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The Envelope

A Christmas Story

By George BeigheyPublished 6 years ago 10 min read
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Joe was a lonely, broken man, walking cold wet streets late one Christmas Eve. He wore, contrastingly, the jolliest of outfits, clad in the uniform of his latest job a mall Santa Claus. He was a poor imitation of St. Nick, sad, slumping, looking thin and depleted, despite a mound of stuffing around his middle. He oozed the odor of Jack Daniels, and walked as only a drunk could walk. He staggered down the street, thinking of family he never saw anymore. He was alone and angry. He hated Christmas. In fact, the only reason he kept his Santa job was because he felt it fitting to collect on this awful day any way he could.

Finally he reached his destination, a place simply called the Corner Bar. This was an appropriate, if unimaginative name, for it was a bar, and it stood at the corner Yule St. and Tide Ave. Joe went inside, took out fifty dollars, and plopped it on the bar.

"Jack Daniels, and keep it coming until this runs out. I'm not driving." He grinned.

The bartender brought him his drink, and Joe sipped it. As he lifted glass to lips, Joe noticed that a man had sat down beside him. Joe peered at him from the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but notice how out of place the man was, clad in an expensive looking tuxedo, top hat and cane. The man sipped at what appeared to be Champaign, and held the glass with fingers bedecked in diamonds. "Not driving, you say?" The man said.

"No," Joe replied gruffly. He chuckled to himself, knowing that, before long, the fancy man beside him would soon be relieved of his diamonds. What would bring a guy like him in here? Joe wondered.

"My driver made a wrong turn, I'm afraid, and I ended up here," the man said. Joe wondered at the timing of this remark, as though made in reply to Joe's thoughts.

"I take it one of the elves will handle the sleigh tonight, eh?"

"What?" Joe asked, becoming quickly annoyed.

"It's Christmas Eve, after all, and you said you weren't driving tonight." The man smiled.

"Whatever," Joe grumbled.

"You don't seem very jolly," the man said.

"Should I be?" Joe finished his drink and signaled for another.

"I'll get that, barkeep," the man said of Joe's drink.

"Thanks." Joe said, halfheartedly, but he accepted the gift.

"Merry Christmas." The man smiled and for the first time, Joe looked at his face. The man seemed middle aged, a neat beard and moustache, both of black. His eyes were dark, yet he seemed to have joy there, the same inexplicable joy Joe saw on the faces of all the kids who sat on his lap during the past days.

"If you say so."

"That's a pretty poor attitude for jolly old St. Nick."

Joe turned to face the man. "Look, I don't know what your trip is, but I'm not St. Nick. I'm just wearing this for my job, which, I'm glad to say, is done."

"Earning money to buy presents, eh?"

"No."

A concerned look overcame the man. "Don't you have any family?"

"No."

"What about your son and daughter?"

"What did you say?" Joe said, the only thing which kept his fist from flying was his curiosity. How could this rich clown know he had kids?

"I know many things, Joe." He smiled. "You should come with me." The man stood, throwing money on the bar.

"Where?" Joe snapped, but as the man walked off, he followed after dutifully.

Outside, Joe walked with the man, patiently waiting for answers. How could this fancy stranger know all these things? How could he, seemingly, have read Joe's thoughts? Joe was hooked, waiting for answers, but the man said nothing. He just smiled into the cold air, watching his chilled breath disappear into ether.

"What's this all about?" Joe demanded. "How do you know me?"

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful..." The man began to sing.

"How did you know I had kids?"

"And the fire is so delightful..."

"What are you, some bill collector?"

"So, since we've no place to go..."

"Stop singing and answer me!" Joe screamed.

The man stopped, looked at Joe for a moment and then, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

Joe's muscles tightened; he was furious, confused, scared. Then, he felt something upon his nose. It was a snowflake! Almost as though the man commanded it with his song, it had begun to snow. Flurries fell, coming in greater and greater quantity.

"Come along, Joe," the man said, continuing down the street.

Joe chased after. "How did you do that?"

"Do what, Joe?"

"How did you make it snow?"

"Surely you don't believe a mere man can make it snow, do you, Joe?"

Joe said nothing else. For another six blocks, he simply followed the man in the tuxedo. Down the streets, in the snow, listening as he whistled Christmas carol after Christmas carol.

"What happened to your children, Joe?" the man asked at length.

"They're fine."

"You didn't answer my question," he said, with a patient, almost fatherly smile.

"They're with my parents, in California."

"Why?"

"Their mother died a few years ago from cancer."

"I meant, why aren't they with you, Joe?"

Joe laughed. He laughed long and hard; his bellows were heard all about the neighborhood. "Look at me! I can't be anyone's father!"

The man did. He looked Joe up and down, side to side. "You look fine to me, Joe." He kept walking, Joe coming after.

"I'm a bum! I a loser! I ain't got no time for kids to be hanging all over me! My wife was always the one who was good with the kids, not me! I hate kids!"

"Yet, you dress as Santa."

"It's just a job!"

"A job you don't seem to like very much, eh?" He stopped beside a huge, eighteen wheeler, parked outside what appeared to be some sort of shelter.

"No, I hate this job," Joe said softly.

"Why?"

Joe gritted his teeth. "It's not fair. I promise all these kids whatever they ask for, whether they're going to get it or not. I know a lot of those kids aren't getting squat tomorrow, but I smile and nod, and they get screwed. What kind of job is that?"

"You seem as though you actually care, Joe," the man said quietly.

"Yeah, well... if kids are gonna get screwed, I just don't wanna be the one doing it, I guess."

"What if I told you that it didn't have to be that way?"

"What?" Joe replied.

"You see this truck?"

Joe nodded.

"It's mine. It's filled with toys."

"So, what do you want from me?"

"I want to hire you to give these toys out to the children who live in this shelter."

"You're kidding." Joe smiled.

"Not at all. The children will be out here in a moment. All you have to do, is sit them on your lap, listen to them, smile and give them whatever they ask for. No empty promises. No one gets 'screwed'."

Joe thought for a moment. "What does it pay?"

"Pay?"

"Yeah. I think we've established that I'm not really Santa, after all."

The man smiled and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two envelopes.

"You may have your choice. One of these envelopes contains one first class ticket on a plane tonight bound for California. The other has two thousand dollars cash."

"So, that's your angle, eh? Look, buddy, I don't know who you are, or who sent you here, but I'm not going back to California. My kids are better off without me, and so am I."

"The choice shall be yours, Joe. I'll not pressure you one way or the other. You shall be completely free to take the two thousand dollars, if you like. Will you take the job? I should think two thousand dollars buys a lot of Jack Daniels, eh?"

Joe eyed him with suspicion, but then nodded.

"Good, for here come the children."

Out they came, dozens of them, boys and girls both big and little. All amazed at the wonderful sight of Santa sitting on the bumper of a semi-trailer full of toys. Joe listened to all the boys and girls, looked at the wonder in their dirty little faces. Whatever they asked for, whether great or small, was produced from the truck by the man in the tuxedo. Joe laughed with them, listened to their stories, the ones which others ignored, the ones which Joe ached to hear. After a time, it seemed as though the truck should have been empty, but the toys kept coming, and Joe gave them all what they wanted. He felt better than he had in a long time. He actually fulfilled the wishes of these poor, parentless children. He reveled in each face, each giggle.

A girl sat with him, and Joe could not help but notice that hers was not the expression of an expectant child. Her head hung low, as though she hid her eyes from everyone behind a curtain of reddish brown locks. Still, for this night, Joe was truly Santa Claus! He felt a kind of magic flowing through him. Surely, he could cheer her this Christmas eve.

"What would you like, little girl?" he asked.

"A football," she said softly, never looking up.

"A football, eh?" Joe took the ball from the man in the tuxedo.

"Tough girl? I'll bet you terrorize those boys on the gridiron."

"No. I don't play," she replied.

"Then, maybe you'd rather have something else? You can have anything you want. Don't be afraid to ask."

"You can't give me what I really want, Santa. It's okay. I'll take the ball."

"But why?"

"It's for my little brother."

"Well, Santa will give your brother a gift. Don't worry."

She looked up then, tears filling her blue eyes, but never actually falling down her face. She held them where they were, through sheer force of will.

She whispered, "The doctor says I'm gonna die. I've got cancer. Please, can you... " She couldn't talk anymore and still force the tears to remain where there were. Joe held her, squeezing her, holding her little face against his own. He clung to this brave, selfless little girl and he couldn't let her go. The one child that even Santa Claus could not make happy. Finally, Joe heard the girl sob against his shoulder, and he knew she finally allowed herself to cry. She clutched at his ragged Santa suit, pouring out her fear and her anger, everything that she had been keeping inside herself for months and months. Finally spent, the little girl stopped. She pulled softly back, looking at Joe and she smiled weakly.

"Thank you, Santa."

Joe nodded and gave her the football.

Joe was lost in his sympathy. As bad as he felt for her, he felt worse for himself. He was ashamed. He knew greater guilt than anything he'd ever known before. He couldn't do anything but hold the dying child and wish his life were different — wish that he had been there to hold his own daughter when her mother died years ago.

The man in the tuxedo saw this and he smiled. Then, he climbed into his truck, emerging a second later, clad in bright red and white. His tuxedo was gone, his beard had gone white. He bellowed a mighty "Ho ho ho," and he finished passing presents to the rest of the children. Joe just sat, watching dumbly, utter exhausted, utterly tired, utterly ashamed.

When the job was done, Santa Claus took Joe by the hand. "You did a good job tonight, Joe."

Joe said nothing.

"It's payday, Joe. Have you decided which envelope you want?"

"I'll take the one with the ticket." He lowered his head, embarrassed.

Santa smiled. Santa embraced Joe and smiled into his eyes. Then, with a job well done, St. Nick climbed into the back of his eighteen wheeler. A moment later, the trailer opened wide. There was a jingling sound and hoof beats, and then, a grand sleigh and eight tiny reindeer flew out the back, high into the air. Santa Claus winked at Joe as he flew by and then the sleigh rose into the air and quickly out of sight.

humanity
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