Another sleepless night, another Christmas fraught with worry. There wouldn't be many packages to open for the kids this year. I've been telling them that Christmas is too commercial and we are starting a new tradition of just one present per person. The reality is that we can't afford even one. They had watched the polar express for the umpteenth time, and I was tired of hearing that simpleton message: "You just need to believe." Belief is a luxury for children and morons.
It was almost midnight and I was still sitting in the office trying to decide which bills to pay and which to partial pay. Since Dave was laid off, the unemployment checks were just not enough.
If my Mom can watch the kids, I'll start cleaning houses the first of the year to help out, I thought to myself. Desperate times mean desperate measures. I've never had to work before because Dave brought in more than we needed. Plus, I was still paying for a college education I have never used. This was the worst time of year to go out looking for work.
After several hours of this exercise in futility, I wanted something to dull the pain, but we didn't have any alcohol in our house. I hadn't been to a liquor store or bar since I was in college five years ago.
These bills can wait, I thought, clicking off the desk lamp. I was going to go for a walk to the convenience store to buy some wine. Sometimes life could be so hard and merciless.
Dave was sound asleep while I quietly searched through my sweaters. After slipping on my heavy hooded jacket over my turtle neck, I found my insulated stretch pants with footies. Dave stirred. There was no need to do my hair or makeup as I was going out for just a short walk. I reached for the silly stocking cap with the snowflakes that I got from the kids last year.
"Ummm... What are you doing?" Dave whispered in the darkness.
"I can't sleep. I'm just going for a walk to clear my head."
"Come to bed, sweetheart. It's after midnight and freezing out there," he replied, reaching out to me and taking my wrist.
"I'll be right back. Don't fret, I'll be fine," I said softly as I pulled my hand away and tied the fur lined boots snugly.
-oOo-
The cold night hit me like a million icy fingers as the frozen air filled my lungs. I exhaled puffs of little clouds. Tightening my parka hood, I trudged ahead with crunchy footsteps through the snow packed sidewalk. My cheeks stung as if I was slapped by Jack Frost himself.
The convenience store was just at the end of the block, but it seemed like miles away as the wind howled its winter song and gusts swirled snowflakes around me. The low-lit sign flickered in the wind while I approached the entrance. Reaching out my mittened hand, I twisted the knob. It was locked. I wiped the frosty glass with my scarf and peered inside. No one was in there. Then, I saw a sign obscured by snow. It simply said: Closed. I felt foolish for believing anyone would be open on Christmas Eve.
As I turned to head home, I noticed a neon sign flashing from the motel lounge—diagonally across the street. It was funny that I had never noticed that motel before. All the funds I had with me was just enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine.
Even one drink at a bar might be better than none, I thought to myself.
I pushed open the spring loaded entrance door. The place was empty, except for the bartender and an older gentleman in a grey trench coat, sitting at the end of the bar. It was a typical barroom that was sporadically decorated with Christmas lights and a fake tree in the corner. The jukebox was belting out Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." I stomped my boots to knock off the snow.
"Come on in out of that cold," said the bartender, wiping the counter. "What are you doing out on a night like this?"
"To tell you the truth, I really could use a drink. What can I get for..."—I reached in my pocket and pulled out some waded bills—"... Six dollars and forty three cents?"
"Put your money away. Drinks are on the house tonight!" He replied with a smile. "After all, it's Christmas Eve! What would you like?"
"I really haven't thought that far ahead," I said. "Something strong, I suppose." I peeled off my parka and hung it on the coat rack along with my stocking hat. Before I climbed on the stool, I freed my hair and shook it loosely.
"May I suggest a Strawberry Daiquiri?" The older gentleman spoke. " You look the Daiquiri type."
"Why, thank you. I've never tried one before—sounds good."
"One Strawberry Daiquiri coming up!" The bartender said as he scooped some crushed ice... Into the blender it went.
"What's your story, young lady? Are you in town on business?" The older man asked, moving a stool away. "I hope you don't mind..." he raised his voice. "but shouting at you across the bar seemed silly."
"No, that is fine. I'm not here on business. I live down the street. I just needed a drink." I didn't have a clue why I was talking to a stranger. It seemed my life was in a vice being squeezed from all sides and I was ready to pop.
"By the way, my name is Chris. Chris Ward," he said, extending his hand.
I shook his hand demurely and replied, "Hello, I'm Carley—Carley Thompson."
"I hope I'm not prying, but I couldn't help but notice the wedding ring," said Chris before he motioned to the bartender for a refill.
"It's okay. Yeah, I'm married and have two kids: Justin two, David four—and of course there's my husband Dave." I pulled out my wallet and displayed our family photos.
"Lovely family." Chris twisted the pictures to view them. "Can I ask yet another question?"
"I suppose. What is it?" I replied, feeling vulnerable.
"With such a lovely family, why is a pretty young woman such as you sitting in a bar on Christmas Eve, talking to a lonely old man the likes of me?"
That question took me a bit by surprise. It was several moments before I answered. "I don't really know. I guess for a lot of reasons. Things have been tough since my husband lost his job."
"How so?"
I sipped the last of my drink and pushed it out for another. It was certainly stronger than I was used to, and I was starting to relax.
"Well..." I paused and continued looking down at the bar. "My husband, Dave, got laid off three months ago as a result of a company merger. He has desperately been looking for work and has found none so far. To make things worse, what little cash we had saved was eaten up in medical bills. Sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear about my problems on Christmas Eve."
"No need to apologize, Carley. We've all been where you are. I am not much on giving advice, and I am sure it is not much comfort for me to say things will get better... But I can guarantee they will."
"That is nice of you to say, Chris. I'm just at my wits end. I see no solution. Tell me about yourself. Why are you here by yourself on a special night like this?"
"It's a very long story."
"I've got time. I'm listening."
"Well," he began. "I'm sitting here with you instead of my darling wife Gina because she died several years ago. This motel is where we spent our Christmas Eve honeymoon forty five years ago. I come here each Christmas to recapture my memories."
"That is so sad." I frowned. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"I keep coming back because there is real magic in this place."
"I certainly could use some magic in my life," I sighed.
Chris looked me in the eyes and laid his hand over mine. "My dear, you're here, and I'm here. Maybe we can help each other out."
I jerked my hand away and replied forcefully, "What are you saying? I'm not a prostitute!"
"No, no, that is not what I'm suggesting at all. I told you that this place is magical; a place where wishes can come true. You just need to believe. If you take my hands, close your eyes tight and make a wish, your wish will come true."
This was nuts. An old fart in an antiquated old bar was asking me to take a leap of faith and believe in magic?
