A Special Christmas by Hanover

Billy had never known a real Christmas. He had been born without much of anything. He had only Mama and her new friend Mike, which for many might be thought of as much, but Billy had nothing beyond that. He lived just behind the tree line next to a busy street in a make-shift home of cardboard, fallen branches, blankets, and whatever else might keep the elements out.

Christmas was no different than any other day for Billy, only it was just a bit sadder because Billy could see the cheer and happiness all around him, but he would spend his day back in the woods sitting by himself, playing with whatever he could find in the dirt. He wanted this Christmas to be different though, so he approached his mother with gentle steps, whispering “Mama” quietly so as to not startle her, so he could ask her how he might be able to make this Christmas special. Despite his best efforts, Mama was startled at just her name being spoken, jumping backwards like a cat and landing on her back. Her sunken lips revealed her single tooth hanging on by a thread of sinew. She cried out “Billy! Don’t go startlin Mama like that! Now what pray tell do you want?”

Billy came right out and asked what he might do to make this Christmas better than the rest.

Mama thought deeply as she stared from her back into the clouds, remembering when she was a little girl, celebrating Christmas, her parents and family gathered around, playing with all her toys, singing and laughing. She wanted that so much for Billy, but she was far from where she grew up, now in the woods beside the road. What she remembered most though was the food. The turkey, the ham, the stuffing, the green beans, but most of all, the endless display of desserts. Every guest was asked to bring their favorite, so there were pies and cakes, cookies and puddings, and just about everything in between. She wished for that for Billy and she told him so. She told him the way to make for the most wonderful and memorable Christmas was to find the perfect dessert and to serve it for the whole family.

With that inspiration, Billy was on his way. He would find that perfect treat and bring it home and the three of them would enjoy the holiday like never before. And so he walked out of the woods onto the road with a sense of purpose, in search of that special Christmas memory.

The street was lined with stores and restaurants, but Billy had never been a paying customer. He knew if he went back to the dumpster after closing time, there would be food he could scrounge up, but he didn’t want that sort of food on this the most special day of the year. He wanted something specially made, specially for his family, for this most special day.

He wandered down the street until he came upon the bakery. He knew the owner, Esmareldo, a woman who stood no higher than five feet tall and who was equally as round. She would always be sure to give Billy the day old breakfast pastries she saved for him each day. Some days that would be all that Billy might eat. Billy thought this might be the place that would make his Christmas wish come true, but he had never asked Emareldo to make him something special and he didn’t know how she might respond.

Billy told her of his wish for a special Christmas and how his mother wanted a special dessert. Esmareldo told him she would give him anything he wanted from the bottom shelf of her display because those were breads, cakes, cookies, and pastries about to expire, but she couldn’t give him anything more than that because she too was struggling to make ends meet this time of year. His disappointment was obvious and she could see it in him. How she wanted to help him more, but she had her own ever growing family to think of. And so he left without.
He then came upon Ms. Myrtle, a lady who lived in a house just beyond the woods. He thought she must be rich from all the cats she could afford to care for, and he knew her as someone who could usually find something in her pantry for him to eat when he needed it. He told her of his tale and of his journey and quest for the perfect end for the Christmas meal. How she wanted to help. She invited him in and let him look through her shelves of food, from the cans of beans, to the half loaf of bread, to the open box of cookies. She told him to take what he needed, being sure to leave her some in case she got hungry. He thanked her, but told her no. This Christmas was to be special, and he would continue looking until he found what he sought. And again he left without.

He then came upon the finest building in town, standing proud and tall, bearing the name Firehouse #9 on the glass window. It was filled with shiny new engines and well fed men, taller and stronger than anyone else nearby. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas these big men would serve meals to all who came. They knew Billy well. They would make sure he got doubles and plenty of mashed potatoes, telling him that if he kept himself strong and out of trouble, he could one day work among them. Billy wanted that, but he knew he couldn’t. Mike told him he’d never be able to because he was just too small and not that brave.

Billy asked Captain if there were any special cakes or pies he could bring home for Mama and Mike so that this Christmas could be made special. Captain smiled at Billy and told him that everyone was always welcome at Firehouse #9 on Christmas to eat as much as they wanted, but he couldn’t give Billy any food to take home right now. It was for later. So once again Billy left without.

Billy wasn’t sure if he would ever find anything to make this Christmas special.

And so Billy began to whimper, and the whimper turned to a steady flow of tears, and the tears to sobs, and the sobs to wails, and the wails to resignation. Sadness and despair filled the air, and Billy didn’t know where to turn, and so he began to return to his home in the woods near the road.

As he walked home without, he heard the bells of Christmas ringing. Standing in front of a giant pail was none other than Santa, ringing his bell, and smiling and bellowing out a hearty “ho ho ho.” Surely, Billy thought, if anyone could grant him this wish, it would be Santa with his long beard and his bright red pants.

“Mr. Santa,” Billy cried out.
“What is it my young one?,” he answered.

“Can I sit on your lap and tell you what I want?”
“Why certainly you can,” said Santa, “Why don’t you come over here,” as he motioned to the rickety metal black fold out chair against the wall.

And so they sat in the beaten up chair, with Santa’s girth barely being contained and with Billy sitting precariously on his knee. Billy had just begun to tell his story and ask for his wish when the chair collapsed backward, Billy crashing hard into Santa and Santa almost folding in half himself. The two wrestled about on the pavement, each trying to regain composure, until something happened, but it was hard to know what was what in the fracas. Santa cried out loudly in pain as Billy clenched forward, trying to move up and away. The writhing continued for what seemed like forever until Billy was finally free. Billy stood up quickly, running down the street from the shouting St. Nick.

Billy ran as fast as he could, back into the woods, where his mother still stared up at the sky. “Mama,” he said, “I tried the best as I could, but I couldn’t get you your dessert.” His mother was used to such tidings and so she didn’t flinch, but she did say “maybe there still will be a Christmas miracle.” Billy knew the story of Christmas and how it was built upon miracles, so he thought maybe a miracle could happen again. It just didn’t seem like miracles ever happened to Billy though.

And it was the night before Christmas and Billy was without.

As he lied on his back, staring at the north star through the holes in his makeshift home, he prayed for that Christmas miracle, but the only answer to his prayers was the ache in his stomach from his hunger and from his fall from the chair with Santa. It seemed nothing could go right. And as he began to sob, his stomach pain grew, and that made his tears flow that much more. And as the night wore on, his tears began to dry, but the pain from within his belly was intense. Billy rose up. He left his shelter and looked for Mama to help with his pain.

Mama was still lying on the ground staring up at the stars, now joined by Mike, his matted head laid up against her shoulder. Mike’s eyes were closed, with a thin line of drool coming from his lips. Billy knew not to disturb Mike when he was lying with Mama, but his stomach hurt him so. He awoke Mama with his wails and his pain. Mike stayed asleep, the drool still trailing toward the dirt.

Billy told Mama the story of the chair and jolly St. Nick and how he had nothing to eat that day, but Mama realized this must be something more. Mama knew her boy.

“Take you a shit son,” Mama cried out suddenly, as if she had an epiphany.
“But how come Mama, I ain’t needa shit none,” he reasoned, also wondering why Mama needed him to drop a load.
“Just take yourself a shit, that might just be the miracle we all need us here,” she commanded.

Billy dropped his shorts, noticing a large rip in the backside that must have happened during the wrestling match on the pavement.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get anything out of his shithole. It was still in full clench from the battle with Santa.

“Mama, I’m as tight as Little Drummer Boy’s drum down there. I couldn’t get a turd out that bunghole to save my life.”

Mama, undeterred, cried out like Braveheart, “Fuck if any boy of mine is gonna have a jacked up pucker,” and with that, she found a good sized stick to try and pry open that stubborn brown eye.

Billy wiggled and squirmed about, instinctively resisting having his mother root around the southern part of his pleasure center, but also wanting that son of a bitch opened up so he could blast out his guts and relieve his bloated belly.

And when that trap door finally broke free it was like the deluge upon Noah, with fiery dirt water and gale force winds smelling of skunk and lilac. And at the tail end of this relief came that Christmas miracle. Glory fucking hallelujah, His truth is marching on!

And when it emerged, it was as beautiful as Baby Jesus must have been upon exiting the love tunnel of Mary. It was the most classic of Christmas desserts - plumb pudding. The testicle of Santa Claus must have been ripped off by the clinch of Billy’s angry asshole during the struggle, and now that it was perfectly fermented by his colon flora, it could be served on this fine Christmas morning to this well deserved family who would otherwise have gone without.

Joy to the world. The Lord is come.