A work of
fiction. ©Gordon Forbes, 2013
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The first time, it had felt funny being in a church. Jane and he had been occasional visitors at
best. They almost never went to church
two weeks in a row. They had tried
different churches wherever they lived, but none had felt welcoming or
comfortable. But there he was, sitting
in the back pew of a small church not far from where he lived. He hadn’t paid too much attention to the
actual service that Sunday, although the music sounded nice. He was too caught up in his own thoughts . .
. why he had come . . . when was the last time he and Jane had been in a church
. . . what did he want to get out of being here. He said a polite hello to some of the people
and to the minister as he left. Later he
couldn’t even remember what denomination the church belonged to.
The second Sunday he had gone back for some reason. Again, he didn’t pay too much attention to
the service. But this time, he did pay
attention to the people that surrounded him.
He noticed young families, older couples and a few lone souls. A mixed bag to be sure. However, the one thing they all seemed to
have in common was a look of contentment; almost universal happiness. The minister announced that next Sunday would
mark the beginning of Advent. The man
tried to remember what that meant. After
the service, he stopped and said hello to a few more people, and actually
talked to one or two of them. The
minister was very friendly and hoped the man would return. Still, he felt lost and alone in that
setting. The atmosphere was friendly and
welcoming, but the man could not get over the feeling that he was out of place
. . . that he did not belong.
‘So this is Advent’ he thought at the service the next
Sunday progressed. This time he paid
more attention to the service and really enjoyed the music and the message.
There seemed to be a lot more people at this service than previous
Sundays. When it was over, there was
coffee and treats being served. He found
himself standing next to an attractive middle aged woman who he had seen in the
distance at other services. They began
to talk . . . small talk about the weather and the church service mostly. She said her name was Karen and he gave her
his. She seemed quite nice and said that
she hoped to see him next week. Later,
he felt that he had been cheating on Jane.
He should not be getting friendly with other women. It was disloyal. But it had been nice talking to her and it
was all quite innocent.
The next week, Karen said, “You’re becoming quite a regular
here. Why did you pick this
church?” He said that it was handy and
he had just kind of stumbled into it.
Nonetheless, he was enjoying it and particularly the services leading up
to Christmas. He was finding it a bit
comfortable and intended to keep coming, at least through the holiday. She asked him if he was going to come to the pot-luck
dinner the following Saturday night. He
said he wasn’t much of a cook and hadn’t been socializing much. She persisted and said that she could bring
enough for two. After some more
cajoling, he finally agreed and they agreed to meet at the church next
Saturday.
But again, afterward he felt that he had betrayed Jane. He wanted to ask someone else for their
opinion, but didn’t know who. The
uncertainty lasted all week and made him even sadder about the upcoming
event. He was tempted to call and cancel
several times, but, of course, he didn’t know her last name or her phone
number. He supposed that he could call
the church and ask them, but that seemed like a lot of trouble, so he didn’t
try.
Instead, the following Saturday night found him at the
church, looking for Karen and feeling a great deal of trepidation. She showed up with two big pots of food and
asked which one he wanted to claim as “his”.
Since he wasn’t sure what was in either one, he told her to just pick
one for him. She laughed gently and
thrust one of the pots into his hands saying, “Now we better get these into the
kitchen before the meal starts.” They
sat next to a couple who seemed to know Karen.
He introduced himself, and they all settled into plates full of every
imaginable kind of food. It was all good
and the conversation was pleasant.
“What do you do?” he was asked and he told them that he was
a business man, without going into detail.
They asked where he lived and he pointed vaguely toward his house.
Karen asked him about his family. Suddenly, he had an overwhelming need to open
up and tell her about his late wife, his children and, as the night progressed,
about himself. They talked during and
after the dinner, through the entertainment and on the walk home. It turned out that Karen also lived within
walking distance of the church, but in a different direction. So on that chilly but clear night they walked
and talked right to her door. Then he
took the even longer walk home wondering what Jane would say about all
this.
At home, he sat with a nightcap staring out the window still
wondering. And as the cognac gently
warmed him, he felt at ease and easy with the new relationship. It was as if Jane were saying, “It’s all
right. You were always faithful to me
right up until the end. But you have to
continue to live for yourself. I won’t
mind.”
He saw Karen twice more that week. A movie one night and dinner out
another. But this wasn’t an affair in
any way. It wasn’t a romance. It was more like a bonding of
loneliness. Each needed company and each
wanted someone to talk to. So they
opened up to each other, he more than she when he looked at in hindsight.
Christmas
“What are you doing for Christmas?” asked Karen on the
Sunday before the holiday.
“I don’t know.” he said.
‘What am I going to do? All my bravado with John and Janet have left me
at a total loss.’ he thought. ‘Oh well,
I made my bed and now I get to sleep, fitfully, in it.’ “I thought I would just spend a quiet day
alone. Last Christmas wasn’t a great
experience for me so I have mixed feelings about celebrating. What about you?”
“Oh, I have my Christmas ritual.” she said, “Would you like
to join me?’
‘I don’t want to get wrapped up in any new ritual,’ he
thought, but he said, “I don’t know, maybe.” thinking ‘Why did I say that. Now I’m committed.’
She looked positively thrilled by his answer. “Good!
Can you pick me up about ten o’clock on Christmas morning.” It was a
statement, not a question. “And don’t
get all dressed up. This is a very
casual affair.”
So Christmas morning, he got up and had a cup of coffee,
assuming they would have something to eat at her house or somewhere else. He picked Karen up at the appointed
time. She jumped into the car eagerly
and they wished each other a Merry Christmas.
She then directed him to drive toward town. When they got close to downtown, she again
directed him to proceed through town to the area one would consider the other
side of the tracks. ‘Where is she taking me?
Does she have some poor relations that I’m supposed to meet and
entertain?’ These and other thoughts
raced through his mind. ‘What have I got
myself into? Is it too late to back
out?’
When they got on to a side street in the dingiest part of
the city, she directed him into a small parking lot between two plain brick
walls. They got out of the car, he with
some trepidation, and walked to an old metal door leading into the building
with the highest wall. “I hope you’re
ready to work.” Karen said as he pulled open the door for her. “W…work?” he replied in his most articulate
fashion. “We came here to work? Doing what?”
“You’ll see.” was all she said.
As they entered the door, the smell of food and the sizzle
of cooking held out some promise that maybe they would get breakfast now. Through a narrow hallway, they entered a
large room set up with rows of tables.
To the left there was a large kitchen with a long counter opening into
the room. Several people were working in
the kitchen and several greeted Karen with “Merry Christmas, Karen” and “Glad
to see you again”. A couple of people
wanted to know, “Who’s your friend?” So
he was introduced to assembled group as a new worker. He stood there dazed.
“So what would you like to do?” someone said to him, “Mash
potatoes, stir the sauce or set the tables?”
He opted to work in the kitchen where Karen was already busy. An apron was thrust his way and he went to
work thinking, ‘What is this all about?
What am I doing here?’
After an hour or so of mashing potatoes and stirring gravy,
Karen came and led him to the counter where he was placed in front of a huge
bowl of mashed potatoes and given a large spoon. “Now the fun begins” she said. Sure enough, at noon, the front doors to the
room opened and a large crowd of the most motley people he had ever seen came
filing up to the counter, picked up their plates and lined up for food. ‘My God’ he realized, ‘we’re feeding
Christmas dinner to the poor.’
And so for the next several hours, he quickly lost track of
time, he and Karen worked side by side dishing out food to hundreds of
people. And the people, who looked so
down and out, came with their thanks and big smiles to be served, sometimes
several times over. And somehow the
supply of food kept coming: turkeys and gravy; potatoes and peas; dressing and
cranberry sauce; and pies of all kinds for dessert. And what a bunch he was helping to feed. There was the dishevelled man who ceremoniously
blessed every one of the servers as he passed.
Then came the old woman who looked so defeated when she came in, and so
lively and almost attractive when she left.
Someone came in with a guitar and started a sing-along of Christmas
songs and every person joined in. There
were young men and woman and old, some couples, but mostly people came in
individually. But most left in
groups. They came in hesitantly and
looking lost, but they left looking happy and with a thank you for everyone who
helped them.
Sometime after nine
o’clock , someone came over to Karen and him, and asked if they
would like to eat up some of the left-overs.
When he looked around, he realized that the crowd had left and it was
only the workers who remained. He
realized that he was ravenously hungry.
He hadn’t eaten all day. But he
also realized that he was happy, deliriously happy. ‘I haven’t felt this happy since . . . since
. . . well since before Jane took sick.’
And here he was among a bunch of people who he hardly knew and they had
made other people happy.
Later over coffee and pie, he asked where they were and how
this came about. Karen told him that
this was an old church hall and that the people he was with were volunteers who
had come together over the years to hold this Christmas dinner for the poor and
needy. “Geoff over there runs a grocery
store and he comes up with all the food, mostly donations from different
stores. Helen, sitting next to you, used
to be one of the ones who came here for a dinner each year. When she finally got straight and got a job,
she came back every year to give thanks by helping out.” And what about you, Karen?” he asked. “After my husband left me, someone brought me
here, just like I brought you” she said.
When he got home after dropping Karen off with promises to
get together the next day (today?) to talk about the days events, he sat down
again with his nightcap looking out the window at the snow fall that had just
started. And he realized that this had
been the best Christmas that he could ever remember. Not once had he thought of himself
today. He had found himself smiling at
the foibles of the new friends that he had served. He hadn’t had time to brood about being alone
and away from his family. Tomorrow he
would call John and Janet, tell them he hoped they had had a good Christmas,
and try to explain what he had done.
Tell them about Karen, even if he did get protests of indignation over
“another woman when Mom has so recently died”.
‘Jane. I hope you
approve.’ But somehow he knew that she
would.
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