C<\/span>hristmas Eve, 1985.\u00a0 It was another foggy day, near the middle of another foggy week, the fourth or fifth foggy week, here in Foggy Bottom.\u00a0 According to some of the natives, it was the longest stretch that Sacramento had gone without seeing the sun – either obscured by fog or rain or gloom of night.\u00a0 It was enough to make the postman miserable.<\/p>\n

It was miserable enough.\u00a0 I had moved to this lovely town but three months earlier.\u00a0 While folks were friendly enough, I hadn\u2019t yet made any friends, save people that I worked with, and all of those seemed to have a full complement of friends and family, especially around the holidays.\u00a0 I had moved west from my last job, which was already further west than most of my family – and this last move, I was well out of a day\u2019s drive from any relation.\u00a0 For the first Christmas season in my quarter century of life, I was truly going to be alone.<\/p>\n

Work that Christmas Eve wrapped up early for the day – the boss chased us all out of the plant after lunch, and everyone headed for the loving warmth of their homes, surrounded by loved ones, good fellowship, twinkling lights, and Yule logs burning in the fireplace to hold the chill at bay.<\/p>\n

I went home, such as it was, to my apartment.\u00a0 It was an upstairs flat, complete with its 1960\u2019s era six inch deep avocado green shag carpet.\u00a0 It had a ceramic gas log \u201cfireplace,\u201d started by pressing a nearby button.\u00a0 I had the same quality furnishings that one might find in any college student apartment, although a college student didn\u2019t occupy this one.\u00a0 Multi-print couches and chair, with worms eating the wooden legs.\u00a0 A particle board side table, on which sat a lamp.\u00a0 Stereo system on a steel utility shelf unit, beat up Montgomery Ward\u2019s TV sitting on a footlocker in the corner.\u00a0 It had a covered balcony porch, where I kept a small charcoal grill and a couple of folding chairs.<\/p>\n

The complex was empty – it was located up the road from the state college, and the students who normally hung out there had all long since bolted for home and hearth.\u00a0 Not all of that was bad – I managed to rescue a forgotten Christmas Tree, apparently removed by one of the vacationing students and leaned up against the dumpster.\u00a0 I had brought it inside a few days earlier, stuck it in an old coffee can full of water, and decorated it with twisted strips of aluminum foil. I cut up Christmas Cards to form a holiday tableau.\u00a0 The tree smelled pretty good, but it was browning fast.\u00a0 I felt a little guilty about prolonging its suffering for my own artificial joy, especially when I couldn\u2019t find much happiness, despite the tin-foil buffoonery and adornment.<\/p>\n

I picked up the mail, and tossed the overdue credit card notices into the shopping bag full of other bills.\u00a0 The holiday cards had come to an end, and at that, rather early.\u00a0 The few friends I had from other parts had all lost track of me as I moved further west, and I hadn\u2019t sent many cards out the year before.\u00a0 It hadn\u2019t mattered at the time, and it didn\u2019t matter now.<\/p>\n

I opened the fridge to survey the holiday meal I had planned:\u00a0a canned ham of some unknown date, a bit of warmed over mac \u2019n cheese, and what was left of a twelve pack of beer.\u00a0 I opened a beer, and walked onto the balcony.\u00a0\u00a0 The fog and the gloom were still there, so there wasn\u2019t much to look at.\u00a0 The view from the second floor balcony was of the roof of the laundry shed, and a few other smaller structures in the courtyard below. On the roof of one, the management had thoughtfully installed a plastic owl, in order to frighten off the pigeons.\u00a0 The pigeons, of course, had responded by using the plastic owl as their own personal toilet, so the owl looked like he was capped with never melting snow.\u00a0 The crap almost covered one plastic eye, so that the owl looked like Rocky after fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed.\u00a0 A punch-drunk plastic owl, adorned in gloom, and decorated in pigeon shit.\u00a0 That was my winter wonderland.<\/p>\n

Looking around that 640 square feet of shag carpet covered Shangri-la, I realized there was no way that I was going to stay \u201chome\u201d for Christmas.\u00a0 I pitched the beer over the balcony.<\/p>\n

I was low. I was blue.\u00a0 I was homesick for Christmas Eves I had never had. I had no place to turn and only one place to go.\u00a0 I was miserable. I was alone.\u00a0 But I had a plan.\u00a0 I was going to go where all of God\u2019s miserable souls went to celebrate a miserable and wretched Christmas. I was going to a place where the holiday lights shown bright. I was going to a place where the fellowship of man could be found.\u00a0 I was going to the only place where I could find happiness. And if I couldn\u2019t be happy, at least I could be a miserable wreck, and wallow in my own pity, and nobody would care.\u00a0 I was going to the only place that would take someone like me.<\/p>\n

I was going to Harrah\u2019s Casino in South Lake Tahoe.<\/p>\n

I threw on an old trench coat, and put on my\u00a0\u201cduck boots,\u201d so called, as they had rubber soles, but canvas uppers. There\u2019d be snow up there, so good footwear would be required.\u00a0 I grabbed an old scarf, a felt hat, and with a spring in my step and a snarl in my heart, I slammed the door shut, and hurled myself into my car.<\/p>\n

The car was a 1980 Ford Granada ESS four door sedan.\u00a0 It was the kind of car that a blind man, with palsy, would probably mistake for a Mercedes Benz.\u00a0 The midnight blue metallic paint had long since been destroyed by the previous Texas sun, so that the paint color and texture had become a dusty purple.\u00a0 It saved me having to wash it, as the body was just gradually eroding over time.\u00a0 The outside driver door handle had long since broken, so I had developed the technique of opening the rear passenger door, and hooking my arm around the pillar to open the driver\u2019s door.\u00a0 It was a trolley – the six-cylinder engine hadn\u2019t used all six cylinders in some years, as five seem to be just fine, even if it would vibrate the floorboards a bit.\u00a0 I could trust it to get me from point \u201cA\u201d to point \u201cB,\u201d as long as there were a couple of garages between \u201cA\u201d and \u201cB,\u201d and the distance involved wasn\u2019t more than 10 miles between them.<\/p>\n

I sank the key into the ignition, and the vacuum-induced \u201c6-1\u201d coughed to life as if Henry- Freaking-Ford was turning the crank.\u00a0 I slammed it into gear, and peering through low hanging clouds, I headed up the road.\u00a0 The bus station was only six miles away.\u00a0\u00a0 It was late in the afternoon.\u00a0 I had a couple of hundred bucks in cash.\u00a0 The weather stunk.\u00a0 My mood was bad.\u00a0 My life was awful.\u00a0 I was good to go.<\/p>\n

I bought a round-trip ticket at the bus station.\u00a0 The bus would drop me at Truckee, and from there I\u2019d pick up a local gambler\u2019s special, that would drop me off at the door at Harrah\u2019s.\u00a0 I had no intention of driving.\u00a0 I had no intention of being happy.\u00a0 I fully intended on getting loaded, and deepening my bitterness, and pushing myself to win the Great Depression, as if that were some type of Olympic event.<\/p>\n

The bus door opened, and I eyed the driver as I boarded.<\/p>\n

\u201cMerry Christmas.\u201d he said, with no real merriment, and no real happiness.\u00a0 That suited me just fine.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a happy new year, bud\u201d I replied, snarling as I went past.\u00a0 I found a seat, not that it was all that difficult. There weren\u2019t more than a half dozen people on the bus, including the driver, and nobody looked all that freaking merry.\u00a0 In a cloud of diesel exhaust, the bus left the lot, and slowly headed for the interstate. We gradually climbed out of the persistent fog, but the evening dusk in the foothills was only propping up another weather system, and halfway to Lake Tahoe the flurries started.\u00a0 There were Christmas Carols playing on a boom box, sitting near the bus driver.\u00a0 Nobody was singing along. I stared out the window as we drove past homes lit with holiday warmth.\u00a0 I shivered a bit, and hunkered down in my coat, trying to sleep a little bit.<\/p>\n

The three-hour trip to Truckee took four hours.\u00a0 It was slow-going up the highway, and better late than dead, I suppose, although dead wasn\u2019t much of a step down from my mood at the time.<\/p>\n

The gambler\u2019s special bus was waiting, at least.\u00a0 The doors opened again, and this time a much happier driver was behind the wheel.\u00a0 He looked pretty silly, sitting behind the wheel wearing a red Santa cap.\u00a0 I hoped the ruddy glow in his cheeks and nose was from the crisp mountain air, and not from a bottle.<\/p>\n

\u201cHo Ho Ho!\u201d he chortled. \u201cWelcome aboard, and Merry Christmas!\u00a0 The name\u2019s Otis,\u201d he said, as he thrust out his hand.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s a pretty stupid name for a bus line, I thought.\u00a0 I handed him my ticket, and I found another open seat.\u00a0 We lurched down the road, heading south around the lake, to the South Shore.\u00a0 As we moved past Zephyr Cove, I caught site of a very bright light to the east, probably a spotlight from one of the casinos.\u00a0 The casinos wasted little time, but lots of energy, in guiding you to your destination.\u00a0 The beacon in the night continued to blink on and off, and eventually we arrived at the doorway to the Happyless Place On Earth.<\/p>\n

Harrah\u2019s, for Christmas Eve, was surprisingly lively.\u00a0 There wasn\u2019t a floor show – the stages were closed – but the Casino was open.\u00a0 There were no lockable doors on the casino, as it never closed for business.\u00a0 24 hour-per-day gambling, seven days a week, 365 days per year.\u00a0 I wasn\u2019t much for card games, or dice.\u00a0 If I was going to surrender my cash, I wanted to do it the modern way.\u00a0 I wasn\u2019t looking for any human interaction to warm my heart, and I wasn\u2019t looking for any atmosphere. So I wandered a bit, until I came across an empty row of slot machines.\u00a0 I went to the cashier\u2019s cage, and got $50 worth of quarters. I went back over to the machines, loosened my coat, and sat down, slowly dropping in a quarter, and pulling the long arm of fate, watching the wheels spin by.<\/p>\n

Soon enough, a waitress came by. She asked me what I wanted. I looked at her, and told her that I wanted whiskey, and that Rye, neat, would do just fine.\u00a0 She returned in a few minutes, and brought me the first of what would be a few bolts of liquid lightning that I would consume that evening.\u00a0 I downed the first, and sent her back for a second.\u00a0 Really cheap Rye – and this was cheap in the sense that it wasn\u2019t top shelf, bonded whiskey – has an electricity all of its own. It burns as it goes down your throat, and the heat that is created from the consumption doesn\u2019t warm you; it singes your throat as if you were swallowing an acetylene torch in a circus act.\u00a0 The first swallow is a convulsion. The second swallow is a reflex action from a muscle spasm, and at the third your tonsils have been cauterized. But the really good thing about cheap Rye is that those reactions are consistent.\u00a0 It never gets better.\u00a0 You never get used to it.\u00a0 You never start to even understand the differences in the taste; after the third or fourth Rye, your taste is gone, anyhow, long surrendered like Frenchmen in the night.<\/p>\n

The supply of quarters was slowly dwindling.\u00a0 As the transfer of wealth was nearly complete, an abject jerk of the arm set off a small cacophony of bells, followed by the chug-chug-chug-chug clanging of change in the payout tray.\u00a0 Somehow, I had hit a small jackpot payout of about $240.\u00a0 In the television commercials, when the pretty young couples win a hand of blackjack, or hit the slot machine jackpot, you usually see the young couple jump up in the air, the teeth in their mouths shining as they smiling brightly, their eyes alight in anticipation, and hair bouncing just so.\u00a0 Happy. Happy Times.\u00a0 In reality, or at least that night, there was no jumping in the air.\u00a0 I was a bit flabbergasted, and sincerely disconcerted because I felt it would take me forever to lose all of that, and winning in the casino wasn\u2019t in the plan.\u00a0 No beautiful young women came over and congratulated me.\u00a0 No friends, old or new, came over to shake my hand and pound me on the back.\u00a0 Nobody, especially me, jumped anywhere, at anytime.\u00a0 I just wanted to be miserable, and nothing more.\u00a0 Gambling, apparently, wasn\u2019t going to help in that quest.<\/p>\n

With a deep sigh, I filled three or four plastic buckets with my unwanted booty, and lugged them to the cashier.\u00a0 I cashed them out for paper currency, and the soothing pictures of dead presidents, while not as weighty as the coins, were at least easier to handle.\u00a0 The time for child\u2019s play at the machines had come to end.\u00a0 Crushing my hat down on my head, I slumped into my trench coat, and wandered off in search of a quiet casino lounge bar.\u00a0 They weren\u2019t hard to find – casino\u2019s have plenty of bars, and plenty of tables, and plenty of slot machines.\u00a0 But try to find one clock\u2026.<\/p>\n

The bar only had a couple of patrons, and a young barmaid serving drinks.\u00a0 She eyed me up as I approached.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy if it isn\u2019t Phillip Marlowe,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMarlowe is dead,\u201d I said through half-lidded eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cOk, then, well, Ebenezer,\u201d she replied. \u201cWhat will you have?\u201d<\/p>\n

I ordered a beer.\u00a0 I needed something familiar to extinguish the fire from the half a dozen Ryes that I had consumed, since the back of my throat felt like I\u2019d been chewing on sandpaper.<\/p>\n

As she pulled a draft beer, I surveyed my surroundings.\u00a0 The bar was your typical casino variant, with a few video poker machines adjacent, a barmaid and bar-boy working in leafed blouse and vests, and a thousand ashtrays everywhere.<\/p>\n

The barmaid returned with my beer.\u00a0 She wasn\u2019t hard on the eyes. She was pretty young, or seemed like she was younger than me. She reminded me a bit of Donna Reed from \u201cIt\u2019s A Wonderful Life,\u201d although that may have been the whiskey my eyes were swimming in.\u00a0 I took a glimpse at her nametag. Her name was \u201cMary,\u201d and it said her hometown was in the San Francisco bay area.<\/p>\n

We bantered back and forth a bit.\u00a0 My mood was still pretty bitter, and I wasn\u2019t looking for much company.\u00a0 I just wanted to drink, to numb myself like my hands in winter.\u00a0 There was no warmth from me, and even the drink inside of me had turn gray and cold.<\/p>\n

I kept ordering beers, and she kept bringing them to me.\u00a0 I wasn\u2019t downing them rapidly, but I wanted to develop a very slow buzz that wouldn\u2019t fade quickly, and especially wouldn\u2019t hurt hard the next day, whenever that was.\u00a0 So the beer suited me.\u00a0 It was nothing special, the usual watered down pilsner that is passed off as America\u2019s best from Milwaukee or St. Louis.\u00a0 But it didn\u2019t have to be good.\u00a0 I wasn\u2019t there for the taste.<\/p>\n

After a few hours, I was suddenly aware that I had company around me.\u00a0 Three women had taken the stools right next to mine- a brunette, a redhead, and a stunning blonde.\u00a0 The blonde sat closest to me, and I could smell her perfume, despite her cigarette, and I could see the small curled hairs at the nape of her neck, and I could admire the drape of her dress as it fell over geography heading south.\u00a0 She was good looking.\u00a0 Hell, she was gorgeous.\u00a0 And it didn\u2019t matter. As I studied her in clinical detachment, she did nothing to lift my mood.<\/p>\n

The three of them, whom I had nicknamed Faith, Hope, and Chastity, were chatting away, and Chastity, the blonde, was paying more attention to me than a guy in a rumpled trench coat on Christmas Eve deserved.\u00a0\u00a0 I bought them a few drinks, just to be social, and expecting nor wanting anything in return.\u00a0 They had pretty good taste, and soon they were eying up a bottle perched high on a shelf behind the bar, a bottle bathed in an eerie blue light, a bottle of VSOP Cognac.\u00a0 They said it was $150 a shot, and while they had never seen a bottle of it before, nor tasted it, they had heard it was available in this bar.\u00a0 They weren\u2019t getting it from me, not at that price.\u00a0 So we stared at the bottle bathed in the blue glow, braying at it like sheep seeing angels in the night.<\/p>\n

In another hour, Chastity put her hand on my back, and her head on my shoulder, and asked that I should buy her another drink, a good drink, and maybe, a little more.<\/p>\n

I missed the inference, as if I had brought the fog around me from the valley floor below.\u00a0 I started chatting harmlessly to Chastity and the gals about how Mary the Barmaid was looking pretty cute, which brought a laugh from Faith, who said that I might as well romance a virgin as to hit on that barmaid, the \u201cVirgin Mary\u201d she said, crossing herself, and rolling her eyes.<\/p>\n

Chastity leaned over and pressed her lips against my ear, and asked if she might tuck me in? And all for the price of a drop of cognac?\u00a0 And did I have a room?<\/p>\n

The fog around me started to clear, and I hastily went over to the bartender, at the other side of the bar, the virgin Mary having apparently been summoned elsewhere.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph! My good man!\u201d I hollered.<\/p>\n

The bartender looked at me like I was an idiot.\u00a0 The badge on his vest said \u201cAlex from Santa Fe.\u201d\u00a0 But tonight, I thought, it had to be Joseph.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoseph!\u00a0 I\u2019d like a glass of your finest cognac- the VSOP- to be poured for the wee lassie at the end of the bar\u201d \u2013 and I gestured at Chastity with the jerk of my thumb, and looked over my shoulder at the Christmas present I suddenly wanted to unwrap.<\/p>\n

And there was the Virgin Mary, saying something strident to the three women, and with a whish they were gone into the smoke-filled casino.\u00a0 I looked back at Joseph and shook my head.<\/p>\n

I walked back to my barstool, and Mary came back my way.\u00a0 I had thought perhaps her intent was to rescue me, to save me for herself, a holiday treat of her own.\u00a0 The look on her face said nothing, but her mouth said it all.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, Scrooge. Those were working girls, as if you didn\u2019t know- and they can\u2019t do that work here- at least not in this lounge.\u201d\u00a0 And she picked up a glass, and began to polish it with a cloth.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo big deal.\u201d I said.\u00a0 \u201cThis was my worse Christmas ever. I\u2019m alone, I\u2019ve got no family nearby. I live in a strange and unfamiliar town. My Christmas tree is decorated with aluminum foil\u2014and it\u2019s practically dead\u2014and there\u2019s no dose of Christmas cheer that I can find anywhere.\u00a0 All I was hoping for from Chastity-\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not her name,\u201d said Mary.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was trying to change it,\u201d I said. \u201cAll I wanted was a little holiday warmth, and somebody to care about me, if only for a few minutes.\u00a0 But that\u2019s ok.\u00a0 My life is pathetic enough, and I don\u2019t need your help to make this day any worse.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mary rolled her eyes, and stopped polishing the glass, and with a sigh, she looked straight at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen, pal.\u00a0 Christmas doesn\u2019t come from decorations, or from carols, or from cognac, or from cheap whores.\u00a0 Christmas comes from within, from somewhere inside of each of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

She grabbed my shoulder, and twisted me on the stool so that I was looking at the bottle of cognac.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at that, buddy, not the bottle, look at the mirror behind it.\u00a0 Do you see yourself? Do you see your reflection?\u00a0 Well, do you know how that reflection is created?\u00a0 It comes from light.\u00a0 Not the cheap lights that we have in the bar, not from the searchlights from outside- it comes from the light from within.\u00a0 That light is inside of you. It\u2019s a small flame burning now, and all of the drink in this bar isn\u2019t enough to put it out.\u00a0 You can try to freeze it, you can hide it, and you can try to stamp it out, but the embers of the Christmas spirit stay glowing inside of you. It\u2019s a gift passed on to every child, and it\u2019s a gift that started with one child, a long time ago.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a nice kid. You\u2019re not nearly old enough to be hanging around in a trench coat and hat, and roaring about how you feel sorry for yourself.\u00a0 You\u2019ve still got some holiday spirit in you. I know you do. I can see your reflection.\u00a0 Now get out of here, and go home and enjoy your holiday.\u00a0 And Merry Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n

And she leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek.<\/p>\n

Stunned, I left the lounge, and wandered out of the casino.\u00a0 I waited for the bus in the morning air. It was daylight, and still snowing outside.\u00a0 The surrounding mountains would soon be full of skiers on holidays, and kids with new skis and skates.\u00a0 As the bus pulled up, a gaggle of older women got off the bus.\u00a0 They were all singing Christmas carols, and laughing and passing around tins of Christmas cookies.\u00a0 I tried to pass by, and they reached out and pressed a few cookies into my hand.\u00a0 I jammed them into my pockets, and tipped my cap and mumbled a \u201cMerry Christmas\u201d and clambered onto the bus, not daring to look to see if my reflection was in the mirror.<\/p>\n

I made the transfer at Truckee, and rode the bus home quietly.\u00a0 While the fog thickened as we banked back into the valley, the gloom that had pervaded my soul was quietly burning off.\u00a0 I couldn\u2019t even feel the buzz of the alcohol anymore, and the numbness in my hands was gone, and with it, the numbness in my heart.<\/p>\n

I got home that afternoon, and put the ham in the oven, and warmed up the leftover mac \u2018n cheese.\u00a0 I fired up the gas log fireplace, and found a radio station playing Bing Crosby.\u00a0 I brewed a pot of coffee, and sat out on the porch, thinking about the day. I reached into the pocket of my coat, and found a cookie from the bus ride that morning.\u00a0 It was made of shortbread, star-shaped, with red and green sprinkles of sugar. It was light, and sweet, and brought back memories of other sweet things from another time, in another place.\u00a0 And I shivered in the remembrance of that warmth, rekindled anew.<\/p>\n

I slowly sipped my coffee, and watched the short evening sun slowly dim across the courtyard below.\u00a0 As I looked about, I saw one last reflection from a plastic eye, in the owl.<\/p>\n

\u201cMerry Christmas, you owl.\u201d<\/p>\n

And to all, a good night. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Christmas Eve, 1985. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-622","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-memoirs"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/622","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=622"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/622\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":688,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/622\/revisions\/688"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=622"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=622"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=622"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}