Last Christmas
The hotel room was quiet, the kind of quiet you would expect
at three o’clock in the morning in the middle of nowhere U.S.A. It was dark and
dingy, well-worn from years of travel and use. The aroma of time hung in the
air, clinging to the walls like an inviting perfume. The thread bare curtains
and the ancient looking wall clock just
added to the ambiance. He thought this was as nice as any place for a journey’s
end. He hung his jacket neatly over the back of the chair and threw hat on the
bed. He headed to the bathroom to start the water. His road had been long and
hard, one filled enough potholes and bumps to fill three lifetimes. All he
wanted now was to rest. You could call the tile white twenty years ago maybe,
not so much now. Black had started creeping its way along the edges, filling in
the gaps. Black always had a way of doing this the man thought to himself.
Whether it was the grout on the toilet or the cracks in a man’s soul, black
always seeps in. It was small, but the tub was large enough for a man his size
to stretch out in comfortably. He splashed the water a little bit with his hand
to make sure it was the right temperature. The man went back to the bed and sat
down, started untying his shoes. After several moments of looking at the floor,
he stood up to finish undressing. He walked back the bathroom. The water was
almost to the top, he let the hot water stay on a little longer before shutting
it off. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He took in a deep breath;
his shoulders slumped down with a small sigh. The lines etch into his weather
face were as rough as the road he traveled getting here. Here he was after all
these years, all these long years. Is this where he was heading all this time,
was this the right path he chose? Sure, he thought, guess it was. After all he
was the master of his own destiny right? He was right where he was supposed to
be, he was sure of it. Sure things could have been better along the way. Did he
always choose the right road to take, probably not. He could have spent more
time with his family, his wife, but there was always something that needed doing;
there just wasn’t that much time. His eyes got wet at the thought of it. He
should’ve made time for the little things. Holding her hand, sitting with her,
even just telling her one more time how much he loved her. How she had been his
world. She was his wife, the mother of his two boys, his friend, and his travel
companion. Her journeys ended years ago, he was left to raise his family on his
own. His boys were grown now with children and destinations of their own. He
had seven grandchildren between. She would have loved every one of them. His
chest hurt at the thought of it, he fought to hold it in. He clenched the sink
with both hands to steady himself. He could see the window behind him, snow had
started falling. It was building up against the glass. A white Christmas he
thought, she always loved Christmas, it was her favorite time of the year. The
decorations, the merry making, and we always spent it at home together. He
looked back into the mirror and brushed the tears from his eyes. He gathered up
what he needed and stepped over to the tub. He stepped in and eased himself
down. The heat of the water was a stark contrast of the coolness of the room.
He laid back and relaxed some, letting his age weary muscles soak of the
warmness that swallowed him. The clock began to chime, bong bong bong
bong bong, five o’clock in the
morning. He pushed himself up. He sat thinking; it was five o’clock Christmas
morning. He looked down into the water and sighed again. Children, all over the
world, were getting up to open their presents. He opened his wrists.
