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A Merry Little Christmas
From ten stories up, Jeff peers down at the residents of Findlay as they merrily stroll in and out the countless boutiques, restaurants and coffee shops that line South Main Street. To him, they seem oblivious to the ugly and painful world that exists beyond their modern-day Mayberry.
A light snow starts to dust their minks and pea coats as they begin to migrate towards the courthouse. It’s time for the annual lighting of the tree and the usual caroling and hay rides that will follow.
Jeff momentarily forgets everything he is doing when he spots Abby Davis and Shawn Norris leaving her father’s jewelry store. She is beaming – grinning from ear to ear as they hold hands and run to the courthouse. Jeff’s eyes glaze over as he thinks about her sitting beside him in their twelfth grade chemistry class—how she would twirl her finger around her silky blond hair while letting her sandal dangle from the tips of her perfectly painted toes. He was so intently focused on her that he absorbed almost nothing that would have helped him pass the class.
Suddenly, as if in slow motion, he thinks he sees her look directly at him and blow him a kiss. Everything but Abby stops moving. He can see her kiss traveling towards him as if it’s the last flight out of this miserable realm, if he can grab it. But her kiss travels too high as Jeff jumps for it and falls back to the pavement empty-handed. He then remembers all the awkward attempts at striking up a conversation with her and how she never responded to him with more than a word or two. He was't worth her time—an inferior nobody in her eyes. “You’re just like everyone else—never even gave me a chance to show you who I really am,” Jeff says out loud as his growing angst now consumes every fiber of his being. “You’ll all notice me now.”
“Ten!” the mayor loudly bellows. “Nine, eight, seven,” everyone shouts as they crowd the roped perimeter of the seventy foot Norway Spruce.
Jeff gets only sparks as he repeatedly flicks his lighter.
“Six, five, four,” His BIC finally does its job as he lights the rag and tosses the bottle high into the air. “Three, two, one”—the bottle shatters at the base of their beloved tree, sending it into flames. The countdown turns to screams as two unmanned Clydesdales stampede through the crowd, pulling an empty haywagon behind them.
Jeff grabs his mic from the stand and walks to the corner of the rooftop. The bewildered crowd looks to the sky as the loud squeal of feedback fills the air when he walks too close to a speaker. He takes a deep breath and steps up on the ledge, his eyes reflecting the brilliant orange glow of the tree, which is now completely engulfed in flames.
“Oh my God, look!” One woman points and yells as she spots him. The majority of the panicked crowd is now fixated on Jeff.
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light,” Jeff confidently sings into the mic, evoking the great Sinatra as he scans the open-mouthed faces of his captive audience. “From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.”
A half-dozen policemen rush the building after breaking the glass front door. Standing beside his squad car, the chief attempts to reason with Jeff through a megaphone: “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here son? Stop and think for a second before you get yourself in any more trouble okay?”
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas; make the Yule-tide gay. From now on, our troubles will be miles away,” Jeff replies, realizing that he’s reached the point of no return.
The fire department arrives on scene just as the burning tree starts to fall. The Clydesdales, who have circled back around with uncanny timing, gallop through the path of the falling timber, which gets hung up on the wagon. People watch in horror as these spooked behemoths charge through town, setting numerous things ablaze as they drag a giant fireball behind them.
Jeff doesn’t miss a beat as the world below erupts into chaos: “Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore.”
The police are now ramming the door to the roof, which Jeff had secured with a chain and his bicycle lock.
He spots Abby standing still among the pandemonium, staring up at him in disbelief. He can read her lips as she says his name: “Jeff?” He sings even louder as a smile slowly starts to creep over his face. She remembers him.
The chain breaks as the policemen burst through the rusted metal door. Jeff spins around to face them and continues to finish the show: “Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”
“Let's just step down off the ledge before you slip and fall okay?” an officer pleads.
Jeff looks back over the crowd and yells “Thank you. Thank you, Findlay. Merry Christmas everyone!” He then kicks over his speakers, violently smashes his air guitar and tosses it to the crowd below. He imagines a frenzy breaking out among them as they try to catch it. “They all want a piece of me now,” Jeff says out loud to himself as he tears his shirt off and flings it to his eagerly awaiting fans as well.
“My name is Jeffrey Maddox, and you’re all gonna remember that name for a real long time!” He envisions them screaming for more—reaching towards him as they chant “Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!”
Throwing the symbolic horns held high in victory, he leaps to his admirers.
At this very moment, it all vanishes. No crowd, no burning christmas tree, no horses, no police or firemen, and no Abby Davis. The streets are empty and the town is dark—asleep— completely and utterly, still. No frenzied fans who love him—only the cold and unforgiving concrete eagerly awaits to meet him below…
“Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!” He awakes in a cold sweat to his wife yelling at him and shaking his arm.
“Huh, what, what?” Jeff asks as his heart pounds like a sledghammer. She turns on the light on the nightstand and gives him a nasty glare.
“You were moaning and flailing your arms and legs all over the place like a frightened little girl, you idiot. I have to be up in an hour and I’ve had the worst night of sleep ever thanks to you. Some of us have to work the Holiday; remember? Why don’t you go downstairs and lay on the couch for now on if you’re gonna throw these little sissy-fits when you sleep?”
“I’m sorry I woke you up Abby. Merry Christmas hun; I love you.”
“Yep,” she replies as she rolls over and turns off the light.
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Nice job and I look forward to more of your work!