By Jeff Hampton
Billy Briar looked around the near-empty newsroom and sighed. As a rookie reporter at the paper, he had drawn the short straw to write some Christmas Eve features for the online edition on Christmas afternoon. His sigh turned to a gasp when he stepped out into the parking lot, where the chill wind of a fresh cold front hit him square in the face. He wished he had paid attention to the weather forecast earlier in the day when it was thirty degrees warmer.
First on his list of assignments was Christmas Eve dinner at the downtown soup kitchen. In Billy’s mind it was a cliché story, and it didn’t disappoint with a room full of new homeless and perennial hobos sitting at long tables eating turkey and dressing from divided plastic plates and sipping from steaming cups of bitter black coffee. Billy talked to a few of the patrons, took pictures, and went out to his car. He was followed by a man who looked to be in his forties and who pressed him for a ride to his hometown seventy miles away.
“I just want to get home to my family,” the man pleaded.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I have to stay and work,” Billy said. He hesitated a moment and then held out his phone. “Do you want to call and maybe someone can come get you?”
“No . . . no . . . I don’t even know the number anymore.”
Billy watched as the man turned and walked back to the banquet, shoulders slumped. Billy’s shoulders slumped too as he thought how sad it was that someone could forget the phone number of their family. His own parents’ number was not just committed to memory, it was etched on his heart.
The next stop on Billy’s list was the Amazon warehouse south of downtown where he was to interview a driver making last-minute Christmas deliveries. After approaching several drivers who brusquely shooed him away, Billy happened upon a woman who whistled through her teeth as she loaded her van from a cart stacked tall with boxes.
“You seem in a good mood for someone working all night,” Billy said. “Can I ask you why?”
“Well sure, darling,” she said with a slow drawl. “This hustlin’ I’m doin’ is gonna make sure some good little girls and boys get something to open in the morning, and the extra pay I’m gettin’ will do the same for my own.”
Billy let out a “hmm,” and she shared that her three children were at her mother’s house for the night, and with any luck she’d be there in time to see them open their gifts.
“Hope you get home in time, too,” she said, but Billy explained he was new and alone in the city so it didn’t matter when he got home. He took a picture of her, and then she spread her arms wide and drew him into a big hug with these words: “I’ll be praying that soon you’ll be settled in with a family of your own.”
Next up was midnight mass at the cathedral downtown. Billy had an hour to spare so he pulled into a Burger Barn for a quick bite. The dining room was still open so he went inside to order and was waiting for his food when his phone buzzed with a message about a house fire in the old east side of town. He grabbed the paper bag when his order was ready and was rushing for the door when he stumbled over a mop bucket and tumbled into the dusty plastic Christmas tree standing in the corner. Glass balls fell and broke on the hard tile floor as he tried to free himself, only to get more tangled in the limbs and strings of light. The young man who had just served him came out from behind the counter to help.
“I’m so sorry,” Billy said, “I can come back and help clean this up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the young man said. “The tree’s coming down at midnight anyway.”
“Really?”
“We’re closed tomorrow, and the day after that Christmas will be over.”
Billy left with that in his head: Christmas will be over. It sounded so sudden, so final, but he knew it was true. He’d be back to covering the usual police reports and community events.
Billy ate half the burger on the way to the fire and dumped it back in the bag as he rolled up on the scene of a family standing in the middle of the street, blankets over their shoulders in the late-night chill, while firefighters aimed their hoses at tongues of bright orange flames leaping out of the roof.
As he walked from his car, Billy heard children crying and learned from a fire captain that everyone made it out of the house safely, but they couldn’t find Pepper, their little fox terrier. Some of the neighbors were trying to help with that, calling Pepper’s name and whistling, when word came that the pup was under a car a few houses down but wouldn’t come out. The more he heard, Billy realized it was his car where the dog was hiding. He walked back and tried to coax Pepper out, and when the dog wouldn’t budge, Billy got an idea: He grabbed the fast-food bag, pulled the meat out of the burger and lured Pepper out and into his arms. As he walked back to the family, Pepper climbed up on his shoulder and leapt into the arms of the children when they were reunited. Billy brushed himself off and waited awhile to talk to the parents, but they were huddled with a woman from the Red Cross who was helping them arrange shelter for the night. He decided that Pepper and the children would be story enough.
Walking back to his car, Billy looked at his phone; he still had thirty minutes to get to the cathedral and get a seat. His plan was to cover the mass but also to slow down, be still, and get a small taste of Christmas for himself. But in the haste of the holidays and driving around all evening, he hadn’t noticed his gas gauge, and as he pushed off the starting line at a green light, his engine sputtered, coughed and went silent. Fortunately, he had enough momentum to coast over to the curb, but unfortunately, he was alone on the dark street. He was sitting in his car, shivering and trying to decide what to do when a police car pulled up. The officer drove him a mile to one of the few gas and convenience stores still open late on Christmas Eve, then took him back to his car with a gallon of gas in a red plastic jug.
“Thanks so much. I’m new to town and didn’t have anyone to call for help,” Billy said, fumbling with the cover to his fuel tank.
“I understand,” the officer replied as he aimed his flashlight so Billy could see. “I came here five years ago from a small town. It took a while to get adjusted, but I found people are still just people, and they’ll give you some respect and cut you some slack if you do the same for them.”
Billy emptied the jug, handed it back to the officer with another “thanks so much,” and then he drove back to the gas station and topped off his tank. By the time he got to the cathedral, it was standing room only – not like midnight worship at the little church he attended back home. Billy looked around, and following the lead of other latecomers, he found a piece of wall to lean against on a side aisle as the liturgy of scriptures, prayers, and responses got underway.
As he listened and tried hard to hold on to a sense of reverence, Billy saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to see a little girl playing with what he assumed was a new baby doll. His family had always waited until Christmas morning to open all their gifts, but he knew some opened family gifts on Christmas Eve and waited for Santa on Christmas morning. As he watched the girl playing, he recalled his first Christmases when it was all about the gifts, but over time it truly had become about the birth of the baby Jesus and the hope he brought for eternal life.
He was daydreaming about how and when that shift had occurred when he felt a touch and looked down to see the little girl pulling on his sleeve.
“Mommy says come,” she whispered, and he looked over to see the girl’s mother, an infant in her arms, motioning him to sit with the family. They had squeezed over to make room, so Billy gratefully accepted their gift and settled in for the rest of the service. After the reading of the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke and communion and the singing of more hymns including “Silent Night” with candles held high, the service was over. Billy thanked the family for their generosity, and when they asked, he shared how he was new in town and alone.
“Well, you just contact us if you ever need anything,” the woman said. They exchanged phone numbers and joined everyone else who was headed home and to bed.
Billy got back to his apartment at about two o’clock. Exhausted, he kicked off his shoes, stretched out on the sofa, and quickly fell asleep. Sometime after dawn, the buzz of his phone laying on his chest startled him awake. Recognizing the number, his sleepy “Hello” was answered by the familiar sound of his parents wishing him a Merry Christmas, just as they had done so many times at his bedside.
“We miss you, Son, and we know you miss being home. We know it’s not like it is here,” said his mother.
Billy rubbed his eyes and thought about that a moment. He looked across the room at the small nativity sitting on the bookshelf. He saw a shepherd carrying a lamb across his shoulders, a wise man holding a bright red urn, another shepherd raising a lantern, an angel with her arms spread wide, and a young couple with a newborn baby seemingly inviting strangers into their crowded shelter. He realized he was seeing everyone he had encountered on Christmas Eve.
“I don’t know . . . it’s not so different,” Billy said. “A lot bigger and busier for sure, but not so different. People are still just people.”
As they continued to talk, Billy’s phone buzzed in his hand. He looked at the unfamiliar number and let it go as he wished his parents a Merry Christmas and said goodbye. A moment later there was another short buzz and he saw he had a message.
“Really . . . spam, even today?” He almost deleted it but decided to listen, and what he heard was a small child’s voice imploring, “Billy, this is your new friend from church. Mommy and Daddy say you should come for lunch. I agree!”
Billy put his feet on the floor, stretched, and stood up. Maybe last night was not the “silent night” he had wanted, and maybe tomorrow would be just another day, but right now, it was time to celebrate Christmas.