Searching for Christmas

"Once upon a time there was a mailman searching for Christmas."

Once upon a time there was a mailman searching for Christmas. His name was Tom, and he was a jolly fellow. He was slightly overweight, with crystal blue eyes and a loud laugh that could warm a room like a hearth. Tom had been working at the post office for many winters, and without fail he would always volunteer for the Christmas shift. His superiors were beyond perplexed, but dared not complain.

So every Christmas evening, equipped with a warm pair of pink woolen mittens and a small cap, Tom would grab a sack full of mail and start his search around town.

His first stop was always a tavern, full of laughter and light and warmth. Terrible singing could be heard from outside the door as coal miners made fools of themselves dancing on unstable tables. An arrogant fiddler was playing Christmas carols in the corner, adding his own twists and flairs when the moment called for it. As Tom entered, the barman would call:

“Tommy boy! You have the booze I ordered? This lot is drinking me dry.”

“Aye Jimmy,” affirmed Tom, pulling out several large wraps of brandy from his sack.

The tavern cheered and immediately orders were made and golden coins were plopped on the owner's bar.

“Thanks as always, Tommy,” said the barman, tipping Tom a gold coin. “Care to stay and have a few drinks? On the house.”

Tom pulled out an old mint condition pocket watch. After peering at the hands for a minute, Tom would say, “Why not, I’ve got time.”

So Tom would join the merry crowd in their laughter and light and warmth. His voice was added to the chorus of terrible singers, only making it worse. He got into an argument with the arrogant fiddler over the tune of his favorite carol. A table broke under his weight as the barman laughed at him. After having his fill of fun, and of good liquor, Tom slipped on his gloves and bid the tavern goodbye to its collective disappointment.

His second stop was always a church, full of singing and fealty and gratitude. The singing was much better here than the tavern, with a choir's voice carrying through large stained glass windows. Rows of odd characters with crooked noses and patched cloaks filled the benches, all reveling in the grace of each other and a higher power Tom could faintly start to feel. As Tom entered, a young priest would greet him.

“My son, I hope your trip was well?”

“Aye, it was, Father,” said Tom, brushing some snow off his beard. He pulled a large mass from his sack. “Here are the blankets you ordered. You'll see them distributed as always?”

The preacher smiled warmly. “May the Lord bless you. Will you stay and join us for a few songs and prayers?”

Tom checked his pocket watch and then smiled. “Of course, Father.”

So Tom would join the pious crowd in their singing, fealty, and gratitude. His voice reverberated off the stained glass windows. His heart and soul filled as the preacher spoke on and celebrated all that was good and glorious. As he reveled in grace with the rows and rows of odd characters with crooked noses and patched cloaks, he could almost see another odd character standing among them. After having his fill of hope and good company, Tom slipped on his gloves and bid the church goodbye to its collective disappointment.

His third stop was always the house of a forgetful rich man, full of love and food and music. Cheerful talking, laughing, and arguing serenaded the rooms of the old house. People from all different places and ages but with similar faces filled the normally vacant hallways. A large tree was set up in the dining room, where beautiful gaudy ornaments clashed with foam cutouts the kids had made many years ago. As Tom entered, the lady of the house would fuss over him.

“Tom! My God man, do you ever take a day off?” she fussed. “You shouldn’t be working on Christmas, especially in this cold!”

Tom would smile widely as he pulled out a large set of custom gingerbread cookies, cakes, and desserts. “It's no issue, Linda. Here are Omar’s desserts, right in the nick of time as always.”

“I swear that man always leaves these things to the last possible minute,” the lady would sigh. “Would you please stay for some food? I couldn’t bear it if you left without giving you anything.”

Tom would check his old pocket watch. There were no more deliveries, but there was somewhere important to be. “I’d love to stay, but only for a little bit.”

So Tom would join the chatting crowd, joining in their love and food and music. He’d strike up small conversations with every other relative, asking about houses and businesses, husbands and wives, children and pets. He’d fill the normally vacant hallways, and fill his normally unvacant stomach as he complimented the lady’s tree decorations. He’d exchange a few old jokes with forgetful Omar, as they reminisced about days when they were younger. After having his fill of joy and good food, Tom slipped on his gloves and bid the house goodbye to its collective disappointment.

His fourth stop was his favorite. It was a little brick house atop a hill. It wasn’t a merry tavern or a pious church or a chatting family home, but it was full of memories and everything Tom cared about. He always felt a little guilty for leaving to go on his yearly search. As he entered, his wife would greet him with an embrace and a kiss.

“Hello, love,” she would say with a sly smile, “You are late as usual.”

Tom would grin sheepishly as he produced a good bottle of brandy, a large warm blanket, and a small wrap of cookies. “Hopefully these will make up for it?”

His wife would kiss him again. “It's a start.”

A pair of kids, a little girl with Tom’s nose and a little boy with his wife’s eyes, would rush down the stairs and barrel into their dad. Tom would then get whipped about his house. He helped his daughter place a star atop their little tree. He presented his son with a small hand-whittled train. He bundled up with his wife on the couch as they watched snowflakes come down past the vapor of hot chocolate.

Having spent the day getting his fill of liquor, company, and food, Tom thought it was very good to relax with the main people that mattered. As he sipped his hot chocolate and watched his kids excitedly point at the flurries outside, and his wife curl up closer in their blanket, he couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was and all the amazing things he had been able to do that day.

It was tragic, really, that despite all his long day of deliveries he still didn’t find Christmas. He’d have to do it all over again next year. Another Christmas spent delivering brandy to the tavern, blankets to the church, desserts to the family, and himself to his home. He’d have to see all those people, sing all those songs, and laugh all those laughs. Tom smiled to himself.

Truly tragic indeed.