Guiding Christmas Spirit

I see him pull up in his Pontiac Bonneville, nineteen seventy three model, I think. Big as a tuna boat. It's faded blue, with big chrome bumpers that have rust pocks. The wheels don't have any hubcaps, just flat black rims. Windows are tinted dark, but I catch his face through the windshield and I remember seein' him before, bandana over his face. This isn't the first time I've seen him pull up to this corner, where a laundromat sits, tucked into the block like a cave. He spends less than two minutes takin' a wad of cash from the Bulchoski Brothers and handing off a new bag of dope to them. I hear the Brothers push pot, coke, heroin. I've seen this supplier on more than one occasion. Always right around three-thirty in the afternoon. Same corner.

I don't like them near my neighborhood, but what can you do? As long as people use in your hood, they'll be a steady supply from somebody. If it wasn't the Bulchoski's it would be someone else. I wait for the streetlight to turn and walk across the street. I'm on my way home from work. City workers finished placing Christmas decorations across the city, just a week ago. Streetlight to streetlight have garlands and some lights strung between them. The little plastic lights glow on the dirt of the city, making it somewhat festive enough to stop thinking about the crime happening a caddy-corner away.

I open the door to my apartment building and step inside.

“Raymond, how are you today?” I ask my neighbor.

“You just gettin' in from work?" he asks me. His round face peers at me with soft brown eyes. His Afro a little knotty, like maybe he's been layin' down or somethin'.

"Yeah."

"I'm laid off again. We ain't gonna have a very festive Christmas this year. Unemployment just barely covers rent," he tells me.

"You need help gettin' a tree? Maybe I can help you out. I haven't got any kids, but I know your two and I'd hate to see them miss Christmas."

"They won't miss Christmas. We'll all be going to the Church. I guess it's time to teach them that Church is what Christmas is about."

"Well, whatever Raymond. I'm willin' to give you a tree and stuff. You don't need to repay me. You church goers all say that stuff, but Christmas is about more than Church. Can't tell me otherwise."

Raymond was quiet for a moment, looking at the floor. I glance toward him and notice the scratches in the dark wood baseboards of the old building. A groanin' sound creeps from one of the walls in the foyer as the steam moves through heating pipes hidden within.

"I just hate feelin' obligated. You know?" Raymond glances my way, then averts his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. But do I look like one who's gonna a hold it over ya?"

"Well..."

"Hell, as bright as I am, I might just be called upon to take up a Congressional District at any time. Think I got to worry about a twenty buck Christmas tree?"

"I'll take you up on it. Thanks. It means a lot to the kids."

"Christmas is for kids. It's not for adults to be drinkin' spiked eggnog and actin' afool. We can do that anytime. It's about the Church for some, but more than that, it's always been for kids. I'll head out tonight and see what kind a deal the lots got on trees. If I knock on your door late, I got a tree, if not, tomorrow for sure."

I leave Raymond in the foyer and climb the stairs to my floor. I step into the shower and wash a days worth of metal shavings and dirt off. I relax and let hot water wash over me and think about supper: DeAngelo's Hoagie Shop sounds good; a nice five block walk for some of the best tastin' salami, pastrami, cheese, vegetables and that special spiced oil 'n' vinegar on fresh bread that could be found in the city. My mouth was waterin' just thinkin' about it.

I'm out the door and walkin' the five blocks to a meal. I pass a Christmas tree lot and check out the trees. They got some nice ones. One I'd like to get for the kids is sixty bucks. A bit pricy for this workin' stiff. I hit DeAngelo's and order my favorite sandwich 'to go.' I sip on a bottle of beer while I wait for them to make my grub. I'm thinkin' 'bout Raymond's kids, Deja and Mark. Mark's got a gap tooth smile that's as cute as any ten year old I ever seen. His sister, Deja, well, she's gonna a be a knock out when she gets into her teens. I see a lot of broken hearts in her future. I was thinkin' maybe gettin' Mark a toy fire truck and Deja a doll. I don't know. All I know is Christmas is upon us and I guess I better get my ass in gear if I'm gonna get 'em anything.

I swallow the last of my beer, grab the bag with my sandwich, and I'm out the door, headin' for home. It's dark out but the Christmas lights look nice. Some folk put strands on their apartment windows, blinkin' into the cold spaces between buildings. It's cold out, and the sounds of the city are just cars and sirens, no people yelling from inside apartment's at each other. The streets are pretty deserted. I come around a corner, past a liquor store and I spot the old Bonneville. It's idling outside the liquor store, no one in the car.  I look into the store through the window and see the drug dealer buyin' a bottle of liquor. I glance at the car again, it rumbles against the curb, empty.

I can't believe what goes through my mind, but at that moment, I think I'm Santa Clause and the Bonneville is gonna be my sleigh. I hop in the car, put it in gear, and step on the gas. I'm gone, and that chump is gonna be walkin'. I got a crazy idea and I know I'm in deep shit if I get caught, but whatever, it's the holiday's. Maybe I got an angel looking out for me. I'm sure someone else put his notion in my head, gotta be an angel? Devil? No.  I drive to my work, flash my ID at the gate guard, and park the faded blue monstrosity in the lot. I make sure I take my sandwich and the keys and I walk home.

I'm home and I eat, and then make a grocery sack filled with newsprint folded in different configurations. I roll the bag on itself, then tape it shut. I put it in my backpack along with a couple bandanas. Next morning, I go to work. I check the parkin' lot on the way in and the Bonneville is right where I parked it. The city is big and the car is now in a guarded, private lot. It'll be there when I get out of work, I'm sure.

I make my way out to the parkin' lot after work and slip into the car. I pull the paper bag out of my backpack and one of the bandanas. I tie the bandana over my face like a cowboy robber in an old western. The bandana is black with white paisley markings. The car starts and I pull out of the parkin' lot and head towards my apartment. I get to the corner where the Bulchoski Brothers peddle their goods, it's about three-thirty. I pull over to the curb. The passenger window slides down 'cause my finger's pressin' the button on the door. I look at one of the Brothers and hold up the taped bag. He tosses a small box into the passenger seat and I hand him the bag. I hit the gas and I'm off.

I drive out of the Brother's sight until I see an empty spot next to a curb that'll fit the old car. It's metered parking, but I don't care. I won't be driving it again. I leave the keys in the ignition and take the box off the seat and stuff it into my backpack. I'm out of the car and walkin' fast. I see a coffee shop and pop inside, pullin' the bandana off my face and sit in a booth. The waitress brings me a hot cup of coffee and I take a look in the box. It's filled with cash. I take a small bundle out and do a quick count while my coffee cools. First bundle is just shy of seven hundred and fifty dollars. Must be three grand in the box. It's time to go shoppin'.

I leave and go to a Christmas tree lot and pick out a nice big tree. It's seventy-five bucks, but it looks great. I negotiate to have it delivered to Raymond's apartment and hand the man another twenty-five for delivery.

I walk to a toy store on the main boulevard and stop along the way and stuff some cash into the buckets being manned by Santa. Puffs of steam leave the Santa's mouths, the color of their fake beards, as cold outside air hits exhaled breath. I find a few special toys for Mark and Deja and have them wrapped.  I spend almost half the money on toys and work a deal to have them delivered to my house. Raymond don't know it, but he's gonna be Santa at his church this year. Poor boys and girls gonna be surprised, but Santa knows them this year.

I drop by a grocery store around the corner from the apartments and buy all the fixin's for a great Christmas meal. I'm carryin' a couple bags of groceries to the apartment when I look across the street and  see the Bulchoski Brothers peeking' inside a newer Cadillac. Their fingers are pointin' in all different directions. The guy in the Cadillac looks like the owner of the Bonneville. He upgraded I guess. All of them should be thankful that they provided toys for poor kids and they're also gonna provide Christmas dinner for the homeless at the shelter down the street.

I have a hard time knocking on Raymond's door holding two bags of groceries, but it works. He opens the door and I nod to the bags.

"Christmas dinner for you and yorn," I tell him.

"Raymond peeks into the bags and sees a big roast. You commin' over for dinner?"

"No. I help feed the less fortunate on Christmas Eve and Christmas day down at the Shelter. Been volunteering to that five years running. This is all for you."

"I don't know how I can..."

"Don't worry about it Ray. Things just worked out this year, that's all.” I set the groceries down on the counter and spy Mark peekin' around a corner at me. "You also got a tree bein' delivered this afternoon." I see Mark's face light up, he smiles and that gap between his two front teeth look like you could drive the Bonneville through it.

"Thank you...I don't..."

"You also gonna be Santa this year at your church. If you want'a be."

"What you mean?"

"Drop by my place tomorrow and I'll show you. Until then..." I turn and walk out of the apartment.

I'm in my apartment and I take the money box out and stash it until I can ask the Shelter what kind of stuff they need for Christmas dinner. I get in the shower and wash off the day's layer. I'm gettin' dressed when a knock is at my door. I open and a young man stands out front with a hand truck and bags of toys. He wheels the toys into my little place and I sign for them. I open the bags and start to arrange the toys by age and sex. I put Mark and Deja's toys in a special spot, then I spot the toy Ibought special, a blue 1973 Bonneville in 1/32 scale. Even crooks and druggies deserve a special treat.

I write a note using my left hand, so on the off chance someone's lookin, no one will recognize my handwriting. For some reason, my left handed writing looks good, but feminine, like a chicks.

Thank you local drug pushers. Your generous contribution helped out many disadvantaged individuals in your community. Please continue to donate to the community. There may be hope for you yet. God.

A bit presumptuous signing God as the name, but I didn't catch the name of the angel that looked after me and set things up.

I was out early, toy Bonneville under my jacket. I passed by the Bulchoski Brother's corner. It was quiet with no one in sight in the early hours of Christmas morning daylight. I place the toy car with the note taped to the roof top onto the window ledge of the laundromat, then walk off. I'm thinking of a gap toothed smile from a little boy sitting next to his sister, opening gifts in the scent of an evergreen, on a cold Christmas morning, in the heat of their apartment.

End