That Time of Year

I revised it after some criticisms. It’s more Hemingway-esque now.

“Ting!”

Nine o’clock. One more hour until I finish my shift. One, two, three, four customers – still here on Christmas Eve – I count off from behind the register. Working this dead-end job to pay the bills somehow, I start to regret dropping out of college, but I remember what happened. The feeling flees. My patience thins as the customers search the deli, picking stuff up before Christmas. The radio behind me plays some songs on low. An old lady comes to pay, it looks as if she just left church.

“Merry Christmas girl!” She puts her stuff on the counter; I start ringing them up. “What’sa young’n like you working this eve? You should be at home with your family!”

“Don’t have any family here ma’am.”

“What? You should be home with your family celebrating our Lord Jesus’ birth!”

“Heh,” a college student, collar popped, says before dumping his stuff. “You really believe that cute fairy tale, grandma?”

“Listen here, it’s true, read the Bible. I don’t know what’s wrong with today’s youth.”

Not wanting to repeat a bitter old argument, I finish the matron’s sale quickly and bid her farewell. I start on the student’s items.

“Amazing, right? People still believe that stuff. Christmas is nothing more than old pagan ritual.”

Tired of his schooling banter, I hold up part of his sale, condoms. “No surprises tonight, eh?”

“Ha! I like to be on top come tomorrow. With the biggest present, el oh el.”

“Nope, this day don’t even deserve being called a holy day. Commercialized the hell out of. Ain’t surprised you haven’t seen it, you being so stuck up.” An older man drops a six-pack on the counter.

“Excuse me? I’ll tell you-”

“Puh-lease, I’ve heard it all before. Young college upstarts think they can argue. Mind you, I know I’m arrogant, you still need someone to tan your hide.”

“Please…” I tell the student before he opens his mouth. I finish his sale and he leaves. I ring up the older man’s beer.

“You know, it’s illegal for you to sell that, right?”

“I know. Eight bucks, be glad it’s Christmas.”

“Haha! Well, time to get piss-drunk. Glad I got no family to bother me this year.” He shuffles out the door.

“Interesting conversations.” A man slightly older than I puts down his stuff. “It’s always this time of year, you know.”

“What?”

“Brings out the people: believers, scientists, cynics. They all have their opinions and are always arguing. Amusing, really. So, how do you bode this evening?”

I smile at him. “I’m fine my kind sir,” I say in my most medieval tone.

He laughs. “Nice one. I assure you though, I’m no knight. Although I quite consider myself a master debater.”

I stifle my giggle halfway.

“Hmm, afraid to laugh I see. Shouldn’t be, especially at this time of year, and at such a joke. Celebrate this day for yourself.” He puts two hundreds on the counter.

I’m speechless.

“Take them. I know you need them. You remind me of my late wife, when we also ran away. I know this is what she would want. Turn up the radio, that’s a song she liked.”

I turn it up as I wonder how he knew.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”

 

It’s that Time of Year

“Ting!”

Nine o’clock. An hour to go until I finish my shift. One, two, three, four customers – still here on Christmas Eve – I count off from behind the cashier. Working this dead-end job, have to pay the bill somehow; I start to regret dropping out of college, but I remember what happened and the feeling flees. Impatience rises as the customers search the deli, picking up stuff before Christmas. The radio behind me plays some songs, low volume. An old lady comes to pay; time has traced valleys across her face, she’s dressed like a typical southern granny.

“Merry Christmas girl!” She puts her stuff on the counter and I start ringing them up. “What’s a young’n like you working this eve? You should be at home with your family!”

“Don’t have any family here ma’am.”

“What? You should be home celebrating with your family celebrating the our Lord Jesus’ birth!”

“Ahem.” A grad student, late twenties, dressed in a Polo dumps his stuff on the counter. “Do you really believe that old fairy tale, Grandma?”

“Listen here, it’s true, read the Bible. I don’t know what’s going wrong with today’s generation.”

Not wanting to repeat an argument I’ve already had long ago, I finish the old lady’s sale quickly and bid her farewell. I start on the student’s items.

“Amazing right? People can still believe that stuff. Christmas is nothing more than an old pagan holiday.”

I hold up part of his sale, condoms. “Gonna have some fun tonight, eh?”

“Haha! Yes, this is a time to love your dearest, you know?”

“Nope, this day doesn’t even deserve being called a holy day. Commercialized the hell out of. Ain’t surprised you haven’t seen it, you being so stuck up.” An older man drops a six-pack on the counter.

“Excuse me? I’ll tell you-”

“Please, I’ve heard it all before. Young college upstarts think they can argue. Mind you, I know I’m arrogant, you still need someone to tan your hide.”

“Please stop,” I tell the student before he opens his mouth. I finish his sale, and he leaves. I ring up the older man’s beer.

“You know, it’s illegal for you to sell that, right?”

“I know. 8 bucks, be glad it’s Christmas.”

“Haha! Well, time to get piss-drunk. Glad I have no family to bother me this year.” He shuffles out the door.

“Interesting conversations.” A man slightly older than I puts his stuff on the counter. “It’s always this time of year, you know.”

“What?”

“Brings out the people. The believers, the scientists, the cynics. They all have their different opinions and are always arguing. Laughable, really. So, how do you bode this evening?”

I smile at him. “I’m fine my kind sir,” I say in my most medieval tone.

He laughs. “Nice one. I assure, I’m not a knight. Though I consider myself a master debater.”

I stifle my giggle halfway.

“Ah, afraid to laugh I see. You shouldn’t be, especially this time of year, and at a low-brow joke like that. Take this day and celebrate it for yourself.” He puts two hundreds on my counter.

I’m speechless.

“Take them. I know you need them. You remind me of my late wife, when we also ran away. I know she would want to do this. Turn up the radio, that’s a song she liked.

I turn it up.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”

 

Sitting on the Train

I was riding the train today,

the hard plastic seats were familiar.

The grime stood upon the floor

and grafitti was etched on the windows.

People sat or stood, waiting for their stop;

conversation abounded, laughter shared.

There was no silence to be heard,

the train ran loud and forceful.

With every stop, people left,

and others stepped in.

Never ceasing,

a wondrous symphony.

Despite having ridden this train forever,

I began to cry.

For what reason?

I don’t know why.

Unbidden tears streaked down my face,

my glasses fogged up.

Soon, it became a cacophony,

noise against the others.

Yet no one looked up,

the symphony still played.

With every stop, people stepped in,

and others left.

Never ceasing,

I continued my cacophony.

I wept in the corner;

no one gave even a glance.

Again, the train stopped.

I stepped out into the rain.

No one would know I cried.

Trying to write again…