A CHRISTMAS GIFTED © 2014 by Michael Raysses I remember as a kid wishing that every day could be like Christmas. A day that began with gifts, transitioned into a feast with family and loved ones, and ended with leftovers and the warm glow from reviewing the days booty. I dont know when the holidays went from that to becoming that tsunami of tsuris that begins its swell in late November and reaches its crescendo some time between Christmas and the first of the new year. But this holiday season was additionally different for me: it was my first as a single man. And when I say single I am not just referring to my marital status. For the first time in my life I really feel alone, a sole existence. Not unconnected from loved one and friends in that way that connections are made and maintained, but in that sense of looseness that can leave one, say me, feeling really alone. Alone. For most people, its a dangerous word. It portends of (gasp!) loneliness. And may your Creator forgive your empty head that you ever confess loneliness to another person in passing. The response you receive will give you some idea what a leper must have felt in times past when their affliction was revealed. This holiday season I girded for impending loneliness with a working mans remedy: work. Having just been fired at a restaurant I thought was going to be my dream job, my nightmare came full circle when I found myself enlisting in the catering business to be had this time of year. I dont want to speak poorly of catering work, but if youre ever curious about what its like, imagine enlisting in the French Foreign Legion. With a wine key and a crumbier instead of a rifle and a funny looking hat. And so I toiled on the lowest rung of the food services ladder. And despite securing a full-time gig at a new eatery, I still made sure to line up some catering work for Christmas day because, well, who am I kidding? The specter of that day BY MYSELF was too much to bear, at least this first year on my own. So when the catering company I signed up with dropped the ball and my job evaporated the day of Christmas Eve, I was livid. How dare they treat me thusly?!? I am a…worker…on the lowest rung…of the…Okay, you see where this is going, right? It was in that mindset that I drove to work that night, and just as I was about to make the final right turn to reach my restaurant, a woman pedestrian stepped off the curb and crossed the street directly in front of me, despite that I had the right of way. Right of way. As in I am right in going first, a position that only fueled my already simmering rage at the injustices of the world. Assuming, that is, that spending a Christmas holiday by yourself is an injustice in some part of the world, somewhere. I hit the brakes hard, and slowed to a crawl as I lowered my window. I felt the winds of self-righteousness rear in my lungs, my chest full of wrath and roar. Hey, lady! I yelled. Not so much as a turn of her head. How dare she! Hey, LADY! I bellowed. This time she couldnt resist turning, if only because my voice shook the ground she was walking on. She looked at me with an expectant What? on her face, like she knew some stream of expletives was on its way and she was way more than ready to catch it. But instead of lapsing to meet her subterranean expectation, I heard a voice come from my mouth, uttering the unimaginable in a tone that would have done Jimmy Stewart proud. Merry Christmas! The poor wretch looked as if shed been punctured by a pin made of sponge. Her frozen face thawed in an instant, and she offered back a meek thank you with what little oxygen she had left. I turned the corner, cackling like a loon. Where had that voice come from? Who was its author? And why had they waited till that moment to express themselves? I laughed until I got to work, thankful for the unexpected visitation. My Christmas was like nothing I have ever experienced. I got up. Meditated. And then reached out to loved ones to wish them the best of the season. Some of the people I spoke with are sterling examples of the kind of people I love but for some reason never take enough time out to speak with despite that fact. Then I went for a walk down by the Venice boardwalk. It was a blustery day, the sun doing its best to trump the winds bite, but losing, nonetheless. I was treated to an impromptu poetry reading by a Beat street poet named Seamus (the official default name of any poet, any where, FYI). Then, on my way home, I stopped at a grocery store to buy some water. And I was checking out, I asked the cashier for a roll of quarters. She said she didnt have one, but that I could have whatever she had. Then she began counting out quarters, and I became that guy we all dread standing behind in a line. Realizing this, I turned to the fella behind me, a large man with a face that appeared to be very comfortable with the word sullen. When I apologized for the inconvenience, his face softened as he said, Hey, man, its Christmas… Indeed it was. And thank god for that.
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 20:28:27 +0000
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