By Patricia Crisafulli<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Some people complained the holidays gave them headaches, a throb at the temples that escalated day by day. For him, pain started in the lumbar region and traveled upward along his spine, one vertebra at a time, like a countdown to Christmas. It came with the job, the route, the season.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil drove a delivery truck for a hardware and home goods superstore. You ordered a microwave oven, he delivered it. You needed a new washer and dryer, he finagled them onto a dolly and hoisted them up your walk, your porch steps. Usually he had help, some skinny kid from the warehouse\u2014like Jimmy who was riding shotgun with him today. Jimmy was a good kid but had no idea what \u201clift with your legs, not your back\u201d meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In eighteen years of driving and delivering, Virgil knew that no one ordered a new stove hood as a Christmas present. More likely, customers had families descending on them for the holidays and the old appliances could not handle the crowd. Whatever the reason, December made his back hurt. But Virgil never turned down the hours and accepted all the overtime he could get. Let the people with families have days off up to and after Christmas. He\u2019d rather be hauling and installing, filling up a void of time and avoiding an empty apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil stabbed at his smartphone with a thick finger, and an app told him what to drop off next and how to get there. In the old days, when he was thirty-five and his muscles were ropey and strong, he had only needed a sheet on a clipboard to collect customer signatures and a wrinkled roadmap on the dashboard. In the name of progress, at the age of 53, Virgil used the app.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil swiped his sleeve across his damp forehead as he and Jimmy bumped the dolly up the stairs, one at a time. No one had told them the delivery was going to a second-floor laundry room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cCareful of the banister,\u201d he muttered with a tight jaw. Jimmy lacked both muscle and common sense but at least could steady the load.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Back in the truck cab, Virgil swallowed a couple of Tylenol with a swig of tepid coffee from his to-go cup. One water purifier, then a new stove later, they were back on schedule and headed to their 30-minute break. A bachelor, Virgil packed his own lunch, saving money and avoiding clogged arteries from too much fast food. Jimmy peeled the cellophane from a stick of jerky and polished it off in four bites. Just as Virgil picked up the second half of his sandwich, something hit the windshield\u2014a loud smack like a sloppy kiss. His eyes took in what his ears had already registered. It was snowing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil restarted the truck. \u201cWe\u2019re getting everything done before it starts sticking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cToo late,\u201d Jimmy grinned, pointing out the passenger side of the cab. \u201cGonna be a white Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGonna be hell on wheels,\u201d Virgil muttered.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The farther out they drove, the more the countryside rolled with hills that became progressively steeper. They couldn\u2019t push it on these roads, but the deliveries went smoothly, and they were done by quarter to four. Right on time, but a long way out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 An empty truck skidded easily, so Virgil cut his speed. Jimmy cranked up the carols on the radio and talked a steady stream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 These roads were familiar\u2014back to when Virgil was twenty-three or so, with a Firebird convertible he\u2019d fixed up and his girlfriend in the front seat. He\u2019d been slim and sandy-haired in those days, wearing mirrored shades and a baseball cap low on his forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A sign loomed on the right; the letters carved into the wood spelled out Happy Dale. <\/em>Virgil smiled at the memory of pulling off the road with his girlfriend and finding a secluded spot in that old campground. But a year or so later, she\u2019d wanted to get serious, make plans for the future, but something had held him back\u2014until he was left behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019er you frowning at?\u201d Jimmy asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil tapped a palm against the steering wheel. \u201cNothing.\u201d He cranked his head, swore, hit the brakes. \u201cThere\u2019s a car back there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The road was too narrow to turn around so Virgil backed up slowly. Only the front bumper and two headlights, still illuminated, protruded from the deep ditch on the opposite side of the road. Jimmy pointed to the tire tracks, marking the spin of a car losing traction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Leaving the engine running, Virgil stepped down into the cold that penetrated the layers of flannel over thermal. Jimmy shuffled behind him, stamping his sneakered feet, blowing on his hands. A head moved inside the car, and Virgil\u2019s heart stuttered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It took both men to wrench open the door and help the woman out. She was small of stature\u2014no more than five feet, Virgil guessed\u2014but gripped his hand with strength. \u201cHurrying home,\u201d she said, with a shake of the head. \u201cAnd me, a school bus driver. Shoulda known better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A fellow driver, Virgil thought, impressed. But he\u2019d rather haul appliances than thirty elementary school kids. \u201cNot gonna get a tow truck here tonight. Maybe in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMy neighbor has a tractor,\u201d the woman said. \u201cHe\u2019ll help me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil looked at the delivery truck, its side panels now coated with snow obscuring the logo. Giving someone a ride was against the company rules, a cause for dismissal. \u201cHow far you live from here?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAnother five miles.\u201d The woman pointed down the road with a mitten that look handknit. \u201cI\u2019m Susan,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil took in light brown hair threaded with gray, bright blue eyes, a nice smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAnd you?\u201d she prompted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A deep breath first, as always preceded saying his name. His grandfather, who\u2019d studied the classics at Queen\u2019s University in Kingston, Ontario, passed down the name\u2014son to grandson. But by the time it reached Virgil, the pedigree had not come with it. So, he\u2019d been stuck with a name that got him teased unmercifully as a kid and sometimes as an adult.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNice to meet you, Virgil,\u201d Susan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Jimmy stepped up, stuck out his hand. Virgil took out his phone, waved it around for a signal. Nothing. <\/em>\u201cWell, at least they won\u2019t notice we\u2019ve gone off the route\u2014not right away,\u201d he said. If there was fallout, he\u2019d deal with it later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Jimmy unloaded the groceries from the car, four bags in all. Susan extracted a small white bag with a pharmacy\u2019s name printed in bold. \u201cOne of the kids got an earache.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The driveway was pitted, flanked by a sagging fence on both sides. Virgil downshifted, gunned the engine a little, and made it up the steep grade. An old farmhouse faded from white paint to gray boards stood at the top of the rise. The front door opened a crack; a small face appeared and then another. Virgil\u2019s heart squeezed.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The house was clean, he could say that much, but everything seemed worn down to the nub. Ancient linoleum cracked with patches missing in spots. A refrigerator hummed a little too loudly, the strain of a compressor about to give out. He looked through the archway into a dining room, except it seemed to have a bed in the corner, crowding out the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Feet sounded overhead, and children came running. There were five of them. The oldest girl\u2014ten, eleven maybe\u2014held a toddler on her hip. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAll yours?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAll mine,\u201d Susan said, putting her jacket on a peg. \u201cI\u2019m 57\u2014with five grandkids.\u201d She rolled her eyes, then laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He was only four years younger, on his own but without responsibilities. Seeing no other adult in the household, he couldn\u2019t imagine how tough it was for her. \u201cTheir parents?\u201d Virgil asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan shook her head. \u201cNot around. But we manage. Can I offer you a little instant coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Virgil declined. \u201cWe gotta get back. They\u2019ll be wondering where we are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan thanked them, the children stared, and Virgil hunched his shoulders against the cold as they walked back to the truck.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The dispatcher never asked, and Virgil didn\u2019t tell. When he turned in the truck, no one mentioned the extra forty-five minutes he\u2019d spent on the route, other than to ask him how the roads were out there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The next morning\u2014his day off\u2014Virgil awoke in the apartment over his landlady\u2019s house, went down the backstairs, grabbed a shovel and cleared all the sidewalks, her front steps, and the porch. He did the same for the neighbors on the left and right\u2014one an elderly couple, the other young parents with a small child. With every scoop he thought of Susan\u2019s car, whether the neighbor would manage to pull it out of the ditch, how she\u2019d get to town if one of those kids got sick. He leaned on the shovel, catching his breath, then pulled out his phone. It was Jimmy\u2019s day off, too, and he never had anything going on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 An hour later, they were on the road in Virgil\u2019s SUV\u2014178,000 miles on it, a dented fender, and a heater that only worked on high. As they crested the hill on a snowy road pinstriped by vehicle tracks, the tractor came into view. Slowing down, Virgil saw Susan standing out of the way with two children beside her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The neighbor had a chain hooked to the front axle, but it wasn\u2019t enough to free the car half-buried in snow. Virgil and Jimmy worked in the ditch\u2014digging, pushing, digging some more\u2014while the tractor engine revved and groaned. Finally, Virgil felt the car give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It started on the third try, belching blue exhaust. The neighbor shook hands and waved. Virgil kicked a clod of snow with a steel-toed boot. \u201cWe\u2019ll follow you home. Make sure you get there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan\u2019s kitchen was warm, though he suspected it was more from cooking than the furnace. She offered instant coffee, and this time Virgil and Jimmy accepted. As the kettle heated and came to a boil, Susan told them how she\u2019d grown up in this house, moved back with her husband after her father died to care for her mother, raised both her sons on this land. One died young\u2014car accident. The other\u2014she shook her head\u2014was not around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cHe\u2019s not coming back for these kids. And their mother\u2014if you\u2019d call her that\u2014is out of the picture.\u201d Susan picked up her coffee mug, drank. \u201cMy husband passed four years ago, right after my mom. So it\u2019s just me and the kids.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Virgil heard the drip of a faucet across the room, tried to ignore it. All it would take was some tightening. He folded his hands in his lap\u2014not his business here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Susan swiveled in her chair, pointed to the children who stood like steps on a staircase\u2014Kaylee, Brad, Sally, Anna, Kyle. Virgil knew he\u2019d never remember the names, but he\u2019d have a hard time forgetting the wide eyes that looked back at him with curiosity and shyness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou wanna see our tree?\u201d one of the boys asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d Jimmy said. \u201cI\u2019m like a Christmas junkie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Virgil saw Susan wince at that last word and thought of her missing son. \u201cJimmy here is a regular elf,\u201d Virgil said, and the kid laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A scrawny tree stood in the corner of the front room that Virgil\u2019s grandmother would have called the parlor. Handmade decorations of paper and aluminum foil dotted the branches, and a plastic star stood cockeyed at the top. Reaching up, Virgil fixed it.<\/p>\n\n\n
\n<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He was a Christmas clich\u00e9, Virgil scolded himself, pushing a cart around a discount department store on the night of 23rd<\/sup> of December. He didn\u2019t know these people, wasn\u2019t even sure of their needs, other than assuming Susan was living on one paycheck to the next. He picked out presents he thought the kids would like, plus a couple of fleecy blankets, a canned ham, a case of soup, another of ravioli and spaghetti, boxes and boxes of cereal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
With the blip of each item scanned, Virgil wondered why he was doing all this. To prove some point, to show he was a nice guy? The questions punished, and Virgil had no answers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next evening, after a shortened workday, Virgil arrived at the exact time Susan had agreed to\u2014four o\u2019clock on Christmas Eve. The sky darkened, night seeped in from the tall trees behind the house. The windows on the first floor blazed like anxious eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He handed the lightest bags to the children, hefted the cases of canned food himself. He saw the pinch of Susan\u2019s expression as he passed the door she held open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI thought\u2014\u201d Virgil cut himself off. No answers or explanations at the ready, only his raw need to help, to fill his beefy hands with something besides the inside of his pockets. To fill himself, he admitted, finally grasping a thread of an answer. Something more than the loneliness of glimpsing other people\u2019s houses and other people\u2019s lives during the time it took to deliver an appliance and plug it in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He set the cases of food on the counter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI can and do take care of these kids,\u201d Susan said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The comment stung, poor still meant proud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan turned away, beckoning for him to follow through the dining room and into the parlor where plastic rustled as the kids pawed through the bags. He\u2019d brought too much, Virgil realized too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI didn\u2019t mean\u2014\u201d he began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll save the stuff I bought for them for another time\u2014birthdays and such.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan reached over, set a hand on his arm. \u201cYou only meant kindness. I\u2019m sorry for what I said. County, state, school district\u2014you name it, and I\u2019ve had to defend the way I raise these kids. I do my best to keep a decent roof over their heads.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMore than decent,\u201d Virgil echoed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He could picture a spring day, up a ladder, fixing a shutter here, a window there. He and Jimmy could do that kitchen floor in a weekend. Virgil blushed at his own thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Threading her way through the children, Susan found a small package wrapped in brown paper and handed it to him. \u201cOpen it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A scarf, five feet long if it was an inch, coiled out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Susan thrust her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, a gesture that transformed her in a blink to what she must have looked like thirty years ago. Virgil noticed, smiled, then looked down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cStarted making it for myself a couple of weeks ago,\u201d Susan explained. \u201cThen I decided to give it to you. Sat up half the night finishing it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Virgil wound the scarf around his neck three times, feeling the comfort of every rotation. \u201cI always did like red.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cVirgil Christmas,\u201d Susan said, brushing the fringe that lay in a clump against his sleeve. \u201cWhat other color would there be for a heart as big as yours.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2212,2,18],"tags":[6,38],"class_list":["post-10600","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-holiday-fiction","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","tag-christmas","tag-holidays"],"yoast_head":"\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/Virgil-Christmas-photo.jpg\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/11\/free-online-fiction-poetry-art-300x225.png\")
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n