Two smells lingered in the air as the cart rolled past: one nutty and sweet, the other smoky and clearly a sign that winter was in full swing. Everyone in the city, residents and tourists alike, turned to follow the smell of the chestnut roasting cart as it rattled and clanged down the down, selling itâs sweet Christmas produce. The vendor laughed joyfully as young children bounces around the wheels, sniffing and begging for any extra nuts. A few customers would oblige and hand them a few of the chestnuts from the small paper bags, but most walked away from them, enjoying their seasonal treat. Parents called and one by one the children walked away from the cart, almost dancing as they sucked and chomped on the roasted nuts as they went off to continue their shopping, or heading to dinner, or visiting various sites about the city.
It was like this every year, and every year Chris sat on the same bench, smiling as the scene played out. The children laughing, the steam shooting out from the oven in the cart, the smiles on everyoneâs faces, even the bite of the cold December air all played a part to make the man smile. He shook his head laughing lightly as the children dispersed and the sun began to go down. It would certainly be a chilly night, but this close to Christmas, everything would stay open later, in hopes that a few customers would need to pick up last minute gifts, either because they hadnât gotten anything yet, or because they realized what they got wasnât yet the perfect gift. It was the chaos that occurred that made tonight so magical. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.
Standing up from his bench, Christ began walking down the street, pulling his winter coat snug around him, his breath clearly visible even as everything else faded into that dull twilight blue that always comes once the sun is down .A soft tinkling, like jingle bells, sounded with every step as the coins in his pockets chinked together in the bouncing motion. On a whim, Chris timed his walking, taking shorter or longer steps to play a short tune with the change. The chorus of jingle bells plunked out and he softly began to sing along. âJingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the wayâŠâ He stopped as a few familiar faces passed by him.
âHey! You coming out with us tonight?â One of them invited, already the flush of alcohol coloring his face and making him look warmed.
âNot tonight you guys, I have stuff I have to take care of. Maybe in a few days. Enjoy your night, boys, and Merry Christmasâ He gave a hearty laugh and waved as the men shrugged and walked away, off to the night life district of the city, much earlier than the younger people who more stereotypically frequented the area. And Chris walked on, no longer singing as heâd lost the tune. That was how it was with him, heâd start singing, and with one interruption, heâd forget just what heâd been singing, and his place in the song. He let his eyes travel along the shop windows as he passed by them, a bicycle shop, a porcelain doll shop, a watch and jeweler store. He stopped three, gazing into the yellowy warm light of the store where one young man looked at diamond rings, and another couple fawned over wedding bands. This was the season or giving, but also of love. A special time of year made just for coming together and being merry.
The man grinned broadly at the loving looks on everyone within the shop. His own wife had passed away only a few years before, and it was always this time of year that he missed her the most. Still, the smiles on the childrenâs faces, and on the couples who always came to the store said it all. Everything he wanted to say to her, and everything he wanted to hear. But he could never watch for too long. Like he had told the partiers, he had other things he needed to do, places he needed to go. So it was with a heavy heart that he left the scene playing like a movie in front of him and continued on his way, pulling his coat even tighter than before to keep out the chill of the air.
To be quite frank, the coat was old, and there were worn out spots covered in odd colored patches, and there were stains and dirt spots all over the mostly brown and raggedy jacket. But it was warm and it kept out the chill. Chris had had more than enough people turn up their noses and sneer at him for it, but those same people were also the ones who began to shivers within five minutes outside in their designer coats. Heâd keep his coat, thanks very much. And so he walked past the clothing stores that the snootier people frequented with an easy stride, either invisible or just too unimportant to notice, for the people inside as they browsed the racks. Claudiaâs words ran through his mind, bringing a smile as he went. âOnly someone crazy would spend so much on something they would wear so little.â Oh he missed her.
Each year, this trip was like a walk through his past life. One that brought him bittersweet nostalgia for the woman heâd loved for so long. She had been nothing short of an angel from heaven, her laughter like bells and her voice like a childrenâs choir. Chris blinked and a tear trickled down his cheek, dipping into each crevice in his weather âworn and aged face, and dripped off his chin and into his coat, freezing in the air and creating a small crystalline snowflake in the fabric, like it was a small gift from her. That brought a smile back to his face and put a song back into his step, though it was now Silent Night.
Chris walked past his usual hang out and his usual cafĂ© where he had his coffee and dinner. He wasnât hungry tonight anyway, and he still had things to do. Chris kept walking until he came to a small, run down toy store, the sort you only see in the movies. The window out front was dusty so little of the already-dim light inside could penetrate the glass and illuminate the street and sidewalk. The neon open sign had long since burned out, and the signs marking the store had been destroyed by vandals, though they had only finished what decades of storms had started. But chris had been coming here for years, and he knew it would be open. And he knew that it would be mostly empty and that the prices would be low. The tinkling of a bell announced his entrance, and a small old man stepped out from a back office, smiling tenderly at Chris upon sight.
âHello, Mr. Nichols. Back again I see.â His dry laughter sounded so fragile that Chris almost wished he wouldnât for fear that he might laugh his last breath.
âOf course, Mr. Watkins. Someone has to continue what she started.â Chris replied, just as he did every year when the toy store owner greeted him. âWhat have you got for me?â
âA fine selection this year: toy soldiers and dolls, puzzles and coloring books, board games and dominos, and of course teddy bears and other stuffed creatures.â Again the laughter, Mr. Watkins toothless grin widening Chrisâs own.
With a heavy sigh, Chris pulled all the change that had been jingling around his pocket, as well as a handful of bills and placed them on the counter. Heâd long since run through the insurance money, and heâd gone through what heâd made selling everything heâd once owned that he didnât need to get by. Everything was now what he could find around or piece together from gifts. Watkins nodded, placing the money into an old cash register, one with the push keys similar to a typewriter, and without the screen or calculator built in. It was the original slate-gray register that had been in the store since it had opened, having become more like a cherished employee than a helpful appliance. With a pat on the registerâs side, Watkins nodded happily to Chris as the larger, younger man picked up the canvas sack that had been pre-filled by the frail old man in anticipation of this visit. Only a small nod and exchanged âMerry Christmasesâ were between Chris and the rest of this mission.
And back onto the street Chris went, bag flung over his shoulder as he moved down the road, out of the shopping district and tourist area, straight into a more rundown neighborhood that the elites who frequented the shops and restaurants avoided. It wasnât far now, but that didnât mean his mind was focused solely on this one task. A young boy was outside, kicking a can around in the street, leaving it only when a car came thru, and only to return as soon as the vehicle had passed. The boy was about that age, and it sent Chris into a small reverie. How old would his boy be if heâd survived? Would he have been like this boy, happy to play with anything he could find? What might have been if the child whoâs very life and death, in one short day, had taken everything Chris had loved, had taken both the child and the mother, had taken his Claudia, had survived?
Chris dropped the sack with a loud clatter, and pulled out one of the toy soldiers before hoisting the sack back up and walking over to the boy. âMerry Christmas, son.â His soft smile and gruff voice were such a bizarre combination that the child looked up and grinned at the toy, possibly the nicest thing he owned himself now.
âThank you, sir! Thank you so much. And merry Christmas to you too!â He left the can and hand into a darkened building with several windows boarded up, but where a light and sweet smell spilled into the street, where a family was beginning to sit down to dinner.
But Chris moved on now, and into an even less desirable building with a worn out sign which read âFamily Shelter.â He wouldnât be going up to the apartments on the upper floors. He was only here to deliver the toys. The children here had such a hard life, and yet, they had always had so much more pleasure from the simple gifts that Claudia, and now Chris brought than the children who could have anything. That joy had always touched his heart, and so it had always been something he had to do to continue it after Claudia no longer could. The lobby to the shelter was empty and dark, but Chris didnât need to be able to see. The tree was always in the same place anyway, and so in the dark, he made his way to the corner, and once more opened the canvas bag.
Just one present at a time, pulling out toys and books, boxes and the plush animals that Mr. Watkins had so graciously given over to give the children who so badly needed a Christmas miracle. The gifts filled what little space was under the tree, but only just, and his eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, so he admired the work. He smiled as the familiar warmth that always accompanied this night filled him, and he felt his wifeâs soft and approving hand touch his shoulder. He knew if he turned, she wouldnât be there, but he basked in the feeling none the less. Finally, he did turn, that light still in him, and he walked back outside, the cold air not bothering him at all as the fuzziness within him melted the wind and chill away from him.
It was only another couple of blocks before heâd settle for the night, waiting for the bells in the cathedral to announce Christmas morning, though by now it was more than likely after midnight. He usually finished up around two in the morning, though tonightâs had been fewer gifts as the economy took its toll on the small businesses, so perhaps it was earlier. It was all the same to him. Just two more blocks, one more block, and Chris ducked into an alley between two condemned buildings, each one covered with graffiti. His eyes were growing heavy, and chris had to stifle a large yawn before he arrived at a cardboard box that had been flattened out on the ground with several creases on it. With a few arthritic grunts, Chris lowered himself onto the makeshift bed and laid down, covering himself with the sack. The wind picked up and carried his soft good night up and into the night sky, and possibly up and into the heavens. âMerry Christmas Claudia.â His eyes closed, and Chris Nichols drifted into a deep sleep in the alley where heâd lived for a long time.
