Dec. 21: It ain't over til it's over
She thought that poverty is always more evident in the wintertime.
She had the trailer park to thank for that. All these trailers, their lawns buried beneath mounds of snow. Broken garbage bags bleeding rotting meat poked from the piles like hungry rodents. Porches with soaked cardboard boxes filled with empty beer bottles; empty coffee cans overflowing with cigarette butts. Broken down cars in driveways had been transformed into nondescript hulks beneath that snow. No one could afford snowblowers here. Forget about suburbia where getting rid of the snow is not a chore. All you have to do is pull a chain and push your little contraption up and down. Whee!!! There's a winter wonderland on your front lawn and five minutes later you can go back inside and sit in front of the fire and watch the game on your big screen TV.
She sighed, dropped the half smoked cigarette into her own empty coffee can. From inside the trailer came the sounds of Barney singing to children about how much he loved them. Thank God the DVD player still worked, she thought.
-
Two days until Christmas. Count 'em. Two days. Outside the night was pitiful darkness, a mangy old dog pretending to be a peacock. The cheap shoddy Christmas lights on some of the trailers were pathetic twinkling masquerades. Not at all like the Broadway shows she saw on some of the lawns when she drove home from work at night. Not at all like what you saw in the malls or the downtown strip, the places where happy and gainfully employed families could afford to shop.
She sighed, shivered in the cold, and looked down at her cigarette pack. There were three left. She had to quit. She knew it. Made no sense to keep it up. Bit it calmed her.
-
Her ex had left in the spring. "I can't do this life anymore," he told her in the casino parking lot where he'd emptied their savings account on the blackjack table. "I'm moving to California."
He said he'd send money when he got a job down there but he never did. Their oldest, Bobby, was 14, had gone into a sullen depression and was just now showing signs of coming out of it. The girls, six-year-old twins, had cried brutally for a week before morphing to total acceptance. When she told them that they couldn't pay soccer or take swimming lessons this year because money was tight, they said "okay mommy." And hugged her.
Yes. Money was tight. And now it was tighter. She looked at her own empty driveway where her aging station wagon should have been and wondered how much the repair bill would be.
-
She worked in the barbershop at the Southside truckstop. On December first, the truckstop's owner - a Mr. Morton - had dropped by to share some devastating news with all the tenants. "Economy's gone to the toilet," he said. "Sorry to have to do this but everyone's going to have to start paying more rent."
She plied her trade in the the one-chair shop located between the men's room and the laundromat. Fifteen dollars a haircut, she charged, and how many truckers had bitched about that over the years? I can get a haircut in town for ten bucks, they'd say. Only reason you can get away with this is you're the only one out here.
After sharing the bad news, Mr. Morton wished everyone a Merry Christmas and told them he would see them in the New Year. He and his family were flying out next week to spend the holidays in Acapulco. She wondered if he'd have a Christmas tree down there. A nice big tall tree with brand new red and gold ornaments and professionally wrapped presents for all the kiddies under the tree.
There was no tree in her trailer. Just a shoddy plug-in job she'd rescued from a rummage sale somewhere. It was maybe 10 inches tall. Turn it on and a few lights flicker like dying fireflies.
-
The garage called while she was working the next day.
"It's your carburator," the mechanic said. "Had to replace it."
The bill came to $500. She wept. That was more than what she had in the bank.
How much do you have?
About half that.
A pause.
Well, we know you here. Give us what you have and pay us the rest in the New Year.
-
Christmas Eve and the garage closed at six. The bus wouldn't get her there in time. She had to beg Lois, who worked in the coffee shop to give her a ride.
"This is bullshit!" Lois spat at her while she pulled out of the parking lot. "Bullshit to do this to me on Christmas Eve! I have kids waiting at home and now I have to drive you to the garage because you were too stupid and too selfish to figure this out yesterday."
There was a red light. Lois slammed on the brakes and flew into a fresh rage at this transgression.
"I want free haircuts for all my kids until the summer!" Lois demanded. "DO YOU HEAR ME?!"
She nodded. She couldn't believe that the woman in the driver's seat was the same woman who, one year ago, had confided to her that her husband was having an affair. She'd invited Lois over and they got drunk on cheap wine and when she left the next morning, she was still crying but she said things were going to be okay.
-
There was exactly $317.43 in her chequing account. The mechanic keyed $317.43 onto the Interact machine. There was a beep. There was now exactly nothing in her chequing account.
Out in the car, in the screaming bitter cold, she gunned the engine and turned on the heat. She fumbled through her purse, found twenty eight dollars and 56 cents. She looked at the gas gauge. It was close to E. That figured. At least there was baloney and bread in the fridge and some instant mashed potatoes and canned peas in the pantry. At least they could have some semblance of a Christmas dinner.
Even if there was nothing under the tree. They could still be a family.
-
She turned on the radio, expecting to get Christmas music. Instead, she got a song that she remembered from when she was growing up in the 90s
So much pain inside
But baby, it ain't over till it's over
So many years we've tried
And kept our love alive
'Cause baby, it ain't over till it's over
For Bobby, a bottle of Dr. Pepper (his favourite), a magic set, some new socks, and - here's a surprise - a computer adventure game on CD Rom. "Solve a murder and save your village," said the advertising copy on the box and she thought that might just be a real treat for Bobby. He had an ancient computer in his bedroom and she prayed that the game would work on it.
"Thirty-four dollars," said the old man at the till.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't have that much. I'll have to put some things back."
"Don't worry about it, Ma'am."
"Oh please, I can't..."
"Don't worry about it, Ma'am. Please."
She held out a twenty dollar bill. "Thank you," she said.
But the old man wouldn't even take that.
"Don't worry about it, Ma'am. Merry Christmas."
She looked at him and thought she might burst into tears.
"Rough Christmas?" he asked.
"The roughest."
He took some time bagging her items. She was halfway to her car when the lights of the Dollar Store flicked off behind her.
She put the bag on the seat beside her, saw a Christmas card poking out. On it: "Merry Christmas, Ma'am. I've had a few rough Christmases myself. You and your family are welcome at our house tomorrow for Christmas Dinner. Here's my number."
She drove home. This time, there was Christmas music playing on the radio.
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