Home for the
Holidays
Fiction
By Gregory E.
Larson
My heart sank when I saw the selections at
the dessert station in the cafeteria. There were three small plates with
half-melted strawberry Jell-O squares, each placed on a large piece of wilted lettuce.
The bright fluorescent lights in the food selection area didn’t add to the
appeal. All morning long I visualized a piece of pumpkin pie or apple crisp for
the lunch dessert on the last day before Christmas, or whatever the proper term
is now, Winter Holiday Vacation. The cafeteria workers were already in
clean-up mode, and the few remaining people in the hallways scurried for the
exits.
My friend Eric, a manager in the accounting department, leaned over as he walked by with his tray, “Slim
pickens, eh?”
I responded with obvious disappointment in
my voice, “So much for a holiday meal. What happened to the good old days when
there was turkey and ham for everyone, and we all put in a full day’s work and
didn’t leave until five o’clock?
The cashier wearing a miniature reindeer
pin, an elf hat, and a big smile tried to cheer me up as she totaled the cost
of the tuna salad plate, the Jell-O, and a cup of coffee that had a burn-tinged
taste. “Now you have a wonderful holiday Pete, and you be safe. I want to see you next year”
A massive Christmas tree filled the middle
of the dining room which was almost empty. Background music was playing Burl
Ives singing A Jolly Holly Christmas, while I steered toward a group
sitting near the far windows.
Betty Jo from Credit and Billing was
there, having an animated conversation with another lunch regular, Fred. “My
ex-hubby has the kids on the main holidays all year round! I get the left-over
dates. Doesn’t matter what the court settlement says. He does just whatever the
hell he wants, whenever he wants. Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Sounds like you need an attorney that is
good at sending nasty-grams. That might do the trick.”
Fred’s eyes grew big as he turned toward
me, “Get out the checkbook. Hey, Pete, what are you doing here anyway? You whiz
kids up in R&D have the most flexible schedules of all.”
“It’s all about data. We have to make sure
we track and keep all kinds of data. It’s not the fantasy life in R&D that
everyone thinks it is. Pressure’s on constantly.”
Eric pulled up a chair and sat down next
to the impromptu lunch group. He threw in his two cents worth. “I’m just glad
I’m not in IT. Those poor guys have to draw straws to see who gets to stay here
on late shifts over the holiday. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to spend your
vacation?”
“Maybe some people would like that
assignment. It would be quiet and peaceful. I’m sure they have a few card games
going when the boredom sets in. Better than sitting alone at home.”
Betty Jo had a quizzical look. “Why would
you want to be stuck here?”
“Some of us older staff members don’t have
spouses or family nearby. Things can get pretty lonely at home on a holiday.”
Betty Jo looked down at the floor.
Gina, joined the table. “You can’t believe
the things we see in HR. There’s a lot of people that struggle with holidays. Some
people at the company never take a vacation. They can’t handle the silence and
loneliness.”
“Who?” asked Betty Jo, “They need to get a
life.”
Gina motioned as if she were zipping her
lips shut.
Eric scanned the five of us. “We’re all
here, aren’t we? What’s wrong with this picture? Maybe we need to get a life.
It’s Christmas Eve.” He looked straight at Fred. “Where’s your family?”
“The wife’s out in San Diego watching over
her dying mom. The kids are scattered around the world.”
“What about you, Gina?”
“We get the family here on New Year’s, so
I have a few days to get ready.”
I slapped my palms down on the table, “So
what are we all going to do this afternoon? Play tiddly-winks? It’s
interesting, we have good 401K’s and nice homes with freezers stuffed with food
and here we sit like a bunch of dysfunctional people.”
Fred had a sheepish grin on his face. “I’m
sure the guys from manufacturing are already getting cozy at the Giddy-up
Roadhouse.
“I’m not that dysfunctional,” I replied,
and then added, “Well, I guess I have been out there a time or two after golf
league.”
My cellphone buzzed. The email said my credit
card was compromised. The message came from an account with .edu at the end – a
scammer for sure. Others started looking at their phones, too.
Eric pointed to his phone and spoke to the
group. “Okay, here’s something we can do before we go home tonight. The food
kitchen at St. James is serving full holiday meals all this week to the needy
and homeless folks. They have menus, and the volunteers take orders and serve
the people at the tables. They need extra volunteers to help until six o’clock.
You get to meet all kinds of people and when you are done you get your own free
meal. It’s better than what I’m looking at on my tray. Who’s in?”
Fred replied, “That’s a great idea.”
Gina chimed, “Let’s go.”
We all got up and walked to the conveyor
belt at the tray return. I set my tray on the belt and watched the uneaten
Jell-O disappear into the kitchen.
“See you there at two.” My heels clicked on
the floor of the empty hallway. The building was almost deserted. The office space
had a quiet, spooky feeling to it. White-noise hiss and computer fans were the
only sounds that filled the air.
Eric’s idea of helping at the church
appealed to me. It sounded more fun than going home to a dark house. I grabbed
my coat and hurried through the bone-chilling cold in the massive concrete
garage. Uh-oh, I need to get some gas. The tires crunched on the packed
snow as I pulled out onto the street.
The inner-city gas station with a mini-mart
wasn’t one of those gleaming plazas in exurbia. The spaces were tight at the
pumps and at the parking stalls. Once inside, I passed a small table on the way
to the restroom. A woman with sad-looking eyes and stringy hair was holding a
small child in her arms, and there was a crying toddler next to her. They were
eating crumbs from small cracker and cheese-spread packets. She was counting
change and putting the coins into her purse. There were two large shopping bags
filled with clothes leaning against the window.
While in the restroom, I thought of the
look of fear and desperation in her eyes. They might be homeless, or at the
very least, without enough money for food.
On my way out, I stopped at the table.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to pry, but if there is anything you need, I’d be glad to get
it for you. Your kids look hungry.”
The baby buried its runny nose into the
mother’s armpit, and the toddler began to whine.
The woman looked directly at me, then turned
her head towards the window. “Oh, thank you, but I’m okay . . .” Tears began to
stream down her cheeks and her chin trembled. “I just left my husband and I
don’t know where to go. When he comes home, I’m afraid he will begin looking
for us.”
“I’m so sorry. You know, I think I can
help you. I’m on my way to St. James to volunteer at their food kitchen.
They’ll have a good meal for you and your kids. I’ll bet someone there will help
find a shelter where you and the kids can stay.”
She hesitated to respond, probably sizing
me up, trying to decide if my offer was legitimate.
“I’m on my way to meet some friends there
to help serve. There’s room in my car. It’s just five minutes down the avenue.”
“That sounds very nice, but we don’t want
to be any trouble.”
“No trouble at all, ma’am. I really think
you could use some help right now.”
She nodded, “Yes, just a little.”
“Here, let me carry these bags and we can
get you all to the car.” We walked slowly out of the mini-mart, and I helped
them into the back seat.
On our way down the avenue, I broke the
silence. “Ma’am do you think you will be safe while you are at St. James? If
you think your husband is looking for you, I can try to get you to a shelter
immediately.”
“No, he’s usually gone for three or four
days when he goes on a drug binge. I think we’ll be okay.”
At St. James, I helped them out of the car
and carried their bags into the building. The smells of turkey dinner and
coffee hit us was we walked into the large room decorated with red ribbons and
gold bells. Betty Jo greeted us at the door. “Why Pete, you’re a bit late. Who
do you have here?”
“These are some nice people I met at the
gas station.”
The woman added, “I’m Mary and these are my
two children, Isabel and Lucas.”
Betty Jo put her arm around them and said,
“So nice to meet all of you. Come on in and we’ll get you and your kids
something to eat.”
I found Eric, then shared the story about
finding the woman and two children.
"I know some folks here who have connections with the mission. I'll get them to see if there is some space at their home for women and children. Here, Pete, I'll let you take the orders from the guests at tables six and seven." He stuffed the food lists into my hand.
While walking towards the tables I looked
at the talkative crowd and heard laughter and music. I saw Gina crouched down, visiting
with Mary and her two kids. They were all smiling.
So many happy people. There’s no place I’d
rather be than right here, right now. We’re all one big family. This is my home
tonight.
I walked up to the
couples sitting at table six. “Merry Christmas, folks. What looks good on the
menu? I’ll be glad to take your order.