Christmas Spirit

It is very un-Christmas-like here, which is a telling comment, no? I mean, I have lived here since I was five, and I still think of Christmas weather as being like those images on Christmas cards. Does anyone ever speak of Chanukah-like weather? Maybe. I've lots of Jewish friends and have never heard tell of it. But it is warm and foggy here, the wetness lingering a large part of the day. Special weather, but not Christmas-like. It will be eighty-five today, I think, but it will feel warmer. One Christmas Eve a few years ago, it snowed in the middle of the day, a freak thing that never happened before and hasn't happened since. But what a day that was. I was shopping on the Avenue with a friend, eating and drinking and laughing, and it began to snow. I'm sure of it.

I am worn out with worrying and with work. Give me the respite of Christmas Spirit. Let it gather others up in its bright wings, too. I want it to be quiet and close and saturated and dimly lit. I want old Christmas specials on T.V. Yes, schmaltz. I wouldn't mind having my heart beat quickly thinking about Santa's coming, too.

* * * * *

Home was too familiar now. I'd been away and coming home was not a shock but an awakening. This was me, I thought. This had been my life. There were parts of it to which I was still attached, of course, mostly from my childhood. But the town was changing rapidly and had outgrown my childhood now. And too quickly, within days, it felt natural again and normal. I saw my father and stayed at my mother's house since she was not there much at all. And of course, I spent as much time as possible with Sherri.

She was a great girl with a big, open heart. She was working at night now as a waitress at a Pizza Hut. The manager was her best friend's boyfriend, an older guy who had a business degree. He made lots of money as manager, but he worked all the time. He aspired to much more, of course, but for now. . . . Some nights I would go to see her at work and she would give me free pizza and beer, but it was a little awkward, so I didn't go very much. Watching her work was fascinating in a way, like peeping through a window, but I was afraid something might happened for which I wasn't prepared to deal yet, and so I was always a little bit on edge.

Days, though, were ours. We went shopping for Christmas presents and held hands and ate sandwiches and drank beer at Mr. Dunderbach's. The mall was a Christmas Wonderland of lights and decorations with a big Christmas display in the middle, a Christmas Village with Santa at the center attended by his elves. It was crowded and close in the mall now, people carrying big bags and always traveling in groups. There was a promise in the air, a gayety that was like laughter.

One day, Sherri asked me if I'd ride with her to the Sunniland Center. I looked at her with complete puzzlement. Sunniland was a hospital that took care of the extremely handicapped, those whose I.Q.s were in the low double digit range. "What are you going to do there?" I asked bewildered. "I'm going to take some presents," she said. My head was spinning. "Do you know somebody there?" I asked, thinking that she might have some relative she'd never spoken of. "No, I just like taking things for the kids."

When we got there, I sat in the car and watched her carry in an armful of brightly wrapped presents. I couldn't go in. I wasn't prepared for this in any way. I felt awful about it, but ambushed, too. The day was high and bright. It was perfect. And there I sat inside the car in a bare parking lot on the edge of town thinking about what I didn't want to think about. I felt bad and selfish and worse by comparison. Sherri was rich with compassion and generosity. She did this without pomp or fanfare. She simply did it by nature. But I was incapable of such things. It was not in me. Nurture, not nature, I thought, having grown up around the mean and simple and impoverished. It was something to overcome. I knew this. But that wouldn't happen today. When, I wondered? Who knew?

I watched Sherri as she approached the door, trying to hold the packages and pull the handle at the same time, unable to do either. Some packages fell to the ground, and then a black man in green scrubs opened the door and helped her. He picked up some packages and the two of them were smiling. I watched as they disappeared inside. Then nothing. I sat in the car in the hollow of that perfect day watching the door, waiting for her to return.