Page 81 of Christmas Chaos
He points. “East.”
I nod and he starts singing “Star of Wonder.” Fuck, I wish I had my phone.
“Poppy. Can you take a picture of us?” This guy is a little off kilter, but he won’t hurt us. And this is the kid’s first adventure. I grab the bucket and take my child’s first picture with Santa. And he didn’t even cry.
* * *
POPPY (TABI):It’s me. The car ran out of gas on the fucking 880. And my phone now lives there. It was smashed by a piece-of-shit Kia minivan.
BAX: Holy shit! Are you ok? Where have you been?
POPPY (TABI): Me? I just told you where I’ve been. What fucking city business puts you in traffic south of SF? What the hell is going on?
BAX: I love you. Is he ok?
POPPY (TABI): Stop distracting me with romance. He’s perfect. He met Santa.
BAX: I’m home. I’m home now. Get to me. Get to me fast.
POPPY (TABI): Working on it. Apparently, there’s some plan in place. And I think I know who is moving the pieces. I’m grateful for his shady resources and my excitable redhead prophet.
BAX: We’re all waiting on you.
We walk another six blocks, and the buildings and murals fascinate both of us and my worry slips a little. Until we’re standing in an industrial, but slowly gentrifying, part of the neighborhood as it starts to get dark. Yes, there are Christmas lights but I’m not so sure we should be out on the streets of an Oakland neighborhood in an unpopulated area with a five-day-old baby as our only defense. What are we going to do, yell “Look how cute he is, please don’t take our wallets?”
“Pop. What the hell are we doing?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. She’s a straight arrow that one. Give her a direction and she takes it to the letter.
“Why are we in front of a warehouse?”
“Come with me.” She moves to the doorway and pushes a black button. Then a small green light comes on and she lines up her eyes.
“What the hell?”
“Don’t ask questions I can’t answer.” She smiles as the door swings open and skips inside. “Come on.”
Inside is a large, empty warehouse with one light on. And thankfully it’s a bathroom.
I take the bucket with me and Poppy twirls around the space like we’re in some fucking fairy land.
My kid is five days old in a dusty old warehouse, never met his father and our only company is Mary Fucking Poppins.
“I swear you hear a way different drummer than the rest of us.”
She dusts off a chair and sits, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Takes one to know one.”
I nod. “I’m going to change the kid and pee.”
“Hurry. Our ride will be here in…” She looks at her phone. “Seven minutes.”
I take the changing pad out and place it on a strange metal drawer thing in the bathroom. Then pull out the kid. We stare at each other a little too long. It’s my first solo flight with his ass and I think we’re both unprepared for it.
I manage to get the diaper off and, much to my surprise, it doesn’t quite stink. But it is kind of all over his tiny butt.
I yell, “Poppy, google black, green tar coming out of a baby’s ass.”
“I’m not prepared for you to be a mother,” she yells back.
