Page 3 of All the Way
“I’d really love that,” she says. “It’s nice to have you back.”
I walk her to her car and wave as she drives away. She has a newer car, and she takes off easily. I guess the bakery is plenty busy, and owning your own small business must pay pretty well.
I struggle to get the driver’s side door open on my truck, and finally get in, putting my pastries down carefully on the seat next to me. Revving up, I shift into reverse and check my surrounding to get out of my parking space. It’s a little bit hard to see, but before long I’m off and on my way.
But I really don’t want to go home just yet. I’m not ready to go home and pretend it isn’t Christmas time, to pretend that the cookies and little sweets I just got are non-denominational winter treats. I want to stop pretending this time of year isn’t special anymore.
On the side of the road, I spot a youth center parking lot with a few Christmas trees. It looks like the guys who work there are starting to pile the remaining trees up in the back of a van, and the wreaths they have on display on the metal fence are coming down as well.
Pulling over to the side of the road, I think about bringing a tree home. I know that my family doesn’t really want one, but maybe if I bring one home, they’ll see it and be happy about it. I pull into the parking lot and turn the key in the ignition. It’s Christmas, damn it, and I’m getting my tree.
Chapter Two - Chris
“Did you tell her to get on your lap?” I finish off the last beer from the 24-pack I’m sharing with the guys I work with and throw the bottle to the ground. It falls hard, but it doesn’t break. There must be three inches of snow on the ground by now, and none of us are going to shovel it. There aren’t going to be any more customers. Not this year. Anyone who wanted a tree already has one.
“Fuck yes I did,” Josh says, stumbling onto his ass on a big pile of snow behind him. “I told her to lift that little red skirt and get on Santa’s lap and tell him what a good girl she’s been this year.”
“Real nice, man,” Derek says sarcastically, picking up the bottles we’ve strewn among the trees. “Let’s pack it in. No one else is coming tonight. And I don’t think anyone’s coming tomorrow, either. Maybe one or two people, but everyone who wants a tree’s already got a tree.”
I pick up a few bottles and throw them into the empty cardboard 24-pack. It’s been a long, boring day, with nothing to do but drink. At least it’s kept us warm.
“Get off your ass Josh, and start hauling those trees over to the van. Shouldn’t take long,” Derek says, surveying the parking lot.
He owns a small farm and nursery just over the state line in Connecticut, about thirty miles east. Every year for the holidays he brings his balsams and two types of fir trees here to sell. This is the first year I’ve joined his crew, and he and Josh are both good guys.
I lift a 4-footer onto my back with ease and carry it out to the sidewalk where Derek has his van set up. The ground is coated with a few inches of fresh snow, and the asphalt beneath it is icy. It could be a dangerous combination, but we’re finished for the night.
“Want me to throw down some rock salt, or you think it’ll just get covered up?” I ask Derek, tossing the tree into the back of the van.
“Don’t bother. I’ll come out here early tomorrow and do it. Let’s leave a couple trees out in case someone wants to buy one last-minute tomorrow morning. You guys don’t have to come tomorrow.” Derek leans against his van and takes out his pack of cigarettes and a chrome lighter.
Josh and I haul the last few trees out of the parking lot and into the van. The snow is really starting to come down now, and I silently curse myself for having those last few beers. I’m going to have to walk home. No way I’ll be able to get home in one piece if I drive.
“Here, guys,” Derek says, taking out his wallet and counting out several twenty-dollar bills. “Thanks a lot for helping me out this year. I’d love to have you both on again next year.” He hands us about a hundred bucks each, which is appreciated but unnecessary.
“You sure, man?” I say. “I mean, you were doing me the favor by giving me a way to make some cash.”
“Absolutely. Consider it your Christmas bonus.” He stomps out his cigarette under his work boot and takes out his keys. “And keep in touch. Maybe if you’re available in the spring you can come work for me again when the weather gets warmer.”
“Thanks so much, man,” I say, shaking his hand. Josh shakes hands with him too and Derek gets into his van. He’s got a drive ahead of him, about a half hour on a good day, but on a night like tonight it could easily take over an hour.
He waves at us as loud music pumps out of his van. He mouths “get home safe” and inches away slowly, starting to pick up speed once he’s on the relative safety of the plowed road.
“You doing anything tonight?” Josh asks me, counting out his cash and putting it in his pocket.
“Probably just getting home,” I say, putting away my windfall and pulling my gloves and hat on. “You? You got anyone at home waiting for you?”
Josh laughs and lights up a cigarette of his own. “No, not exactly.” He blows the smoke up over his head, but the cloud he exhales is lost in the fresh bright snowflakes. “But I’m planning on bringing someone home, if you know what I mean.”
“The girl in the little red skirt?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he smirks. “Maybe not. Depends on how the mood strikes me. I’m going to a party across the river. Naughty or nice party. Let’s just say that most of these girls are pretty fucking naughty. You know the girl in the red skirt?”
“Yeah,” I say, kicking the snow in front of me. “She sounds pretty naughty.”
“I was expecting her to have on some red or black lace panties under her skirt, you know something that says she’s looking to fuck. Or maybe Santa’s face plastered right on her pussy. But you know what she had down there?”
“What, man?” It’s been a long fucking time since I've seen a pair of wet red lace panties. “What’d this girl have on under her skirt?”
