The Spirit of Christmas

December had opened its door and Christmas was peering out at me from its normally forgotten room. I sighed with despair. I wasnıt looking forward to this particular Christmas.

I had outdone myself this year. My tree had emerged from its box and stood in the highest place of honor I could bestow upon it: the table where my television had kept me company these months. No matter where in the room I sat, I had an unobstructed view of my tree. Iıd been an apartment dweller for many years, moving from one place to another, never knowing where the next Christmas would find me.

This year it found me in Memphis. I had long ago settled on a four foot plastic tree. Every year I added new ornaments my stockpile, choosing each ornament with love. I cherished that tree.

Through the years friends had weeded through their own Christmas decorations and given me those they no longer used. I had more strings of lights than my tree would hold. I had boxes of shiny red, blue and silver garlands, and multicolored balls, far too many for my little tree.

I encased doorways with garlands, ornaments hung from chandeliers, doorways and windows. Lights twinkled throughout the apartment framing every available opening. Though it was beautiful to look upon, there was no meaning to be found in all of these glittering decorations. And empty feeling crept into my heart.

Everywhere I went I wore red, green and white. Santa Claus pins, candy cane earrings and little ringing bells adorned my daily wear. Presents arrived from my family in New York, and spilled out from under my tree onto the floor.

I laughed and joked while I pretended to be excited over the upcoming holidays, yet the empty feeling grew as each day passed bringing Christmas closer to my doorstep.

My friends were scattered from California to Illinois. My family was in New York. I had hoped to spend the holidays with my boyfriend, but he was going to Alabama and the invitation did not extend to me. I had nobody to share Christmas with.

At the hotel where I bartended, we normally drew straws to see whoıd be stuck working Christmas Day. I knew that the other two bartenders, Jessie and Polly, had places to go and people to share the holidays with.

Jessie had pulled the short straw the year before, and had remained alone in Memphis while her husband and son visited family in another state. It seemed pointless to draw straws when I had no plans and would be better off out of the house on Christmas Day. Why ruin their chance for joy? I offered to work a double shift Christmas Day so that they could both be off.

On Christmas Eve I opened the presents from my family as I watched ³Miracle on 34th Street² with my cat. Theyıd sent some beautiful presents which I absolutely loved, but the spirit, the essence, the good feeling of Christmas was still somehow missing.

My boyfriend and I had planned a celebration on the 28th, and our presents to each other were under the tree. It wasnıt the same. Sharing Christmas on the wrong day just didnıt feel the same.

Christmas morning dawned and I pulled myself wearily out of bed. Depression touched every part of my body, and getting ready for work was a supreme effort of will. I dressed in green pants, a white blouse and tied a red ribbon around my neck. It felt like a noose.

I couldnıt help but imagine what the rest of the world was doing this particular morning. Visions tugged at my mind of families sitting cross-legged around the Christmas tree laughing as ribbons and paper were torn from packages, while sharing hugs and kisses and love. Tears glistened in my eyes.

I drove to work hoping that a few lonely souls would somehow find their way into my bar. I knew that my hopes were empty ones. It was going to be a long 12 hours of trying to look cheery for what I knew would be my only customers -- the waitresses getting drinks for the families in the dining room.

Jessie had previously instructed me that sheıd left a present locked in the cupboard for Pat, the waitress whoıs name sheıd drawn from the hat. Pat was also working Christmas Day.

After Iıd set up the bar I opened the cupboard to get Patıs present for her. There stood a tiny Christmas tree. Next to it was a box full of presents, all gift-wrapped with colorful paper and ribbons and bows. Jessie sure had gone all out for Pat.

I took the tree and the presents out of the cupboard and found to my greatest surprise that the tree had my name on it! The tree was a foot tall, twinkling with lights and sporting a yellow star on top.

I took a closer look at the box full of presents. The first one I picked up had Patıs name on it, but all the rest were for me! Awe and wonder danced across my face. For me? All of this was really for me?

Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I put the tree on the bar and arranged all the presents around it. Jessie had been so grateful that volunteered to work so that she could spend Christmas with her family, that sheıd engineered a surprise visit from Santa.

Pat, who had recently begun working for the hotel, had contributed to the pile of presents under my little tree even though weıd just met. That little tree became huge in my eyes. It became the symbol of the True Spirit of Christmas.

I could feel their warmth and their love embracing me as I sat spellbound watching the lights blinking on my tree. Tears of despair turned into tears of joy. I thought, ³This is what Christmas is all about: the warmth, the caring, the thoughtfulness... the sharing between people, not of presents, but of themselves.² It was a piece of Jessieıs heart, and a piece of Patıs heart warming the bar all around my tree, warming me.

This is the real Christmas; the Christmas that gets lost amid the hustle and bustle of parties, the mountains of presents, the hoards of food, and the glitter of tinsel.

It touched me so deeply that theyıd thought of me here all alone. Even Pat, who was also alone and working this day had opened her heart and thought of me.

Standing behind the bar I realized that I wasnıt really alone after all. Pat and Jessie had filled my bar with their outpouring of love. I know that for years to come, whenever I put up my little Christmas tree, I will remember Pat and Jessie, who gave me the most wonderful gift of all -- The Spirit of Christmas.

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Shari Coxford creates shareware games for Macintosh and Windows:
http://www.gypsyware.com

You may reprint this in newsletters and on Web pages as long as you use it in its entirety, including this resource box with the author's information. Author retains ALL copyrights. To reprint this article in traditional print media, please contact the author at:
shari@gypsyware.com
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