this is a house of God aren’t you supposed to care? Aren’t you supposed to give a damn I mean I just want to rest for a little bit until it stops raining and then I’ll be on my way but I mean JESUS!”

 

“Sir,” the one nearest to me spoke with sharp authority this time. I wouldn’t have been so excited if I hadn’t been so wet and tired and about to get tossed back out into the rain by priests! People were starting to look up now in my direction with annoyed glances, as if telling me silently “you’ve got a lot of nerve disturbing mass.” One of the priests acknowledged them and encouraged them that the situation was under control, and they went back to staring mutely at the Alter. By this time, another hymn was playing, drowning out the sound of my protest in the back, which began to seem more and more futile.

 

The priest nearest to me continued, “If we have to, we will inform the authorities although I believe we can resolve this without them. Now if you will kindly collect your things…”

 

“This is insane!” I almost shouted, but what else could I do? They weren’t going to let me stay. All at once I felt the rejection hit me like a freight train. I grabbed my jacket and stormed passed the two men swearing under my breath like a schizoid, then the tears came, and I ran.

 

Running out the door into the downpour of hurt feelings and loneliness, the cold of the outside world greeted me with a slap in the face. Now it was snowing, yet I kept running. I sprinted away from St. Catherine’s phony chapel as fast as my sore limbs would carry me. I kept running until the houses became nothing but sad warehouses all in rank and file. This was the Industrial District. The gloomy alley’s beckoned to me “hey come this way” “no miho, come this way yes,” “you’ll be safe here, yes you will.” Their sinister paths opened up and attempted to swallow me whole, I’d never been here before. I wanted to keep running but had to stop, my lungs were about to explode. My hands were about to freeze off, and my feet were about ready to fall off. I was shivering so violently that I could barely stand, I had to find somewhere to stay, fast.

 

I stumbled around a corner and turned so that my back was to the wind. I suddenly recognized where I was headed. Boarded windows began to decorate the buildings on either side of the empty street, and homes that looked centuries old appeared occasionally between them. In school, we used to call this place Ghost Town, it was an abandoned Mental Institution from when Kennedy cut funding to the Medical field in the 60’s. Now they used it to decorate the Rose Float, but for some reason they’d changed locations this year. The single-story buildings were nailed down tight and some were near condemned, but no one came here except to do drugs, and I was sure drug dealers had better places to deal than a supposedly-haunted hospital in the middle of a blizzard.

 

I jogged around one of the buildings to see if someone had left a door ajar or if there was some way to get inside. No such luck, but the boards on the windows looked old and worn, and might have given way to a blow. So I kicked a boarded window as hard as I could and sure enough, the board wobbled on the nails and flopped to the floor, revealing an opening into the largest of the abandoned buildings. I didn’t think twice about entering.

 

Once inside, the musty smell was the first thing I noticed, the second was the rotten…everything. I couldn’t walk without stepping on broken glass, and the wallpaper was like wrapping paper shredded off the wrong Christmas present. But the hallway floor was noticeable enough, the kind of speckled white tile that commonly lines hospital floors, I think it’s supposed to be antimicrobial or something, but now it was caked with dust and dirt. Who knew where it lead.

 

There were doors on each side of the corridor I was in. I tried each one to no avail. Locked tight, the city had the keys. Luckily, when I came to the end of the corridor, the double doors gave way and opened onto a high platform of what looked like a large observatory turned warehouse. But I was not alone.

 

Standing out on the platform, I beheld Bum City. The floor was bustling with homeless people either crowded around trashcan fires or huddled in corners under blankets and boxes. Some dirty young children ran around waving toilet paper sheets like kites while their parents, if they had any, lay dazed and staring off into space. Haggard cackles and drunken laughs floated above the gloom every now and then, and I thought I caught the hint of a Christmas Carol somewhere.

 

I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was almost funny how it all made sense now, how us dumb kids thought the place was haunted. The noise heard inside was actually people, homeless people. Homeless people on Christmas Eve. But it was a place to stay, a dry place where maybe I could wait out the storm. No one seemed to take any notice of me, I doubt these people cared and I’m sure by now they were used to people invading their space.

 

The stairs leading down from the platform seemed stable enough. I descended down into the drab underground and walked through the center of town, looking for a place to rest. A few people in dirty coats and blankets looked up at me as I passed slowly, their faces were wrinkled to the appearance of eighty years old, yet I shuddered at the fact that most of these people couldn’t have been older than fifty.

 

“Hey,” I heard someone whisper. “Hey, you!” I looked around to see where it was coming from, and found an old lady sitting against what appeared to be an old counter. I pointed to myself in uncertainty. “Yes, you,” said the lady, “come, sit!” She beckoned to me to sit next to her. I obeyed and made my way toward where she was and sat down slowly to seem polite.

 

She, however, probably was around eighty, with a little bit of white hair and drooping cheeks with deep lines around her brows and mouth. But her eyes were kind, and she was smiling, seeming so happy that she had a visitor.

 

“What’s your name?” she asked so enthusiastically. I opened my mouth but no words came out. “Oh that’s okay,” she laughed, “I’m sure your mother taught you not to talk to strangers.”

 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” I croaked with a slightly soar throat.

 

“You remind me of my grandson,” she continued, “so tall and strong.”

 

I was confused at that, “why isn’t your grandson taking care of you?” I asked.

 

“Oh, he’s passed dearie.”

 

“Oh,” I felt like an a*s, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t fret, it was a while ago.” She looked away from me then and stared off into space. “I remember the last Christmas I spent with him and his daddy. He was so grown up, turned 16 a few months before. Oh, what a handsome young man.” She had such a joy in her eyes, I almost felt as if I was there with her and her grandson, I’m sure she remembered every detail of him.

 

“He’d gotten a car for his birthday, and him and his daddy were gonna drive up and see me for Christmas. But…” she stopped and her voice cracked a little, “there was an accident.”

 

I listened intently, a pang in my heart started to form a little bit, I could image what it would have felt like if my family had gotten in an accident while driving to see me. I almost wanted to stop her from continuing.

 

“Those icy roads, oh, it’s so dangerous driving on them. I guess they were on the freeway and a big truck lost control and…well my grandson was such a good boy.”

 

“What about the rest of your family?” I asked concerned, “is there no one else you can live with?”

 

She took my hand then and started rubbing it vigorously between hers to warm it up, a gesture of appreciation I guess. “Oh no dear, my grandson and his daddy were all I had, and well times were pretty hard, I guess it was a long time ago though.”

 

She continued to rub my hand in between hers, I sat in silence, unsure of what I could possibly say. I’d been through a pretty rough past couple hours, but I didn’t think I’d been through anything in my life that would compare to what she’d gone through.

 

“You know,” she went on, “it was my silly idea for them to drive up and see me. They lived a state over and said that instead I should fly out to see them. They couldn’t afford two plane tickets but they could scrimp together enough for my flight. But I was stubborn, I didn’t think I was well enough to travel. So I insisted and they gave in. Oh I insisted that they come to see me. A silly old bird I am.”

 

“Aw c’mon now,” I tried to reassure. “It wasn’t your fault, families are supposed to get together on Christmas. It probably would have happened when they were driving to the grocery store in their own town if it didn’t happen when it did.”

 

“But I was selfish,” she went on, “my grandson was going to go spend Christmas with his friends, but once I called and said that I wanted to see them both, his daddy made him come along. Oh my grandson, what a good boy he was. So much like his father.” I thought about how many time’s I’d heard that I was so much like my father, it made me nauseous thinking about it now. “They fought you know,” she continued, “they butted heads like bulls over coming to see me, he had been planning to be with his friends for a while. But nope, silly ole’ me thought that family ought to spend Christmas together, and that was that.”

 

She took a heavy sigh, still rubbing my hands, “what I learned about Christmas that year was, contrary to what most people believe,” and then she winked at me with a twinkle in her eye that said she knew something I very much wanted to know, “Christmas is not about getting presents as most people know, but it is also not even about spending time with family and loved ones…” this I had to hear.

 

“It is about receiving happiness from giving something to someone else.” This confused me a little bit.

 

“But I thought you said Christmas wasn’t about getting presents?”

 

“Oh no, I don’t mean giving and receiving happiness through presents. I mean through harmony. My Christmas present to my grandson should have been a snowboard so that he could really go have fun with his friends. That would have made me happy, to know that he was happy and having fun. But I wanted him with me. Sometimes we don’t want to let go of the people we love, we want to keep them near us because deep down, we are really selfish and don’t want to be alone. I was afraid my grandson was growing up too fast and forgetting about his old grandma and his family, so I wanted him to come see me, to remind him who he was really supposed to love.”

 

She was silent after that, as was I. I contemplated what she meant by all this, and I could feel a lesson starting to form, but not quite.

 

She leaned toward me then. “Listen,” she said, “if you know in your heart that you want to do something, don’t let your old man or your grammy hold you back from it, but also, don’t blame them for trying okay? Deep down, they just want what’s best for you, but they aren’t even sure what’s best for them. You didn’t come with instructions you know.” And with that we both laughed.

 

I realized then that she was right, and I knew what I wanted to do. The storm outside seemed to have passed, and the wind slowed to a breeze. It was night. I was grateful that I’d come here, I felt a little more grown up and little less cold. She squeezed my hand then as if she knew I had to leave.

 

“You take care now Bobby,” she said to me, somehow I knew who Bobby was.

 

I squeezed her hand back, “I will Grandma.” And with that, I got up and headed toward the stairs. We waved at each other as I walked through the double doors and away from the Underground City for good.

 

It was fate that would have me back at Towne Square where I started, at the same payphone that in my mind caused this mess. But I had one last option, one last lifeline, I took it.

 

He’d be mad that I’m calling so late and collect at that, but it wouldn’t matter. The phone rang 3 times before someone finally picked up. “Army of One, This is Sgt. Haynes…”

 

“Sergeant Haynes?” He knew exactly who it was.

 

“Well look who forgot about daylight savings,” his sarcasm went right past me.

 

“How soon can I leave?” The question seemed to hit him out of nowhere, but I was allowing him to meet his quota, so he was polite about it. I could have called him in the middle of his mother’s funeral if I were to say I wanted to leave for Boot Camp. That’s just how recruiters are.

 

“Well how soon do you want to leave?” he asked.

 

“Now.”

 

I heard him hum a bit on the phone as if in thought, and I could hear him rummaging through some papers. “Well you might be in luck,” he replied, “there’s a scheduled departure leaving in 3 days.”

 

“Well, what should I do until then? I have no place to stay.”

 

“Make your way to the MEPS station downtown and check-in. The physical screening is an overnighter, and you’ll ship out on the third day.”

 

“Where’s the MEPS station?”

 

I listened as he gave me directions on how to get to the Military Entrance Processing Station downtown, I guess he assumed I had a car. He wished me luck and we hung up for what would probably be the last time we’d speak. Now there was really no going back. It seemed like there was no going back after I signed the papers, but in reality you can get out of that, just don’t show up to your ship date and they won’t come after you. But now, I had literally no money, no friends, no family, and nothing behind me. The song in my heart told me to move forward to the future, and for once in my life, nothing held me back. I took one last look at the place I’d grown up, memories of playing and getting in trouble and learning how not to get caught played in front of me. But I didn’t miss them. Holding onto the past is what holds people back, so I let the images fade. As they faded, my eyes beheld a house across the avenue; a small house with visiting cars parked by it, and a large window with which I could see inside. A family had gathered around the tree, and a little boy was sitting in mommy’s lap smiling. Everyone was smiling and laughing and people were hugging. I could see the little boy opening one of his presents, he was too old to really believe in Santa Clause anyway, and I couldn’t quite make out what was underneath the shards of wrapping paper, but I could make out the gleam on the boy’s face when he got exactly what he’d wanted. It was all so magical, and suddenly I felt warm.

 

 

 

Looking out the window, Looking out the window, I am looking out…the window.

There is the Lonely, there is the Lonely, don’t forget…The Lonely.

 

 

 

When I turned eighteen, all of the sudden my world changed overnight. People started treating me differently, acting like they didn’t know how to treat me, acting like they all of the sudden weren’t allowed to give me advice. I stopped being allowed to need help because now that I was “all grown up,” I had all the answers. For birthdays, instead of getting presents, I’d get money or gift cards, not even clothes. My father stopped hugging me, and my mother started hinting about me moving out, a lot.

 

But the worse thing about turning eighteen…Christmas stopped being fun.

 

Looking at the little boy on his mother’s lap and the family in the little house seeming glad to see each other made me realize that both my father and I were wrong. No, I’m not a man yet, but what I’m about to do, that will make me a man. Not the fact that I’m going off to join the military, but the fact that I’m going off on my own, to do something scary, and that I don’t know what the future holds and I’m still going. Am I afraid? Yes. But it was that first step toward downtown that made me a Man. This Christmas, I grew up.

 

Suddenly a car sped out of nowhere and came to a screeching halt in front of me. I recognized the person who got out of the drivers side. It was my father. At this point, I knew I wasn’t going back home. He couldn’t drag me back home, I’d already grown up so much in the few hours since he’d thrown me out. I looked at him as if I didn’t care, but he looked at me with concern and panic, which confused me a little. As he approached me, I spoke quickly.

 

“I’m going down to in-process tonight, I leave for Ft. Benning in three days. It’s already been arranged.” Then I looked away as he approached me.

 

“…Let me give you a ride.” He put his hand on my shoulder, “Son.”

 

 

There is the Lonely, There is the Lonely, Don’t Forget…The Lonely.

Reviews

[Angel_C]

Wow....I kinda took your review wisely, and I decided if you gave this advice then you of all people must know how to put it to use..And yes I am very amazed, a brilliant short story.

[Brown Bull]

I started to drift off about halfway through the story as it was a bit longer than i would have liked. But pretty soon I was into the story again and liked it to the end. There were only two things that I will comment about. I didn't understand the "Daylight Savings" comment at Christmas Eve, and the one thing that bugs me the most...

I was in the military and I have always despised the phrase "they Come (or they came) home in a body bag." When a soldier falls in combat, they are certainly taken from the battlefield in a body bag, but our brave heroes are brought home with great respect by their comrades to their parents in what used to be wooden, but are now flag draped aluminum caskets.

Just a little thing that bugs me alot and I am sure that it was just a small mistake on your part. I have certainly made my own share of mistakes over the years.

[Tony]

This is really good too. The author is a writer. A good one. Unlike the other reviewer, I don't think you would want to take to much out of this. It is a beautiful Christmas Story.

[Brandon Meyers]

A nice story in the spirit of the season. The moral tied in with the storyline quite well and the flow was great. I was impressed that you told a parallel story in the process: about the rapid pace at which a person can spiral toward homelessness and destitution. It's scary to think about how quickly that could happen to a lot of people. Acceptance is a keymark of not only the holiday season, but also of "adulthood."

Good write!

[annie k.]

nice story... i enjoyed it. i thought the beginning was bit on the longish side... i think you could edit 500 words out of this easily and make it even more pointed and pithy. dont forget that good writing is concise. otherwise, well done :).