Sittings Thirteen and Fourteen

Sitting Thirteen
The Lunch Crunch

Christopher Timmons crossed his fingers and nervously entered the lobby of the Marriott. He was hoping that Shelley would be there to meet him, but she was nowhere in sight.

So he made his way to the restaurant.

He hated this part of any luncheon appointment: when you walk into the restaurant and you don't know where your friends are and you have to feverishly look around the room to find them, only to discover that you are temporarily blinded, and it seems like everyone in the room is staring at you because you are "unmated" to a table, and even though your friends spot you and are waving their arms like they're trying to land a supersonic jet, for some reason you can not get your eyeballs focused, so they are forced to call your name across the restaurant, making everyone in the establishment look at you and notice your chubby body stumbling quickly to the table, while their curiosity is stimulated about what you might order in an attempt to keep from ballooning up even further.

Christopher had some issues.

Arriving at the table, Shelley reached over and shook his hand, which shocked him a bit since he was expecting a kiss, even if only on the cheek.

"Mr. Timmons, I would like you to meet my boss, Mr. Mankins."

Mr. Mankins reached out to shake his hand. "Just call me Ron."

"Okay, Ron. You can call me Chris."

He sat down, and both Shelley and Mankins began staring at their menus while continuing to talk.

"So, Chris, what do you do for a living?" asked Mankins.

Shelley answered for Chris. "Well, Ron, Chris is a writer."

Mankins continued staring at his menu. "A writer, huh? Anything I'd know?"

Shelley once again fielded the question. "Well, he's really just starting. You know, everything has a beginning long before it has an end."

Christopher squinted, curious if it would be necessary for him to participate in any way, shape or form. He ventured in.

"And in the holiday season..."

Shelley kicked him underneath the table. Christopher turned to her and she shook her head. Apparently he had said, or was about to say something wrong.

"What about the holiday season?" said Mankins, eyes still glued to the menu.

Fortunately, the clumsy conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. She was bubbly and excited.

"Hi, there. My name is Treysha."

"Tricia?" asked Chris.

"No! Treysha. That's T-R-E-Y-S-H-A. My parents wanted a boy, and they were set on naming him Trey, so they saw no reason to abandon a good name."

Neither Shelley nor Mr. Mankins seemed to be aware of the waitress's presence.

"Well, let me start off by telling you about our specials today," said Treysha. "We are offering shark. Yes, shark. So if you order it, it will be 'man eating shark.'"

Treysha giggled, including a bit of a snort. Chris laughed politely, and then realized it was really quite funny and put a little more of his heart into it. Shelley and Mankins mirrored each other with menu intrigue.

"Have any of you ever eaten shark?" Treysha inquired.

Chris looked over at Shelley and Ron to see if they were going to respond and concluded that they were apparently mesmerized, so he answered. "Well, I haven't. What's it taste like?"

"Well, I haven't personally tried it," said Treysha. "But the cook says it is a very firm, white fish--just fatty enough that you might think it's steak from the sea."

Well rehearsed and well presented.

"Well, I think I'll have the shark, then," said Christopher, handing back the menu.

"Great!" said Treysha. "And how about the two of you?"

Mr. Mankins responded without even looking up at the waitress. "I would like the all-American blue plate salad without the baby corn, with extra tomato and your very lightest dressing on the side, please."

Shelley watched her boss very carefully and then said to the waitress, "I'll have the same except I want my baby corns."

"Comin' right up!" said Treysha, unconcerned with the general lack of attention.

As soon as Treysha left, an uncomfortable silence settled in like a hovering specter. There were a few sighs, sippings of water and then Shelley hit her knee against the table, interrupting the solitude with an, "Excuse me."

Christopher decided to permeate the bleakness with some words. "Well, isn't there a fourth that's joining us?"

Mankins looked down at this watch with some irritation. "Yes, Charrleen was due here ten minutes ago. She's late."

"Well, you know those creative types," said Shelley cautiously.

"But there's no excuse for being late," said Mankins.

"Of course not," responded Shelley.

"Well, I was four days late being born," said Christopher. "Of course, my mother found that quite rude."

His attempt at humor was greeted with a nod by Mr. Mankins. Christopher realized this was not going to be a free-flowing event.

The silence was graciously interrupted by the arrival of Charrleen, who breathlessly explained that she had been delayed by the arrival of an unexpected guest in her home. She shared that her Grandmama Eloise had arrived from Louisiana for a visit, and that she had to make preparations to care for her.

Christopher wanted to get more details about Charrleen's relative, but Mankins interrupted. "Well, it's like they always say--the trouble with relatives is that they're related to us."

There was a very brief pause as everyone tried to discern his remark. Shelley noticed a smirk on his face, assumed it was meant to be funny, so she choked out a chuckle.

Charrleen maintained a perplexed expression, and Christopher tried to follow Shelley's lead, and ended up with a half-choke giggle.

Undaunted, Mankins continued. "Well, there are three reasons for this meeting today. Let's see if we can answer three questions before we enjoy our repast."

Christopher smiled, thinking that 'repast' was a little pretentious for chomping shark and dressing on the side.

Mankins forged on. "What have we learned so far? Number two, what's next? And number three, what more can we do to promote the idea of 'Great Jubilation?'"

He looked around at everybody at the table, as if revealing the secret of the Holy Grail. Shelley paused for a second and then leaped in.

"Well, let me start," she said. "So far we have recorded the song, 'Great Jubilation'--thanks to Charrleen and the Jubilators..." Shelley put her hands together and feigned applause without sound.

"Thank you," said Charrleen, placing her own hands together in some sort of pseudo-Buddhist pose.

"What's next," said Shelley, "is to make another great promotional video out in Fenswick Park. We chose it because it's very accessible and we weren't charged anything for the use of the area."

"Excellent!" said Mankins.

"As to what's more," continued Shelley, "I have my team working on that and have some good ideas brewing."

"If you don't mind me interrupting," said Christopher.

Once again, Shelley kicked him under the table.

"Or maybe I'll just wait," he added, grabbing his glass and taking a huge gulp.

"No, no," said Mankins. "Continue. I don't know who you are, but that doesn't mean you don't have intelligence."

"Thank you," said Christopher tentatively.

Shelley interrupted. "Christopher is a really nice guy, but he has some old-fashioned feelings about the holiday season."

Obviously, Shelley was anticipating what was about to flow from Christopher's mouth.

Charrleen jumped in. "I have some questions, too."

"Well, well, well," said Mankins. "Seems like we're going to have a lively discussion. Who wants to begin?"

Christopher nodded to Charrleen, to take her turn first. She smiled, took a deep breath, and began.

"Well, let me first say that no one could be more grateful than I am for the opportunity you have given me to record this song and see it climb the charts."

"Well, I'm no musician," said Mankins, "but it's a damn beautiful song. Don't you think so, Shelley?"

Shelley gulped. "Damn beautiful."

"I've only heard it once," Christopher inserted.

"Where you been, son?" Mankins demanded. "It's played all the time."

"Well, my taste in music..."

Mankins interrupted Christopher. "Well, anyway, Charrleen, you were saying..."

"Well," said Charrleen slowly. "Grateful as I am, I have to admit that I think our mission is...may I say? Faulted."

"Faulted?" frowned Mankins. "Interesting word, don't you think, Shelley?"

"Fascinating," Shelley mused obediently.

Christopher couldn't help himself. "If by faulted, you mean dumb, then yes."

Mankins ignored Christopher and turned to Charrleen. "What do you think is faulted?"

Suddenly Charrleen dropped her spoon on the ground, staring off across the room. "Oh, my God," she said.

"What's wrong?" asked Shelley.

"Are you all right?" inquired Christopher, concerned.

"How did she get here?" asked Charrleen in a mystical, breathy voice.

Everybody tried to look where Charrleen was staring, and discovered that her eyes had fallen upon an old woman about four tables away, sitting and facing them, with a cane in her left hand, sipping what appeared to be tea from a cup in her right hand.

"Who is that?" said Christopher. "Do you know her?"

"It is my Grandmama Eloise," said Charrleen, shocked. "I left her at home. I have no idea how she got here."

"She seems nice," said Christopher, trying to lighten the mood.

"Would you like to invite her over to our table?" asked Shelley.

"No!" said Charrleen with great intensity. "I mean...no, that's not necessary..."

"Perhaps this is a bad time for this meeting since you have relatives in town," said Mankins, trying to control the situation.

Charrleen stood to her feet. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to...I'm going to have to do something."

She scurried away from the table and over to her Grandmama, took her by the arm, and the two of them left the restaurant as quickly as possible, considering the age difference.

"Well, that was interesting," said Christopher.

"Shelley, do you know anything about Charrleen's problems?" asked Mankins.

"Not a thing, Mr. Mankins. I thought she was really pleased with the coverage we were giving her."

"Well, I hope we don't have a problem," said Mankins.

Christopher could not wait any longer. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. She is probably just a little upset that you are single-handedly trying to destroy Christmas."

Shelley attempted to kick him once again, but this time Christopher had moved his legs. Mankins furrowed his brow.

"And why do you think we're trying to destroy Christmas? We're just trying to liven it up, freshen it, make it more available to all the masses. Update it!"

"Did you ever stop to ask yourself if any of that was necessary?" challenged Christopher. "And before you interrupt me, let me explain. There's an old saying in the military--'if it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Christmas ain't broke. There's no need to fix it. Oh, sure, some people get a little nervous with the religious overtones, or think it's over the top, but generally speaking, it is not only an emotional and spiritual success, but a huge financial boost that fills the coffers of our large corporations and gives them the profit margin to pay salaries for public relations firms like you, who deem themselves progressive by trying to kill it."

Mankins looked over at Shelley. "Well, you certainly have an interesting young man you've hooked up with."

"Don't blame her," said Christopher. "She's kicked me under the table four times, trying to keep me quiet. And by the way, how I earn my money for most of the year is by playing Santa Claus. That's what she didn't want me to tell you. So since I've become cumbersome to this conversation, I will excuse myself and let the two of you continue this discussion without my interference."

Christopher nodded his head to Shelley and then to Mr. Mankins. "Shelley. Ron. Thank you for an interesting time."

Christopher rose from his chair and walked out of the restaurant with a bit of righteous confidence.

Mankins looked at Shelley and Shelley back at Mankins.

Just then Treysha arrived with the tray of food.

"Now," she said. "Who was the brave 'man eating shark?'"

Sitting Fourteen 

The Pop Quiz

 Ever since lunch, Christopher had tried to reach Shelley on the phone, only to get her answering machine ten times.

He left ten messages.

Each one was a little different. The first three might be considered frantic. The next three were a little defensive, trying to explain why he had made his stand with Mr. Mankins. And the last four had increasing degrees of groveling, begging for her forgiveness.

No response.

So Christopher was grateful that he had the diversion of going to Fenswick Park for the 10:45 meeting with Golda and her friends, to discuss their dreams. As he walked toward the park, he felt a bit confused about the whole rendezvous.

What did he think he was trying to do? How would his presence be perceived by these unknown children?

He arrived at 10:40 and promptly at 10:45, Golda came walking up to him. Standing about twenty yards away was another girl, and a boy was sitting on the ground, grabbing little sticks and stones and casting them forward in a profile of obvious disgust.

As Golda walked up, Christopher asked, "Why are your friends staying over there?"

"Because of you," said Golda.

"What's wrong with me?" asked Christopher, still a bit bruised from the luncheon calamity of the previous day.

"I tried to explain to them that I had a great conversation with you, and you seemed okay, but they just can't believe that any grownup could be trusted, of any good or of any help," said Golda.

But I'm not a grown-up," insisted Christopher. "Not a typical one."

"I'm sorry, but they just don't believe me," said Golda. She started to walk away.

"Wait!" said Christopher. "Tell them to give me a chance."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," said Christopher. "Test me. Question me. Something."

Christopher was a little surprised at his own persistence.

Golda paused.

"Tell you what," she said. "Let me go talk to them again. I'll be right back."

Christopher watched closely as Golda reasoned with the others. He tried not to be too intently observant lest he scare them away, but still peered in their direction to find out what would be the end result.

The three argued and fussed, and Golda finally put a finger on each of their noses, making a final point. They nodded their heads and she slowly made her way back to Christopher.

"So what's the word?" said Christopher anxiously.

"They want to test you," said Golda.

"Test me?" asked Christopher.

"Yes. A series of four tests, to see if you're really different, or if you're just an average grown-up, trying to pretend you care about kids."

"Okay," said Christopher, uncertain but thrilled with the opportunity.

Golda motioned to the two kids to come over. As soon as they arrived, the boy stepped in and took over.

"My name is Harry Ventner, and I will be in charge of your test. This is Shanisse Martinez, and she helped me come up with the questions."

Shanisse folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the hapless adult.

"So what do you need to know?" asked Christopher.

"Question one," said Harry. "Name Santa's reindeer."

"Let me see," began Christopher. "What was the song again...?"

"You can't use the song!" interrupted Harry, wagging his finger in Christopher's face.

"Oh, that's mean," said Christopher. "You are tough. Okay. Here we go. There's Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Comet, Cupid, Donner..."

"That's six, mister. There's two more," challenged Harry.

"Okay," said Christopher. "Let me start again. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer...VIXEN! There's one."

He continued. "Comet, Cupid...I got it. Donner and Blitzen."

"He got them," said Shanisse, surprised.

"It took two tries," added Golda.

"Give me a break," said Christopher. "I think even Old Man Claus might forget sometimes."

"He is not an old man," said Harry. "You are."

"Right," said Christopher, realizing he needed to be more careful. "And don't forget Rudolph!"

"Rudolph is retired," said Shanisse.

"He's been replaced by his son, Randolph," added Harry.

"Randolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?" queried Christopher incredulously.

"Yeah," said Golda. "What's your problem?"

"No problem," said Christopher. "You know what they say about Rudolph. He is...or was...Santa's designated driver when Mr. Claus had too much egg in his nog, making for a foggy night."

Christopher laughed. Alone.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" Golda asked.

"No," said Christopher. "Just an anecdote."

"Part two!" announced Shanisse. "Follow me."

Christopher rose and followed the children across the playground over to the slide.

Harry spoke up. "We want you to climb up the slide and slide down it."

"What?" exploded Christopher.

"I told you that's what he'd say!" exclaimed Shanisse. "A real child would never say 'what' to the chance to go down a slide."

"Then neither do I," concluded Christopher determinedly.

He carefully put his big feet onto the steps and maneuvering his chubby bottom onto the slide. He pushed off, getting caught halfway down the descent because he was too thick. All at once there was a cracking sound.

Golda ran over, waving her hands in the air. "You didn't make it, and you broke the slide!"

Christopher struggled, finally freeing himself from the apparatus and rising to his feet.

"The issue was not whether I would make it all the way, but whether I was willing to go down the slide. Am I right?" he questioned.

The kids looked at each other and had to agree.

"Next question," said Golda. "It's dinner at your house. You hate vegetables. But which vegetable would you rather have your mother serve? Broccoli? Asparagus? Or carrots?"

Christopher paused, thinking deeply. "Well," he said. "Asparagus is too weird. Carrots...uh...I don't think so. All right. Broccoli."

The three children burst out laughing.

"I told you he was just a grown-up," said Harry.

"Wait!" Christopher objected. "Doesn't broccoli taste better than carrots or asparagus?"

"They're vegetables!" said Shanisse. "You don't plan on tasting them."

Golda stepped in. "The issue is which vegetable can you slip into your hand easily under the table and have the dog eat without your parents knowing."

Harry concluded. "Any kid would know that dogs don't eat asparagus or broccoli. Your best chance would be carrots."

The three children nodded in unison.

"Good point," said Christopher. "You got me on that one. I am learning."

"I think he's flunkin'," said Harry.

"C minus," offered Shanisse.

"Let's give him one more chance," said Golda. She faced Christopher. "Why does Santa bring toys?"

Harry jumped in. "And be careful. Don't give some dumb grown-up answer."

Christopher wanted to win this one. He wanted their acceptance. As silly as it seemed, the past few months had been difficult for him--especially since he had started dating Shelley, who made him feel immature because she didn't share many of his desires.

So he walked back over to the park bench, followed by the three young ones. He sat down, looked at them, and said, "I suppose I could tell you that Santa brings toys because he loves children, but everybody says they love children. But not everyone brings them toys. I suppose some people think Santa brings toys because he's copying the gift of the Wise Men, who brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to little baby Jesus. But it's more than that. Then there's the idea that Santa isn't real, and we use him as a way of making a holiday of gift-giving, so big companies can make big money. But I don't believe any of those to be true. I think Santa brings toys because he's still a child himself and he just likes toys, and he's looking for other people who like them, too."

A quiet settled on the park as three children considered the fate of a grown-up. They looked at one another and agreed.

Harry stuck out his hand towards Christopher. "Good answer. Only a kid would have known that."

Christopher took the hand of the little fellow and then shook each hand as a confirmation of their union.

For the next hour they talked. The children shared their dreams. They told of additional dreams, where they were being prompted to hurry and make their night visions come true.

Christopher revealed some dreams of his own.

Soon there was a unity only experienced by those who share a common heart. The children forgot that they were too young and Christopher forgot that he felt rejected by the adult world around him.

At the end of the visit they agreed to meet back in three days to put together some plans to make all their dreams come true. As they left they held hands and made a promise, reciting these words:

"May we work together to let Christmas be Christmas."

That said, the children ran away to their homes, and Christopher ambled down the path alone, towards his car.

Emerging from behind a tree, dressed in a navy-blue wool trench coat and a matching fedora, with a beard that lay upon the coat like freshly fallen snow was an aged man with a cane.

He watched as the foursome departed, and then chuckled to himself. He turned and walked away, with an intermittent giggle punctuating his pace.