An Other Christmas
Jack O’ Ninetails slipped on a holiday paystub and tumbled underneath the Christmas lanterns lighting the callous alleyway. He sighed, slipped a tab under his tongue, and slid into the old city pub. Taking off his leather jacket, he spotted Harry Two Trades hugging their regular corner booth with his stupid Santa hat on. The acid started taking effect quicker than usual and Jack felt his insides slither towards aether. He had trouble focusing on Harry from the doorway and sauntered in with a “holly-jolly yee haw.” His entrance startled the disk jockey, who shrugged and went back to arguing with Jackie Smashing about the next song to play.
“It’s not called ‘The Other One Bites the Dust’ you floozy,” the DJ said. “It’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust’. What’s the matter with you? It’s not even a fuckin’ Christmas song.”
“It’s not my fault, I’ve got all this Freddie Mercury poisoning.” Jackie laughed into the disk jockey’s football mug. Her retort bounced through the bar and struck Jack’s ear as he walked by. He looked, she looked, and they met eyes. His were full as loons behind shades, hers were squinted and half-cut. Both were struck by something like the feeling of candy canes crushing and crumbling each other in an elevator. It wasn’t love, it was loathing.
Jack was pierced with unease as he patted his side with his fingerless gloves, also made of leather. He sat down beside Harry Two Trades, who was still twiddling his thumbs and muttering to himself, his Santa hat’s pom pom over one eye.
“I’ll buy at one, sell at ten. Buy at one, sell at ten. Buy at one, sell at ten.”
“Harry, did you see that? Harry? Haarrryyy, what the fuck’s the matter with ya? Sell at one, then sell at ten? Aren’t you off work for the holidays?” Jack said hiding behind the bar menu as his sun-glassed eyes scanned over Jackie Smashing.
“Uh, no Jack. Uh, dollars man, it’s the dollars,” murmured Harry, his thumbs twiddling so fast that they could spark a fire.
“You’ve gotta give that shit up man. Money’s the biggest crock of bull this side of the North Pole. It’s worse than this Christmas cult crap! You can love money and maybe money even loves you back. But there’s no way to take it with you when you go, you know, up the chimney.”
As Jack said this he pointed up with an easy, sardonic grin and Jackie caught his eye again. Her bone thin figure topped with some seriously Cyndi Lauper hair made her look like a fork in an outlet. She winked his way then whispered something into the disk jockey’s ear. Within a few seconds ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause’ clanged through the bar. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Jack.
“Uh…Jack and Jackie sat on a uh… wall. They fought, they fucked, they had a great uh… fall.”
“Very funny Harry. You’re the one with the Santa hat on. How do you know that song wasn’t for you?”
“She’s uh… not my type. No offense, and anyways, me and Gertrude are kind of a thing now. That’s not her real name. That’s allegedly Mrs. Clause’s moniker according to the uh… history books. We uh… get along swimmingly. She’s really good with Santa’s s-s-ack, if you know what I mean. Oh shit, don’t look now. Jackie Smashing is coming this way.”
Jackie walked over after her coquetry with the disk jockey. As she brushed her black bangs out of her eyes Jack noticed she was looking intently at Harry, but he suspected it could all be a ruse. He didn’t trust this Jackie Smashing, and the LSD was making it even harder to think straight. He was kaleidoscopeing something fierce tonight and she was approaching him out of the aether front and centre.
“Damn aether!” Jack said to her without realizing and instantly took it back in his head. He stammered briefly. “It’s Jackie right? I’ve seen you here before. Let me ask you a question. Are you and the DJ an item or something?”
“Oh, that? No, just flirting so he’ll play my songs. I took acting classes when I lived out on the coast. Fake it till you make it, that’s what they all say down there, especially in film – not porn by the way if that’s what you’re asking. It’s good to keep the world guessing.”
“So you’re single?” Harry asked.
“Maybe,” Jackie looked around, studying the room, then leaned in towards them. “Maybe I’m into you Santa boy, or him,” she nodded to Jack and electrocution swiftly followed into his groin. “Maybe I’m into girls,” she said while gliding her hand slowly down her chest. Jack and Harry’s eyes followed like dim spotlights. “And maybe, I’m into nothing at all.”
“Jesus in a manger.” said Harry, blushing. Jack held back his laughter. Was his friend going to cream his keys right then and there?
“You got any acting tips for us Miss Smashing?” Jack asked to cover up Harry’s embarrassment.
“Yeah, I guess. Want me to teach you how to cry like DiCaprio in Titanic?”
“Shit yeah!” said Jack. Harry still hadn’t come back to earth.
“Okay, so this is what you do. Think of the saddest thing you can imagine. Are you thinking about it?”
“Yeah,” Jack replied as he squinted towards her. She looked into his eyes deeper than before.
“Jesus dude, you on drugs or something? Okay tell me what you see?”
“Isn’t that kind of personal?” interjected Harry, his face finally returning to normal. Jackie snapped her head towards him.
“Can you shut the fuck up man? I’m trying to teach this emotional grinch how to cry. So, what is it Squinty McGee?”
“Well, it’s kind of silly.” Jack relaxed and let the acid take hold of his thoughts as he closed his eyes. “I’m thinking about this beautiful Christmas tree. It’s on fire. It has burning brilliance, it has sagacious wherewithal, Moses’ light. Light of the earth, the Old Testament, the way things–“
“Tangent much?” stabbed Jackie as she lit a cigarette.
“Look, you asked,” Jack opened his eyes. “You come in here, acting, flirting. Maybe this, maybe that. You’re a scale without a balance. What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
“Do you wanna get out of here?” she asked as she hurled a drag into the red, blue and green bar lamps. Jack was shook.
“What do you think I am? Some beatnik, free spirit fuck boy? Just because you seize on the first date doesn’t mean I do. This isn’t even a date. I have morals!”
“Morals? Never heard of ‘em. Okay then what about you?” Jackie looked at Harry with more disgust. “I bet you can use those twiddling thumbs for something other than sparking fires under the mistletoe Santa boy.”
“I, uh…, uh… can’t.”
Jack leaned back on his chair and lost himself to the trip in the window’s string lights. Then, with a sigh he turned and watched Harry wriggle. He looked over at Jackie, saw her drunk, razor blue eyes dance to life from under her guise, lampoon, or whatever it was.
“Okay, okay. I’ve thought about it,” Jack said. “If I have to save my friend here from cheating on his dear Gertrude Clause, I’ll take the hint. Celebratory shot before we go?”
Jackie looked down, then back up.
“Nah, it’ll kill my libido. You gotta car?”
###
Harry gave a ‘happy holidays’ kind of wave as he walked the snowy footpath to Gertrude’s place. Jackie Smashing looked over at Jack O’ Ninetails in the driver’s seat but he was coming down, sobering up and looking for a sign. He was almost thinking clearly and realized on post-acid intuition that he didn’t really want to fuck this Jackie Smashing, but he didn’t know how to communicate it to her. He kept driving down the Smirnoff iced streets of town on an aimless sleigh ride.
“It’s so quiet in here now,” said Jackie. “Who knew Harry was such a talker. You all right?”
“Yeah, for sure. It’s just, uh, holiday stuff.” Jack slowed down to let a car pass.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I just want to fuck, but if you’re having sober second thoughts or something, you can just drive me home. Actually, can you drop me off at another bar?” she sighed.
“I don’t know what I want,” said Jack.
“Yeah, me neither. Preaching to the carol choir. Why don’t you know what you want?”
No one had ever asked Jack this before. Come to think of it, he had never asked himself, but he knew the answer fast, especially in his drippy comedown.
“Let’s just say, I’ve never had a good Christmas.”
“I get it,” Jackie replied, sounding sad. “Hey, I got an idea. Take a left at the lights.”
Jack turned into a large parking lot. The box stores were closed for the night. It was the last Christmas ‘buy-it-all’ weekend before the bottom fell out and the only thing he ever got on Christmas day was depression. Jackie pointed at the tree lot and looked at her watch.
“All right dude, close your eyes and think about that thing you were talking about again. The saddest thing ever.
“No problem there.”
“I’ll be right back.” She jumped out of the car.
He felt like an idiot. This chick was obviously off her fucking roasted chestnut and they had just met. However, he decided that even if nothing good came out of this it was better than the alternative, normal Christmas with a normal family. His friends always complained about their family all triggered and dopey and annoyed. They didn’t know how lucky they were.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
He looked out at Jackie holding a small Christmas tree.
“You got matches for a little Christmas miracle?” she asked and jumped back in the car with a smile. She actually looked pretty when she smiled. Jack imagined her face in the glow of this burning Christmas tree.
They drove to the river and parked in the darkest corner of a vacant lot. It was an open spot with no trees or strung out city lights. They worked beside each other to the crackle coming from the car’s radio. Jack was vibing to the music, even pretending to be a corny radio DJ as Jackie laughed along.
“Power 94.3, alternative auto tunes for your alternator! If you think the little drummer boy was good wait till you here this next guitar solo. No Christmas songs all year around baby!”
They dug a hole in the snow and doused the tree in kerosene. They stood back and looked at each other.
“You want to do the honours?” Jack asked, a small grin waxing on his mouth.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” Jackie said as she threw the match.
The tree went up quickly. The fire pranced around like reindeer and smoke clouded the clear winter air. Jack closed his eyes and drew in Jackie standing beside him in the tree’s red and yellow drawl. Then her voice came across the embers.
“Why have you never had a good Christmas?” she asked as the flames sputtered.
“Lots of reasons.”
“Me too.”
Soon it was time to push the tree into the snow to smother the last embers. Jack heard her voice again; his eyes were still closed.
“Hey, Jack. What should we do now?”
He opened his eyes and noticed that the real image of Jackie was more refreshing to him than the crisp winter air mixed with sweet smoke.
“I don’t know. I was just going to cruise, maybe pick up some friends, drive them home. The bars are closing soon. You coming?”
Derek Loewen is a writer, musician, tree planter and vagabond. He is from the deepest, darkest, coldest center of Canada. He can usually be found dreaming in the backwoods somewhere. His writing has been featured in NuNuM and Surkeus Magazine. He self-released his first poetry book and spoken word album “Blame and Other Poems” in 2023.
