Merry F-Ing Christmas

(This, dear reader, is Jack, a man become bitter, cynical, broken by disappointment, hurts, and disillusionment, about to be disposed of by life. A man in need of repair. Can a toy workshop on a street of repair shops repair even broken hearts, broken dreams, broken people?)

*

Jack sat in his pickup truck in the factory parking lot staring vacantly out the windshield, not really seeing anything. He alternated between replaying the events in his mind and wondering numbly what to do next. The layoff wasn't really such a big surprise, but he hadn't expected it so suddenly or so soon. It was December 1

st

. He figured the job would last at least through the end of the year.

The boss had called him into his office just before noon time and broken the news to him. It wasn't a mass layoff. They'd decided that Jack's position (and Jack) were no longer needed. In some ways, Jack figured he deserved it. He was a good designer. The engineering was what he was good at. What he wasn't good at was all the crap that went with it: the budgets, the paperwork, the politics, the salesmanship. He guessed that good engineering didn't make the profits; it was cutting corners to get things out the door, right or wrong, that made money.

Jack had been asked to clean out his desk during lunch and turn in his badge and such in the afternoon. There was some paperwork to fill out in Human Resources. Then he'd gone by Payroll where they had his check waiting. It could have been worse. He got his check for November and they'd also paid him for December as severance. Jack figured they'd decided to lay him off before the holidays because not much got done during the holidays anyway so the severance didn't cost them much.

The boss was apologetic. (Times are tough. Fuel bills are eating their profits. Sales are down. Nothing personal about the layoff. Jack could have a letter of reference if he wanted it.) He took the letter, though he had no idea what kind of job to look for next. Somehow Jack figured ten years with the company would have resulted in something more than a month's severance and a letter but exactly what that might be he wasn't too sure.

He did go round and say goodbye to some of his coworkers. Ernie, who sat in the next cubicle said the story going around the office was that the boss had called the young female engineer into his office the previous day and told her they were going to have to let someone go. The rumor was that the boss told her: "I either have to lay you or Jack off." Yeah, funny. Real funny. "Well, Ernie, at least I got my Christmas goose," Jack replied sardonically, jerking as if poked in the rear.

The contents of his desk were in one carton in the back of the truck, inside the camper shell. There wasn't much. He'd tossed almost everything. The Ten Year Service award, the Employee of the Month certificate from five years ago and such didn't really hold any attachment for him.

He kept the picture he'd cut out of a calendar years before, of a medieval street of craftsmen in Europe with three lines by Longfellow under the photo:

"In the elder days of art,

Builders wrought with greatest care,

Each minute and unseen part."

He almost trashed it. For years, it had been a sort of inspiration to him in working on the behind-the-scenes utilitarian mechanical stuff that the consumer never sees. Seemed like nowadays, though, everything's disposable, people included. But then he stuck it in the box of stuff to keep.

The boss offered a goodbye handshake. Jack was about to refuse but then he wasn't the type to make a scene and besides, you never want to burn any bridges. Then the boss said: "Jack, I know this seems cynical or hypocritical but I hope things work out better for you somewhere. Merry Christmas, Jack." Jack looked at him blankly, then laughed mirthlessly: "Yeah boss, Merry Fucking Christmas to you too."

As he went out through the front door for the last time the perky young receptionist had the official company greeting down pat too. As he walked by her desk she looked up at him brightly, smiled cutely, and said: "Merry Christmas, sir." He wanted to give her a one finger salute but resisted. He couldn't quite stop himself though from saying what he'd said to the boss. He snorted, turned, gave her a quarter of a smile and said: "Yeah, sure, Merry Fucking Christmas."

Sitting in the truck trying to figure out what to do next he replayed Ernie's joke. Yep, that was appropriate. He'd been reduced to jacking off anyway. His ex-wife, Heather, had left him in December of the previous year. December was not a good month for Jack. She'd had wild sex with him practically all night the night before she left. The sex was fabulous. She was always highly sexual, but that night had exceeded the normal. She'd bounced up and down on his hard prick like a wild animal, screaming while he pinched her nipples and she fingered her clit. She'd cum like crazy. She'd gotten on all fours faced away from him, put her face down on the bed with her ass sticking up in the air and her swollen wet pussy aimed at him and begged him to take her like a dog. He was happy to oblige. He filled her cunt with his cock, took hold of her tits and pumped her until they both came.

In the morning, he awoke to her sucking him hard again. He couldn't imagine what had gotten into her. They hadn't fucked that much since their honeymoon. He'd returned the favor by licking her cunt and sucking on her clit. They ended up in a good old missionary position, holding each other tightly. She was crying while she was cumming. He didn't know why.

After he rolled off of her she sat up slowly, sighed heavily, and then, sitting naked on the side of the bed as Jack admired her firm tits, her flat stomach, her cute round ass, she told him she was filing for divorce. She wouldn't look at him. She just sat there, working her wedding and engagement rings off her finger. She said he was by far the best sex she'd ever had or could imagine but sex wasn't enough any more. Just fucking wasn't a marriage. They had nothing else in common.

He said: "Sex may not be all there is but it's one heck of a lot." But he knew what she meant. There was a wonderful physical connection between them but the mental and emotional connection didn't seem to be there. She had her friends, her interests, her career, her parties, and he couldn't get into her social activities. Going to cocktail parties and standing around bored, lonely, out of place, while she was busy socializing, wasn't enough for him anymore either, just to be able to get into her panties afterwards, nice as it was inside those panties.

That was their last night together. She packed up and moved out that day. He never asked where she went. He suspected there was another guy. It didn't really matter. Either way, she was gone. He saw her at the attorney's office a couple of weeks later, before the holidays. She'd cried there too but she still divorced him. As he left that day, he said: "Oh, and thanks for the goodbye fuck. It was great; and Merry Fucking Christmas." All he had left of her was her engagement ring, which she had left on the nightstand next to their bed after that last night.

They'd sold the house and split what little equity they'd earned. He'd moved into a hotel room and never bothered to find anything more permanent. There didn't seem much point. His lack of enthusiasm in general probably had something to do with him getting laid off too. He hadn't exactly been Mr. Congeniality at work since the divorce. The bureaucratic crap he'd been able to put up with before had gotten harder to take. Still, he was the best pure engineer they had. Trouble was, pure engineering wasn't cutting it anymore. Engineering was sort of like fucking: it felt great, but it couldn't sustain a relationship all by itself.

Yep, Jack thought: seemed like Christmas was becoming a season for him to get fucked. Merry Fucking Christmas indeed.

He drove out of the factory gate. The sign at the gate said: "140 Days Since the Last Lost Time Injury. Stay Safe and Have a Merry Christmas. The guard at the gate waved him out with the usual "Merry Christmas, sir." Jack didn't even try to smile at the guard as he replied, "Yeah, sure, Merry Fucking Christmas to you too."

He cleaned out his hotel room of what little he had in the way of personal belongings. Two suitcases and a couple more cartons went into the back of his pickup. He had an old sleeping bag, a down jacket, and some warm clothes, so he didn't think he was likely to freeze to death just yet. He could have kept the room for the rest of the month, but with no new job to go to, and little likelihood of getting one before the holidays, he figured it was time to economize. Besides, he didn't think he could stand another engineering job. He'd been unhappy at the last one for some time. Doing that again sounded too depressing, but what else he could do for a living, he had no idea.

Her engagement ring had been in the hotel safe. He got it back when he checked out. He'd never figured out what to do with it. Somehow selling the symbol of his wedding vows seemed too mercenary. On the other hand, he didn't want to keep it. On the sidewalk in front of the hotel was a Salvation Army bell ringer with a kettle. As he went by, he dropped the ring into the kettle. He looked at the bell ringer. "It's a real diamond" Jack said to him. "Maybe you can get something for it. And merry fucking Christmas."

He drove out of the hotel parking lot with no particular place to go. By that time, it was almost dark. He just drove, his thoughts not really on where he was going. He didn't bother getting on the Interstate – he had no destination so there was no use going 70 MPH to get there. He took side streets, not even particularly noticing where he was, just thinking. The thought of driving off the road into the river briefly crossed his mind, but it seemed like too much trouble. He wasn't that decisive. Killing himself would take too much thought and planning.

Jack's stomach started growling and he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Eating sounded like too much trouble as well, but the thought of food made him at least look at the buildings he was passing. He turned onto what he thought was a side street and passed a corner café. Martha's Family Café, the sign said. It wasn't much of a place, but that was OK. Then he laughed: Martha's Family Café – Merry Fucking Christmas. Karma? Fate?.

He went around the block to get back to it and found a parking place down the street by a little park – angle parking like the old days. No parking meters. He shut off the ignition, and sat there looking around, wondering where he was. He had no idea what this place was or where he had driven. The park, empty in the cold and darkness of a December evening, looked like time had passed it by. The children's play area had all the old play equipment from before personal injury lawsuits changed the world. In the light from the old-style street lights, he could dimly see that there were see-saws, swings, a jungle gym, and a merry-go-round that you pushed and made go faster and faster to see who got too dizzy. He could see a gazebo bandstand in the middle of the park. There were leafless trees, benches were scattered around and a few picnic tables under a shelter. At the far side of the park, it looked like maybe there was a creek and some woods, though the long shadows made it difficult to distinguish.

Jack got out of the truck. He thought about locking it up but figured there wasn't much worth stealing. He was a block down from the café. Across the street from the park was a row of old stores, two story brick buildings. Some had Christmas lights up. Directly across from where he had parked was a store with a faded painted sign that simply said: TOYS and TOY REPAIRS. The store lights were still on, and there was an OPEN sign on the door, though Jack noticed that, oddly for a toy store, there weren't any Christmas lights on that one. Next door to the toy store was a used book store, and next to that a store with a sign that said: "Dolls & Doll Hospital." There was a Maytag appliance store on the other side and then an old hardware store.

Looking down the block, Jack could see a watch and clock repair shop and a "Vintage Clothing" store. Jack walked along his side of the street toward the café. He passed a shoe repair shop, a pawn shop, and a "Bijou Theatre." The "theatre" was a bit dilapidated. Based on the posters, it looked like they were more into Rocky Horror Picture Show revivals and replays of old movies than first run movies. There were a fair number of people on the sidewalk but not many cars on the street. It didn't seem to be on any main route to anywhere, just a side street of shops.

At the café, he got a booth and ordered meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy from the motherly looking waitress. He assumed she was Martha but didn't ask. There were Christmas lights strung all over, both outside the café and inside. There was a little Christmas tree next to doorway. Jack supposed that it would be a cheery place, but he was in no mood for cheer.

The café seemed to be doing a surprisingly good business for what looked like an off-the-beaten-track location. The food was good, and the prices were reasonable. "Guess that combination still works some places," he thought. "People just doing their job competently." He had a piece of "homemade apple pie" for dessert. He had several refills on the coffee, killing time, no idea where he would go or what he would do when he left there.

The booth next to his emptied, and then the one beyond that. He sat there, staring off into space in that direction. After a while, he realized that there was someone staring back. In the third booth down, there was a woman staring in his direction with the same sort of blank, far-off, unfocused gaze. She appeared to be in her middle 30's. She had long brown hair and bright green eyes. She didn't seem to notice him for a minute. She was wearing a dress of off-white antique lace. It accented a slender neck and modest bosom.

Then she made eye contact. He was embarrassed to be caught staring at her. He tried to look away, but something in her expression held his eyes. She seemed to be looking into his eyes with a question, a curiosity or something. She raised an eyebrow at him, apparently not put off by his stare. She looked both young and old. Her skin was clear and unwrinkled, but there was something weary about her. Jack picked up his coffee cup and tilted it at her as if in toast before downing the last of it. She returned the gesture, then looked down at a book on the table which she continued to read.

He noticed there weren't many customers left, so he paid his bill, used the restroom, and decided to walk around for a while. It was cold out. His breath made clouds in the air. He strolled slowly down the street, looking in the shop windows. He came to a store with a sign that said:

THE FANCY DRESS

Ball gowns and formals for all occasions

There was a custom tailor shop. The sign in the window said: "Alterations and repairs, our specialty. Cloth Re-weaving." There was a small beauty salon, and a butcher shop next to a small grocery and produce store – looked like a pre 7/11 convenience store. At the end of the block was an auto repair shop, and next to that a flower shop and then a little old mortuary. The sign in the flower shop window said: "Did you break someone's heart? Repair kits sold here." "Yeah, right," Jack thought. "Like flowers are going to fix anything."

Jack walked slowly, stopping at many of the shop windows, looking at their displays. Many of them had antique merchandise in their display windows, related to their business. The shoe repair shop had a pair of high button ladies shoes and an old mechanized model of a shoemaker hammering on a shoe last. The auto repair shop had a nicely restored Indian motorcycle at the front of the office. A bicycle shop had an old Schwinn three-speed bike hanging in the window.

Jack stopped in front of a shop that said "Camera and photo equipment." The window display had a big old Speed Graphic camera, the favorite of newspaper photographers for several decades, and View Graphic, the studio photographer's choice from back in the days of the 4 x 5 black and white film holder. A placard in the window said: "Photo equipment maintenance and repair."

The Radio and TV repair shop had an old Philco tube–type, multi-band, walnut-console radio, turned sideways, the back off, so he could see the glowing vacuum tubes inside. It was turned on, and through the storefront window he could hear Christmas music coming from it. It seemed to be tuned to a short wave station. Jack had no idea where there was a station playing Christmas music on AM, but obviously there was one somewhere. He wondered where they got vacuum tubes these days.

When Jack got to the toy store across from his truck, the light inside had been turned off, though there was still a light in the display window. In the window there was a conglomeration of old toys: wind-up toys, match box cars, a wooden train, and in back he could see an old Lionel electric train. He stood there for some time looking at the toys. They were the kinds of toys he'd played with as a boy at his grandparent's house. He wondered how a place like this could stay in business in the days of electronic games, of Wal-Mart and the chain stores. There was a little sign next to the door that said: "Michael F. Christy, proprietor." Jack snorted. "There's that MFC again. What were the odds?"

The whole two blocks felt like something out of the Twilight Zone: a town frozen since the 1930's. Walking down the street was like walking through a museum. The only thing that proved that it belonged to the 21

st

century was the computer repair shop. In that window, there was an old Radio Shack TRS-80 computer, what the nerds used to call a "Trash-80." There was also an Atari computer and one of the early "luggable" portable computers, with the little 8 inch green-screen CRT lit up, and the blinking cursor after the "A>:" Well, maybe not the 21

st

century, but at least the late 20

th

.

It occurred to Jack that this street had the biggest collection of repair shops he had ever seen. There was a shop on these two blocks that could repair about anything that could be broken. (Well, given the mortuary, apparently even this street had limits on what could be mended, despite the claims of the flower shop).

It was cold and dark, and Jack still had no particular place to go. Instead of driving on aimlessly, he got into the back of his truck, rolled out his down sleeping bag, took off his jacket, closed the camper shell, shucked off his jeans and crawled into the sleeping bag. He lay there on his back awake for a long time, staring at nothing; wondering what to do in the morning, what to do with his life. He drifted in and out of sleep for a while, uncomfortable on the hard truck bed. The moon came up. He thought he heard a woman singing in the park. At first, he attributed it to the wind in the bare trees, but then he caught more distinct snatches of it.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked out the side window of the camper shell toward the park. In the dim light, movement on the bandstand caught his eye. Looking closely he saw that there was a woman there, dancing by herself, a waltz it looked like. He could barely make out the sound of singing or humming. He thought he recognized the dress and the long hair. It looked like the woman in the café. He watched her, dancing to her own music, as if there were an invisible partner. She danced with graceful movements. He watched her for a long time, until she stopped dancing. She sat down on the steps of the bandstand for a while, staring into the darkness of the wood, then rose and walked down the street, still moving with a dancer's grace. He watched her until she stopped at one of the shops and went inside, turning out the light as she went in.