FLASH NONFICTION
Christmas Crazy: Amazing Grace at the Dollar General StoreTHE DEEP SOUTH 06 January 2010 |
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CHRISTMAS EVE
The congregation swoons as a father/daughter duo over-emote their way through the awkward carol "Sometimes Christmas Makes Me Cry."
Maybe it's that I live in Nashville, a town where just about any random server at Chili's can sing a verse and chorus of "Jesus Paid it All" that would make Chris Hitchens weep, but I'm not impressed. Eyes crossed, I chime in on the bass part, a little flat. "Sometimes Christmas makes me cra-zeeee..."
Parents, in-laws, we're all in church together. They regard my sarcasm with sad glances. My wife laughs a little but still elbows my ribs and tells me to shush it. Maybe I'm just a horse's ass.
The pastor begins. "Some two thousand years ago, a child was born..."
I cut out early because -- well, quite honestly Christmas is making me a little crazy with all the friends and family and not sleeping in my own bed. I snapped at my nephews for roughhousing even though I started it. My slow sister held up my plans so I froze her out with silence. It's the Season of Epiphany and mine is this: Outside of my comfort zone I am a rotten human being.
Everything is closed but Dollar General so I pull into the lot for some rations. There's a trailer park not ten yards away and the door opens to a ramshackle single-wide as I step out of the car.
A teenage couple argues on the porch. Just inside I can see a younger girl, 15 maybe, bouncing a baby on her hip in the TV light.
The couple slam the door and ramble through the gravel towards the store. I walk in behind them and gather my things. Grape G2, carton of eggs.
Tending the register is an effeminate teen with a receding hairline and an emerald stud in his right earlobe. I pay. He grunts and moves my items to the end of the counter.
The young couple steps up, loading their items down the belt. Dollar store diapers. Ramen noodles. Few packs of tuna. She's a squat dishwater-blond with acne scattered across her cheeks. Skinny and pale with a shock of black hair, the boy slumps just behind her. Both wear K-Mart versions of Hot Topic fashion five years removed.
I watch them as I bag. His face strains with the math as their goods are scanned. He pulls out four ones and a handful of change. When the total flashes he gives the girl a panicked look and counts his change again.
I slide a ten to the cashier. "Here ya go. I got some left over." I say this quietly, like it's no big deal.
The boy stares at the bill awhile before speaking. "We don't need your fukin' money."
His girl turns, her face sour. "What you think, we're trash or somethin' just cause you saw us come out a trailer? Go put them diapers back," she tells the boy. "I can get some from mama in the mornin'."
The cashier glares at me as if I've offered children cocaine.
"Ok then," I say. I sweep up the ten, grab my things and head out to the car.
The younger girl waits in the open trailer door, crying baby in her arms, watching for the couple's return.
"Hey," I shout to her. "The cashier gave me too much change. You want it?"
Cautiously, she looks me over and angles the baby inside. It dawns on me that my proposition could be construed as sexual so I stand with hands down and the most harmless look I can muster. "It's Christmas," I shrug.
She steps out and smiles. In the porch light she is beautiful. Her blue eyes match the child's. "Shit yeah I want it," she says.
I walk over and give her a twenty through the porch rail. She turns it twice in her hand. "Wow," she says, pulling a strand of auburn hair from the corner of her lips. "What are you an angel or somethin'?"
"Or somethin'," I reply.
We share a quick laugh before I leave. As I'm pulling away she takes the baby's arm and waves goodbye.
In the rearview mirror I see her do a bouncy little jig and hold out the bill to the couple as they come up the steps. With a short bleat of the horn, I return the wave.
Some 2000 years ago a child was born
to a teenage girl on the poor side of town.
Dubious men arrived bearing gifts.
This is Christmas, the season of redemption and hope.
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Many thanks to
comma checkers
& ghost editors ~
If you edit your permalink
does it neuter your tiny url?
These late nite posts
& last minute edits…
See ya’ll in the (late) morning.
Brilliant sir, just brilliant.
You live in Nashville? Do you know a Riley Fox? It’s a long shot, but he’s a stand up comedian I know there.
Never heard of Riley Fox
but I’ll be on the lookout for him.
Thanks for the kind words Ir
He’s about my age. I know him from an old MySpace group I was in when I was trying to do stand up. The guy is pretty good, on stage most nights of the year. He’s like the Ramones of comedy.
The Ramones of comedy has to be a good thing.
Does that mean he does a thirty minute set
of 25 bits?
haha… he tells his jokes so fast no one is sure where one ends and the next one starts… seriously though, he’s got some good material.
listening to the Ramones for the first time in ages. It’s a CCB-completion beer and Ramones party.
My favorite Ramones song is
“Somebody Put Something in my Drink”
I have too many… 53rd and 3rd is my favourite on the first album though.
What a beautifully told story. One of these days I’d love to take a drive out to Nashville; all in the hopes of winding up as a character in one of your stories. Happy New Year, Bro.
I love the sound of that.
I’d love to ramble through your neighborhood
and bump into you someday as well.
Characters. Life is full of them.
So beautifully done.. in your words you remind us that sometimes it is as awkward to give as it is to receive and that a simple act is never, ever that simple.
Boy
you said it.
That nails it so perfectly.
Nicely done.
It’s a sad, sad thing when a person’s life hits such a low point they’re wary even of generosity on Christmas Day.
Thanks Matt,
Man I don’t think it’s Christmas.
I came up hearing lots of sermons about giving
and going and doing something else for those in need.
Never seems that easy in real life.
I remember once I went to the soup kitchen
to help on Thanksgiving and there were like
three of us awkwardly taking turns with one spoon serving the Yams
because we had too many helpers.
I asked one old fellow “How’s the food?”
“Last year was better,” he replied.
What can you do?
Do it anyway.
JMB, I’m one of those people who read often and comment almost never here at TNB.
I live in Nashville, also, so I always look forward to reading your posts b/c of that same city kinship that I feel when reading them.
This one almost made me cry. So I just wanted to step out from the shadows and let you know.
Cindy -
You made my day.
This one didn’t happen in Music City
but there’s plenty to come that do.
a beautiful story. it brought a tear to my eye.
There’s no finer compliment than that.
Someone asked me what I like, artwise, the other day.
“Anything that moves me.” was my reply.
You are most definitely not a horse’s arse or a rotten human being. You are so full of grace and gentle love that it breaks my heart.
Such a kind story, perfectly rendered.
You, my friend, are a wonderful writer and human being.
No really!
I’m a fully capable horse’s ass.
Maybe I need a rotten series
where I tell the stories that dont resolve so well.
Wouldn’t matter. You’d still good-hearted, graceful you.
Oh, James. This was lovely. I’ve said it before: you are a good man.
Aren’t you people listening?
I’m the ass end of a mule, I swear.
only you
would see your story
covered
by the gossamer template
of the manger
grace
fully
told
Judas come home
all is forgiven
Well, I got my JMB fix.
This is one of of my favorite pieces by you. It’s very vivid, with so many details, like the girl waving the baby’s arm at you and the quick, but very effective, descriptions of the kids in the store.
But were the magi really “dubious”? I mean, were they perceived that way?
Indeed they were sir.
Wise men is not a valid translation.
they were more like Astrologers.
Like Uri Geller, Yanni and Siegfried
coming to greet you.
Of course. “Magi” would imply magicians, yes?
Also, regarding your exchange with Kip, this piece was very concise. It works beautifully, as I used before.
That’s *said* before.
I should mention
or should have mentioned
that my mother
was a teenage mother.
But she was married….
I’m imaging Siegfried & Roy and Doug Henning
bringing gifts to me in the hospital.
I think I see them walking into the room with the white tigers.
You and your mother are not surprised.
(Certainly not you. You are new and everything is normal.)
What kind of gift would Siegfried and Roy bring, I wonder?
It made my day just seeing you had a new post.
And now that I’ve read it…such a perfect little story.
What’s that saying about looking a gift-horse in the ass?
Or an ass-horse in the gift.
That’s me.
Just trying to help and nearly get in a cuss fight.
They probably took my money and bought
Boones Farm
Tickle Pink.
Great stuff, Blaine, probably one of the most concise and precise pieces you’ve written that I’ve read. Not that your surreal prose poetry doesn’t have precision nor at times concision, this one was just very focused and vibrant. You had me with you all the way. And it was hopeful without being self-congratulatory or overly dramatic.
Good words for the new year.
Life man.
It’s a crazy ride.
I wont lie, gotta work on that concise part.
What to leave, what to cut?
that’s the trick.
I love these dispatches from the south. I love Tennessee. Definitely God’s country. I was there in 2007 last and struck up a conversation with a 16 year old kid in line at the white castle. He was asking me about the Lebowski Fest, cuz I was wearing the T Shirt. I told him it was a great time and he should go on account of the fact that it was in Louisville, right down the road. He got kinda shy and said “I can’t go till I’m 18 or else my parents would know I’ve seen a Rated R movie.” I couldn’t believe it. He could have told his parents any number of lies, but I could tell it hadn’t even crossed his mind. The kid working the register at the Wal-Mart couldn’t tell me where the nearest liquor store was, and there were 2 across the street. It’s got a strange sort of innocence. Probably because there are so many “Or somethin’s” hanging around.
TNBoree at Bonnaroo in June!
See? See?
I love that. I love that South
cause I woulda said the same thing when I was that age.
That innocence.
Good Lord I hope we never lose it.
I love your comment.
Wow. Even the bio? This shoulda been titled “JMB does a literary striptease” with half a dozen exclamation marks, plus one, cuz I like the odd numbers. And you are indeed an odd number Mr. Blaine. What were you thinking giving random strangers money? Only crazy people give money away. Like those dubious wisemen. They followed a star for cryin’ out loud. That’s near heresy. You can’t go throwing good perfume and gold at folks in this day and age. You’re just lucky you didn’t end up in jail on Christmas night, or worse … the nut house.
You’re a good man James Blaine.
And I’ll tell the judge that very thing.
Merry Christmas.
You got that right.
I bet they smoked a twenty dollar rock
and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Who does I think I am?
So the cashier had you pegged. You were giving children drugs?! I hope he reads this and gets his validation.
*gasp*
I never thought of that!
They lived next door and I bet he knew them!
He was glaring at me because he was like
- are you crazy giving these kids drug money?
The cashier was right!
Silly me.
You know - something no one has asked
- and I don’t know - is who the baby belonged to.
I couldnt tell if the baby was the girl in the store
or the younger girl’s.
Don’t be ridiculous, Donkey. You know they gave 2 bucks to the church and spent the rest of that money on okra and hushpuppies like good southern folk.
Besides, trailer folk don’t do drugs. They prefer booze. My people come from the parks. That baby was probably those other kid’s sister. Dad was at the plant and mama was probably at the church praying for Saturday’s winning numbers.
Don’t regret you gift. I’m sure it was used in as wonderful a way as it was received, simple and clean.
OK,
So they bought Boone’s Farm.
Probably put some in the baby’s bottle
since it was Christmas.
I’m calling DCS.
God bless your stubbornness, JMB. I would have been totally cowed by the reaction in the store. Strange that giving can be such a humbling act for the giver. And yet, I’ve felt the sting on my cheeks myself. Almost like shame.
This was beautifully written. Down to the emerald stud.
What looks like tenacity
is often naivety.
Probably.
The Bumbler.
Thank you Ms. Rae.
I think you’re all that
by the way.
Ah, 11. I think
You are entirely
Too hard on yourself
Rich Ferguson
Said it right
(as always)
What greater ambition
Could there be
Than to be
(rather than not to be)
a character
In a JMB narrative?
Too hard on yourself — yes.
To be a character in a Zara and Simon story!
You already have a main part, 11.
Fukin’ good writin’! Specificity and almost no narrative filter. “Scattered” acne. Dollar store diapers.
All of us are gentle, violent, logical, schmaltzy and nowhere do all Aristotle’s “consistent inconsistencies” glare more than your South. Oh to be gazed upon by your knowing sympathetic eye.
Aristotle said that?
When I did Twitter for like, a week, my bio
said “consistently inconsistent”.
One things for sure
its all been said before
This was brilliant.
Painful, sad, and brilliant.
Oh,
just like life.
?
*sigh*
so existential.
Like Onions.
I had to stop a bit on that Yiddish proverb.
It stunned me.
Rich Mullins once said
“The LORD spoke to Balaam through an ass
and he’s been speaking through asses ever since.”
You have a magical gift for making tears spring forth from my eyes every dang time you write.
Angel or ass? There’s an old Yiddish proverb that goes: ‘Honor is measured by he who gives it, not by he who receives it.’ Time and time again, you give honor to those who most others would not even see.
I vote angel.
I’m late to the (Christmas) party, JMB, but I echo what everyone else said: well done. I like how you ended it with the Jesus lines.
Dubious? Hedging their bets, as wise men will…
Thank you sir.
This part was edited out of the Bible
but I came with a later group,
the ramblers,rakes and rank strangers.
By the time we got there he was 14
and playing ColecoVision
but he’s been a good friend
ever since.
Speaking of somewhat awkward Christmas carols…
Sting put out a “Christmas” album this winter.
(I read somewhere that he insisted it is a “winter” album and not a “Christmas” album.)
It’s got some Christmas carols on it.
One song is called “Lullaby for an Anxious Child.”
There’s a good one to sing around the homefire, eh?
Sting the wrestler?
Loved it. I can hear that baby crying.
So glad you’re back so I can get my fix.
I tried to give a blanket to a homeless person once and I get yelled at because it was synthetic.
Exactly.
I need to tell more of those sorts of stories.
I’m still trying to find a way to end stories that don’t resolve
because that’s really how life is.
but this didn’t resolve
it goes around
and around
giving
and receiving
looking
and seeing
hearing
and listening
touching
and feeling
Ah you are correct.
“Listen to your elders”
Where wisdom begins.