Please forgive me now. This story was written for fun, in the spirit of fun. If it bothers you, please just write it off as not your thing, and don't just jump to the end to give it a bad vote because I defiled your image of Christmas.
But yes, I know, I'm getting coal in my stocking for the rest of my life.
~ ~ ~
It was dim and dark, with that inherent, musty smell of a half-basement bar. It was more of a cave than a pub, virtually sealed off from fresh air and light. Small, festive decorations were visible in random, unexpected spots, with a snip of fake plastic mistletoe here and a small, scuffed-up, stuffed Santa over there. Perhaps the greatest tribute to the season came from the assortment of low lamps and colorful neon beer signs on the walls that reflected in little twinkles in the glasses and bottles arrayed behind the bar, like some sort of alcoholic's dream of a Christmas tree.
Kristen watched nervously as the small group of young men moved over to the wall near her stool at the corner of the bar. She tried not to look, holding her gaze instead straight ahead, as if staring through the rows of liquor bottles before her, each filled with clear or amber or brown liquids that warm the body, sooth the nerves and cloud the mind. She immediately felt self-conscious about how awkward and cold her rigid, forward-looking posture must appear. She tried to relax her neck, back and shoulders as she looked down into her drink. Too quickly, by far, she picked it up, took a sip, and put it back down.
The liquor felt warm slipping down her throat but it didn't ease her too easily triggered nerves. She could feel her palms starting to sweat. Nothing had even happened yet and she already felt like she was fucking it up, sending all of the wrong signals.
Without looking she could sense them all checking her out. She arched her back, pushing her bosom forward to accent her figure, then immediately thought the provocation too obvious and slouched again, while feeling she'd done that wrong, too.
The short, pudgy one was cute. He had a constant, beaming, effervescent smile. There was no way he'd approach her. His type never did and Kristen didn't know what to do to tempt him to try, or to even let him know he had a good chance of success if he did.
She closed her eyes to take another, longer sip, trying to relax and calm her nerves.
"Your drink is almost empty. Can I buy you another?"
Kristen froze, barely glancing at the guy to her side. It was the tall one. He'd moved in fast. Of course it was the tall one. He was the only one of the group taller than she was. He was handsome, but with that too cool to smile air about him. It was sexy, but not what Kristen was looking for in a man. It would be better than nothing, though. She just had to keep from boring him or otherwise scaring him away.
She shook her head quickly no, still without looking at him, stared straight ahead, then immediately wondered why she'd just done the exact opposite of what she'd told herself she should do. She preferred the cute one, yes, but there was nothing wrong with this guy. And by talking to him, maybe she'd get to meet the short one. Why did she always freeze up like this?
"Are you waiting for friends?"
With an almost one eighth turn of her head she flashed him the beginning of a half smile that died as soon as it had been born. She shook her head no. Even looking sideways into her eyes she felt as if he could see right through her, into her soul. She felt like she was parading naked in front of all of them. Inside, she felt herself trembling, and she was sure that he could see it. She hoped he wasn't already silently laughing at her.
As quickly as she could she looked away to compose herself, staring away towards the far end of the bar. When she realized she'd pretty much turned her back to the guy, maybe the worst thing she could have done, she tried to nonchalantly turn back to stare straight ahead at the row of cold, lifeless liquor bottles. She took another quick sip of her drink, leaving the glass empty.
She was trembling in side. She had no idea what to do now.
The guy stood there for a long minute, as still as stone, seeming neither uncomfortable nor particularly motivated to do anything more. Maybe this one would have the patience, and the interest, to force her past all of her innate awkwardness. Maybe tonight, of all nights, on Christmas Eve, he was going to be a man who could see past her frightened, first mis-steps and stick with it long enough that she could show him the sort of person she was, deep down inside.
She tried to silently will him into saying something more, or offering a second time to buy her another drink so that he'd have an excuse to stay and keep trying. Maybe his friend would come over. She'd feel more comfortable with him. She might be able to do this, if they just tried harder. She'd calm down eventually, she was sure. They just had to bear with her.
And then he was gone, drifting away back towards the wall with his friends. He said something, with his back to her, and they all laughed together. The short, cute one glanced her way, not laughing at all with the rest. She thought she recognized something in his expression, a sort of distant, shared sorrow. Then the tall one moved between them and he was lost from sight.
Kristen started fumbling through her purse for some bills to leave on the bar. She quickly wiped the tiniest of tears from the corner of her eye. It was from stress, not disappointment, she told herself. It didn't matter. Tonight was a bad night to meet someone anyway. She had other plans, important plans. She had to get home.
That's what she told herself, but she knew deep down that was never going to meet anyone. She didn't know how to do it. She didn't know how anyone did it. Talking to people was so damned hard. She never should have left Mom and Dad and home.
She dropped the bills on the counter, tossed down the last few drops of liquor that had by now pooled into the bottom of the empty glass, then hurried towards the door and the cold with her back to the cluster of guys that no doubt laughed at her as they watched her leave alone, yet had no idea what sort of special woman they were missing.
* * *
At home Kristen half-sat, half-sprawled on the sofa beside a tree that was much too large to fit inside her small home. Her house was a simple, small, one story affair, with nothing more than a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom. It was all that she could afford and really all that she needed. But the tree filled the room and made it almost feel as if one were living within a forest. Honestly, it was hard to figure out how a tree so large might even have been squeezed through any of the doors or windows to get it inside, or how its peak kept from punching through the low ceiling above it.
A visitor might look, squint, look again, rub his eyes, and look again, trying to make sense of exactly how a tree so large could fit into a space so tiny, yet clearly it had, so eventually there was nothing more to do but to accept it. A visitor would think just that, if she ever entertained any visitors.
Kristen languished on the couch, admiring her tree and waiting with what could certainly not be breathless anticipation, even if that was how she felt. Every Christmas for her, even as an adult, was spent feeling like a child, ever so eager and restless to see what presents and delights Christmas would bring, except that now that she was an adult her presents always came on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day. As the night came and went, it left her with a wistful and happy but deeply longing feeling come morning, because it was over and she had to wait another, long, lonely year to experience it again.
She lived her whole life for Christmas Eve these days. Every year, all year long, was just time idly passed waiting for Christmas to arrive so that she could spend time with her father. This was her third year away from home, and she didn't think she could survive a fourth.
She'd been so lonely since Mom had thrown her out of the house, not even being allowed back home for the holidays. Her only chance to see Dad was Christmas Eve. He always worked all night then, probably as much to get away from the nagging shrew as anything else. But he could afford to take a break and stop by to visit his daughter, and it was their one chance all year long to spend some meaningful time together.
Kristen stared into the fire, waiting for its flames to die down, leaving only the glowing embers of the logs behind, until those too would be snuffed out and no hint of its cheery, red warmth would remain but the blackened wood and pale gray ash the flames left behind. But fire or not, Santa's magic would allow him slip down her chimney and into her life. She smiled at the magical thought as she drifted into a pleasant but restless half-sleep, marred by her anticipation of the night to come.
* * *
Kris Kringle closed his eyes as his body floated, bounded and zoomed gently down the chimney, all at the same time. He'd done it many billions of times without ever getting entirely used to the feeling. The walls of the chimney pressed against him, crushing him as if he were wedged tightly in and could never be freed. The ridges of the bricks and mortar that made up the walls scratched and tugged at him as he fell.
Yet despite these sensations he slipped smoothly, continuously downward without hesitation or any hint of faltering. The descent took only a moment, yet lasted for untold minutes. He neither fell nor flew, scraped nor slipped, wafted nor whooshed. There were no words for how Santa went down a chimney. He just did.
