Christmas Eve
by Candace Turner

Mom, we’re cold and hungry. Let’s go home. Everything’s closed. Why did we have to move here? We don’t even have winter coats. The tears I refuse to shed freeze on my eyelids.

No, we’re going to have a Christmas Eve pizza. Look, there’s a restaurant right up the street. Who’s hungry? I check to make sure my emergency $20 is still in my back pocket.

The three of us huddle against the cold. They peek through the steamy window, while I read the menu. Can we go inside mom? Please, Mom, please. We’re starving and can’t feel our feet. Their noses press against the cold glass. The door opens and we are blessed by a gush of warm air and mouth-watering smells. An older gentleman in a shiny black suit invites us inside. Thank you, Sir, but we are just looking for a pizza, and we’re not dressed properly for such a nice restaurant. You no worry, Mama, he says in broken English. It’s Christmas Eve. Come inside.

I bring spaghetti.

Diners stare as we walk by. Women in long dresses, men in pin-striped suits, toast each other over candlelight. My daughter in her brother’s flannel shirt, her legs covered in baggy sweatpants. My son in fashionable ripped jeans, an Eagles hoodie. My jeans aren’t ripped, but my grey sweatshirt has seen better days. We’re only going to order bread and leave, I whisper. But Mommy we’re hungry. Why can’t we stay? A tuxedo clad waiter appears with a family-sized bowl of spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, even a glass of chianti for me. Mangia, he orders and hurries back to the kitchen.

She sips her wine slowly and feels its warmth spread throughout her body. The bowl was empty and not a meatball remained. Almost everyone in the restaurant had gone home. At least I’ll be spared an audience to witness my inability to cover the check. Let’s go home guys. Santa must be on his way and remember the man at the Christmas tree lot said, If we get there before they close, we can have a nobody wants it tree for free. I dread opening the small black folder sitting on the edge of the table … the bill … peek inside … amount due … ZERO. There’s a note. Merry Christmas. Stay Safe, Stay Warm, Be Happy, God Bless. At the door I spy our Guardian Angel. Clasp him in a bear hug and wish him a Merry Christmas.

He smells like Old Spice


 

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