December 24, 1985 / 11 a.m.
Christmas Eve. But at 11 a.m., it wasn't quite eve yet. Which made it, I guess, Christmas Eve day. I'd been lucky enough to thumb a ride almost straight home, and had crawled into bed at 8:30 a.m., where I'd drifted off immediately, and sometime in the night dreamed of Terri's bare breasts springing from her bra, like a wire snake from a salted peanut can.
I awoke with a start and realized that my kettle had boiled over. I'd been so caught up in Christmas that I'd neglected to pour some out on my own. I looked at the clock, got up from the bed, rolled my shorts in a ball which I tossed in the trash, and then hopped into the shower to wash the sleep and other stuff from my skin. Actually, I stepped into the shower, as no hopping took place.
I walked down the stairs to see Holly curled up on the couch, a book in her hands. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said. “Care for some tea?”
“Anything but cocoa.” I was all cocoaed out. Cookied out too. Even now the smell of fresh cookies brings me back to my manger. “Where's my dad?”
“Your father is out. Shopping. He claims he's getting something special. But he wanted me to tell you that he has ordered a cab to take you to work. And a cab to take you back. It's his treat.”
“Jeez, I hadn't even thought of that,” I said.
“So tonight's the big night, huh?” she said, and she put down her book and walked to the kitchen, where she poured me a cup of hot tea. Raspberry Zinger.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Well aren't you excited?”
“I guess. Probably be more excited if I wasn't so tired. And didn't have to wash dishes for the next eight hours. What kind of people would eat at Frank 'n' Mary's on Christmas Eve anyway?”
“Andy, there are a lot of people who think going anywhere is a treat. Or maybe they have no one to spend Christmas Eve with.”
I nodded my head. “Yeah I know how that feels.”
She brushed my cheek with her hand and said, “I know that you do.”
We stood in silence for just a moment, but that moment, it seemed, was a moment too long. Long enough to think back to all of those years with no mom or dad with whom to share Christmas Eve. Then Holly spoke.
“He loves you, you know.”
“Yeah, I know that he does.”
“And he's so happy to be with you at Christmas.”
I looked down at my cup.
“Andy,” Holly said.
“Yeah.”
“Try not to dwell on the past too much. Think of tonight. And all the great days to come.”
“Holly?”
“Yes, Andy.”
“You know this is our first Christmas together, don't you? Me and my dad.”
“Yes, Andy, I know.”
“Holly?”
“Yes.”
“If you're Jewish, why do you . . . uh . . . you know, why do you . . .”
“Why do I celebrate Christmas?” she asked.
“Well, yeah, I guess.”
“Well Andy, it just seems to me that lots of people have been killed trying to prove that their religion is right. And I've got to believe that through all of this, God is shaking his head, thinking, This is not what I want. I think that there is a danger to anyone who thinks that they alone know God's plan. So instead of seeing people as Jew or Christian, Buddhist or Muslim, I try to divide all people into two groups: those who are good, and those who have the potential to be good. I celebrate days that give people hope. Christian and Jewish, and Halloween too.”
I took a long sip of tea as I leaned on our counter and gazed at the mustard yellow refrigerator, which, had it been a dog, would have been taken out back and shot. I savored that tea, not so much because I liked tea as because it was Holly's. And like everything she touched, the tea seemed full of goodness.
“Holly?”
“Yes.”
“Why'd he pick now? I mean this Christmas?”
“Because people change, Andy. People can change.”
“But that's been your doing.”
“No, he already was changing. I just came along and kind of sped things up.”
She stopped talking for a moment, but I could see her mind at work. Pondering as she spoke, she did so haltingly.
“Andy . . . your father is a little difficult . . . to know.”
I nodded my head.
“I think that there are a lot of different layers to him.”
I nodded again, thinking of his layers and just how many I had gotten through . . . and how many more were left.
“And I think that if you got through all those layers, you would find a lot of pain there in the middle.”
“Pain?” I said. “Why pain?” I felt there might be something to this, but to tell the truth, I was kind of enjoying Holly's sympathy. And now that sympathy was Tietam's.
“I'm not sure,” Holly said. “Your father doesn't open up a lot. You can't pry him open either, or else he just clamps down. So instead I try to be patient, nurture him, so he'll open on his own, like a flower.”
At later times, I would envision Tietam Brown as a flower, his head swaying in the breeze, like a daffodil on a brisk March morning. But on this particular date, I just nodded and said, “Does he open up to you?”
“Not too much. He opens up a little, and then I try to fill in the blanks myself.”
“Can you tell me what he said?”
“Well no, not everything, Andy, because some of it's just for me.”
Holly touched my face. A touch I think of often. A touch of understanding. She then put her hand on my shoulder. I think of that touch too.
“Andy, your father is forty-eight years old, that's nineteen more than me.”
“Yeah.” I had no idea what she was getting at.
“He grew up poor in Albany, toward the end of the depression. Winters are cold in Albanyâ”
“Holly, I don't really see where you're going with this.”
“Okay, okay, I guess what I'm trying to say is that Tietam's first memories of childhood were of his father bringing strangers home as a way to pay the rent.”
“Oh.” I didn't know what else to say.
“Andy?”
“Yeah?”
“From his little bed, he could hear his father next door . . . cheering.”
“Oh.”
“And that's all he said. But like I said, I try to fill in the blanks myself.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I think that Tietam was afraid to be a father, because he was afraid he'd be like his dad.”
I looked at her close. The way she looked in the winter sunlight, which flowed through the window and painted her face with a brush of warm gold. And for just a second, I swore that I saw the vaguest of halos surrounding her face.
“Holly?”
“Yes, Andy.”
“I had a wet dream.” Holy crap, had I really just said that? I didn't mean it as sexual. I was just really confused, and I guess that I thought maybe this angel could help ease my mind.
The angel laughed, clearly not offended. Quite to the contrary, she seemed kind of glad. Not glad that I'd shot a load in my shorts, but glad that I trusted her with such a deep thought. “Well,” she said, “in a world filled with nightmares, your dream's not the worst kind to have.”
“But don't you . . .” My voice trailed off.
“But don't I . . . don't I what, Andy?” she asked.
“Um, don't you think that maybe . . . that it's a little weird . . . that um, a guy like me, you know . . . with a girlfriend and all, is um . . . you know . . . having . . .”
“Wet dreams?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don't we sit down?”
We sat on Tietam's plaid couch.
She patted my knee, smiled, and said, “Andy, I take it you're not sexually active with Terri?”
I squirmed in my sagging plaid seat. “Not really,” I said.
“No, or not really?”
“Well, we kiss, you know, and do a couple of other things, but we haven't . . . you know.”
“Done it?” Holly said, finishing my thought.
I nodded my head.
“Do you like kissing Terri?”
“Oh yeah.”
“How about holding her hand? I see that you do that a lot.”
I blushed and said, “Yeah.”
“And you like being around her?”
“Very much.”
“So why worry about it? Your body may be ready for sex, but maybe your mind isn't.”
“No,” I assured her, “my mind definitely is.”
“Then I'll tell you what. You keep thinking about it. But don't put any pressure on yourself. And then, when it happens, it will happen on its own . . . and it will be the most beautiful thing in the world. Just take precautions.”
Maybe it would happen on its own tonight, Christmas Eve. I had to agree that it would be the most beautiful thing in the world. But then Andy the dreamer ran into Andy the horny teenager, and the horny guy won. And I found myself saying, “But other kids are doing it.”
“But Andy, other kids don't have what you have.”
“What's that?”
“Love, Andy, love. I see the way you two look at each other, and I know what it is. It's love. And you don't just love her because she's beautiful, do you?”
I shook my head.
“Or because she's stacked?”
I laughed and shook my head again.
“You love her because she likes you and she loves you and she wants you and because she makes you feel like you're the most special person in the world.”
What was this lady, a mind reader? An angel?
I said, “Is that why you love Tietam?”
“No, 'cause he's hung like a hippo.”
I fell out of my chair, and she laughed till it hurt, then laughed some more. Finally she stopped, leaned close to me, and said, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure,” I said, sensing something big.
“We've never done it.”
Had it not been for her arms, I would have fallen again. My eyes were wide and my voice was high as I let out a loud “You haven't?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Well Andy, if your father is right, then I guess you'd know about his rather odd habits. You know . . . with women.”
I nodded my head.
Holly smiled and said, “Do you think he needs more of that?”
“No, probably not.”
“I think that he needs something else, don't you?”
I nodded my head, but I wasn't quite sure.
“Andy, your father needs to be loved, and he has never given himself a chance, not since your mother died. And I think that we've found that, found love, together. And just like you and Terri, when it does happen, it will happen on its own . . . and it will be the most beautiful thing in the world.”
It all made perfect sense. Perfect, that is, until I threw my dad into the equation, and then it seemed a little crazy.
“Andy.” Holly's words startled me from my state of confusion.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what I do up in Tietam's room all those hours?”
I laughed. “Well I kind of thought I did, but now I really don't have a clue.”
“I paint.”
“Paint, like, his room?” Not the brightest comment in the world, but kind of par for my course.
“No, dummy,” she said, in a way that made “dummy” seem like a wonderful compliment. “Watercolors. And I want you to know that I've done a painting for you, and I think you'll love it, and I'm going to give it to you for Christmas.”
“Wow,” I said, “that's great. Do you do that for a living?”
Oddly my question seemed to catch her off guard, seemed to stun her like a quick jab from a boxer.
“I was painting in New York, the city, working on children's books, but I kind of got . . . sidetracked . . . Hey, your cab is here.” “Thank you for listening, Holly, to my stupid worries.”
“Hey they weren't stupid . . . and listen, when you come back from your dinner, we're all going to open one present, and then you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to tuck you in and read you a story . . . do you have a favorite?”
My mind raced back to my dear Auntie M, and the thought of three kids nestled in bed waiting for Santa Claus on a clear southern night.
I said, “There was this one called, I think,
The Happiest
Christmas.
”
“The one about the missing reindeer? I know it by heart.” And then I heard honking and an old Grand Torino pulled up the drive. A rusted-out chariot to take me to the ball.
“Bye Holly . . . and thank you.”
“No, thank you, Andy. And remember, people can change; I'm living proof.”
And I heard her exclaim as that rusted-out, cigarette-smelling piece of crap rolled out of sight, “See you later, Andy, it will be a great night!”
December 24, 1985 / 6:40 p.m.
The line of cars was backed up nearly a mile onto Elm Street, all coming to get a gaze at Tietam Brown's little yard of Bethlehem. Unfortunately, the yard consisted of only one wise man, a new Mary, and the original nonsmoking Joseph, who apparently either felt a strong sense of loyalty to his job or else didn't care a whole lot about Christmas. But that was it. No drummer boys, no angels, no shepherds.
I looked at the new Mary as I approached the manger. She may not have had Terri's looks, but she seemed pretty and nice, about twenty, I guessed, with dark hair and dark eyes, which were probably a lot closer to the original Mary than Terri's auburn-haired, green-eyed rendition.
My Joseph cohort said, “That's Andy,” and she gave me a firm shake and a pleasant hello as I passed by her, accompanied by Mario Lanza's proud tenor as it boomed “What Child Is This” on Tietam's speakers.
The lack of performers meant that my dad and Holly would have the night to themselves as soon as I showered off the layers of Frank 'n' Mary's grease that had built up. True to Holly's word, the diner was home either for families celebrating the night or for solitary souls just wishing for someone with whom to share a holiday meal.
I opened the door and was met with the foreign sound of . . . a television set. I don't mean the language was foreign, like French or German, but foreign as in, you know, new to the surroundings. They looked so cute together on the couch, hand in hand and both smiling broadly, as the Alastair Sim version of
A Christmas Carol,
which I think is called
Scrooge,
flickered warmly in the darkness.
My father sat up and said, “Andy, come in. Come in and sit down.” He patted the couch for emphasis, and I took a seat next to the happy couple, who seemed to be gloriously inebriated.
I said, “Wow, this is great, a television set.” I later found out that not only was this movie in black and white, but all else was as well, as the set was a black-and-white one, and an old one at that. Still, as I looked at the TV, with the aluminum foil on its rabbit ears, it seemed right at home in Tietam's old house.
Tietam couldn't have been happier. “Holly gave it to me early,” my dad said with pride. “So, you know, we could enjoy it tonight. Hell, if you weren't having dinner at the big house, you could watch this with us. It just started, you know. It's a heck of a movie. Been years since I've seen it.”
Holly leaned in to Tietam and whispered into his ear. My dad nodded his head.
She said, “Andy, your dad got something for me, too.” She was nearly crying from joy. She took her hand from behind my father and thrust it at me, and even in the dim glow of Jacob Marley's ghost, I could see her diamond shine.
“Oh God,” I said. “It's beautiful. Is it a, um a . . .”
Just as before, Holly finished my thought. “An engagement ring. Andy, yes it is. Yes it is.”
“Which means you're going to beâ”
“Married,” my father said. “We sure as hell are.”
I don't know who was happier. Holly or Tietam. Or me for that matter. A kid with a family, what more could I want. Possibly it was a three-way tie for first.
Holly stood up, but still kept her hand in the air. She positively glowed with beauty, and a touch of strong alcohol as well, as she said, “Come Andy, have a drink with us.”
I thought about my one drunken exploit with my father, and had no desire to relive it, with or without the porno film. I said, “I'd better not.”
“Come on, young man,” Holly said as she took hold of my hand and pretended to drag me into the kitchen. “You have one drink with us. Now do as your mother tells you.”
Against my better judgment, I let her pour me a shot. I think of Wild Turkey, though I'm not really sure. But it was brown, it was strong, and it made me shake like a leaf while my father laughed and said, “Thatta boy, now chase it with this,” and handed me a Genny Light, which I promptly chugged down.
My father was laughing when I set my beer down. “Now take off those clothes and let's do some push-ups,” he said, and the three of us laughed until I regained my wind to find one more shot in my hand.
“Dad, I shouldn't,” I said.
“Andy, this is important. This is a toast.”
I raised my glass, as did Tietam and Holly.
“To the memory of my wife, who brought into this world a fine son. To the grace of God, who let me have a second chance. And to my future wife Holly, who believes in me.”
We all said “Cheers,” and I downed my third drink, and took a deep swig from a new Genny to stop my body from shaking. My head was floating in a wonderful way, and part of me longed to stay in this warm loving room for the rest of the night. But then I saw Terri, or her vision at least, by the glow of the fire in her black lingerie, kissing me softly before peeling off clothing and making sweet love, and then carving a turkey. Hey I know the turkey doesn't make sense, but it was my vision, and that's what I saw.
Damn, it was getting late. After seven already, and I still smelled like French fries with gravy, which was the perennial Frank 'n' Mary's favorite, day or night, Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve. I ran up the stairs, two at a time, like the Tietam of old, with the remainder of my Genny in hand.
While the water streamed down, I thought of this night, and the magic it held. I couldn't have been more excited if I'd seen Santa himself, with that smoke encircling his head like a wreath much in the way an alcohol buzz was encircling mine. Was it really a good idea to be drunk at my girlfriend's house on Christmas Eve? Probably not, I decided as I swigged down the remainder of my beer.
A quick change of clothes and a dash of cologne, and I was back down the stairs, where Ebenezer Scrooge was choosing money over love. What a jerk. I thought of Bob Seger and a song that wasn't a hit but hit home with me nonetheless. “I ain't got no money, but I sure got a whole lot of love.” Then I had the sudden feeling that I'd forgotten to do something, but I didn't know what.
Holly was holding two small presents in her hands. She said, “Andy, it's probably better that you don't drive right now, and even better if we don't drive you.”
“Yeah I think that's safe to say,” I laughed. “Plus with this traffic outside I'll probably be able to walk to Terri's house faster than I could drive.”
“So your father and I got you these.” She handed me the first gift. “This is for all the walking you do.”
I opened the gift. A personal cassette player. I'd say a Walkman, but in fact it wasn't. Some other brand, I can't recall which.
“Thanks Holly, thanks Dad, I'll be able to use this a lot. But I don't have any tapes.”
Holly handed me the second gift, which was about exactly the size of an audiocassette. Nat King Cole,
The Magic of Christmas.
She started to cry. Just a little. “I know that this won't take the place of your mother's, but I thought you could listen to it in times when you can't get to hers. And I know I can't replace her, but I thought I could be here in times when you need me.”
She gave me a hug and I tried not to cry, but man it was tough and I just laid my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes hard. Because remember, crying's not crying unless a tear falls from the eye. And how could one fall if my eyes were clamped shut. Eventually the feeling subsided and I managed to walk out the door without shedding a tear.
Holly held open the door and shouted, “Remember that story, Andy. I'm tucking you in.”
And then it was Tietam's turn. “I love you, son,” he yelled, which was all but drowned out by Dean Martin singing “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!”
I said goodbye to Joseph and “Nice to meet you” to the new Mary, who said, “Why are you crying?” in a gentle, sweet voice. Damn. Then, just as I reached the end of the drive, a delivery truck put on its brakes and a driver jumped out and said, “You Antietam Brown?”
“Sure am,” I said.
“Then sign right here.”
I signed and thanked him, I looked at the package, which weighed a pound or so. Magazine, I guessed, but as I started to open it, I read the full name on the label. Antietam Brown IV. Not mine. So I walked back across the lawn, where Mary checked on me again, and slipped the package between the storm and front doors. Nothing, I thought, was important enough to disturb them on this night.
Then I turned up the collar of my denim coat and walked past the manger again, where Mary once more made sure I was all right. Then, once free from her care, I put on those headphones and pressed PLAY on the Walkman. Yeah I know it wasn't a Walkman, but “personal cassette player” sounds a little goofy. Yeah I pressed PLAY on that Walkman, and . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. No batteries. Damn. I needed my Nat. Needed it bad. Was jonesing for Nat.
But then my thoughts turned to Terri, and Nat slipped into the back of my mind. Thoughts that were jumbled together. Man, I was having trouble focusing as I walked at a quick pace, and I looked at the sky and saw stars spinning around, which I was pretty sure wouldn't have been the case without my four drinks. Probably not a wise decision to arrive hammered at the reverend's house. But a brisk walk with Jack Frost nipping at my nose ought to sober me up.
So once more I thought of Terri, and let her various images slug it out in my mind. Green eyes, tight sweater, holding hands, good-night handshake, “Backstreets,” bare breasts, black lingerie, deep kisses, bare breasts, black lingerie, black lingerie, bare breasts.
By the time I got to Terri's door, we seemed to have had a tie in the visionary battle of supremacy. Yes, black lingerie and bare breasts had ended in a dead heat, but more importantly my brisk walk had served its purpose. No longer was I just a boyfriend showing up drunk at the reverend's house. No, now I was a boyfriend showing up drunk and with a visible hard-on. In my hurry to get dressed, I'd sensed that I'd forgotten something. That something, it turned out, was my underwear. Quickly I arranged things in a more clandestine way.
Dingdong. In a moment, Terri was at the door, and man, she looked beautiful. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in deep luxurious curls, and her eyes shone in a way even more beautiful than Holly's new diamond. Her dress hugged her form, not too tight, but just enough, a green velvet number that, like her sweater, looked to have cost more than my father's car.
I saw the reverend approach with an outstretched hand, and I thought of my father's handshake analogy, and momentarily I contemplated pulling my nuts out of my jeans and slapping them into his palm. Thankfully, no nuts were slapped, but I did let out a little dopey laugh as I shook the reverend's manicured hand.
“Have you been drinking, son?” he asked. Not quite the greeting I was looking for.
“Just a little, sir.”
“What in blazes is any teenage boy, let alone my daughter's boyfriend, doing drinking on the eve of the Lord's birthday?”
God please let the truth suffice. “Well sir, my father just got engaged tonight, and they asked if I'd join them in a toast.”
Terri squealed with delight, which seemed to take some of the heat off me. “Oh Andy, that's great. I'm so happy,” she said.
The reverend relaxed, and smiled a bit. A fake, forced smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Well, maybe that did call for a drink,” he said in his rich baritone that had saved many a soul.
“Dad, rest assured, Andy is not a drinker,” Terri said.
“Is this true?” the reverend asked as he ushered me inside. It smelled simply divine inside their fine home, like pine trees and cinnamon, and the fire crackled away in a blaze of deep orange while Alastair Sim danced at his nephew's house on an awfully big screen. A screen that stood next to a huge Christmas tree. Ten feet at least, and as white as the snow. With a mountain of presents piled up underneath.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson, it is. This is only the second time. And there won't be another for a long time, I'm sure.”
“May I ask what that first occasion was?”
“Yes sir, my father took me to a movie for my last birthday, and he gave me a beer before we saw it.” Not only had I left out the part about him not having seen me in sixteen years and nine months, but I hadn't mentioned the porno flick either. Also, the six beers had conveniently become one. Maybe not technically lying, but pretty damn close.
Mrs. Johnson appeared, looking seasonal in a red dress which showcased cleavage and a pair of breasts that seemed to have all the pliability of a pair of croquet balls. She extended her hand, which of course made me think of my nuts, but I swallowed my laugh while still trying to lose the images of Terri's bare breasts that were sashaying in my mind.
Just when things seemed at their very worst, I saw my salvation, so to speak. Tiny Tim. “I love this part,” I said, and we all turned to look as Tim, who didn't look tiny at all in this particular version, said, “God bless us every one.”
The reverend put his arm around his wife, who put her arm around Terri, who put her arm around me. We just stood there while the credits rolled, until the reverend finally said, “That's what it's all about.” I was dying to say something about the hokeypokey, but wisely refrained. Thankfully, both my buzz and my hard-on seemed to be subsiding.
Then we sat in the living room, a big happy family, and things settled down nicely. Mrs. Johnson brought forth tray after tray of holiday snacks. Fresh-baked cookies and pastries, which made Tietam's selection look positively sparse. We talked of the snow, which had just started to fall, and of Santa and reindeer and Christmases past, and I mentioned a place in New Hampshire where I'd heard it was Christmas all year. A little kids' park, but one nonetheless that I wanted to see.