Christmas on Reefer Street

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a Flash Fiction about a less than perfect world, that wants to get better.

My Daddy always said that Logic and Common Sense were not two flowers that flourished in my garden; whatever that meant. He also said that if I'd ever found them they'd be in the pages of a dictionary.

Now I ask you, is that any way for a father to describe his only male child?

Mama told me to not worry my sweet little self about such things. She was sure Daddy was wrong cause Aunt Bernese did a Palm reading of my hands and told Mama that I would be a success at my chosen profession. And she was right, too!

 

Daddy booted me out of the house at eighteen, he said I needed some Tough-Love to motivate me to find work and to stop my selfish behavior.

Of course, I didn't know what he was talk-in about cause I had been in the retail business for more than two years, and I had been stuff-in money away all the while.

 

My kinda business isn't exactly legal, or so I been told, so putting money in a bank is out of the question. At least that is what Bixby Cole told me, he's an accountant and one of my best customers during tax season.

The accounting business must cause a lot of stress, cause Bixby buys a lot of Pot.

Anyway, without access to a bank, I just put my excess cash in Mason's Jars and bury them.

Daddy caught me do-in that one day, and you know what he said? He said, "Son, your money ain't gonna grow, none, while buried in jars."

Hell, I already knew that! Everyone knows that nothin' sprouts and grows, least it is touch-in the earth, and money in jars sure ain't touch-in the earth. --- Dah!

Anyway, after Daddy booted me out, I bought a little house at the edge of town, and I ain't been home since.

 

This community of less than 800 is just the right size to sell Pot. Everyone knows who you are and what you do, but no-one dares admit that they do, not even the local deputy.

So having a place of business that no-one talks about, and is centrally located, is a must; so says Bixby Cole, the accountant.

 

But wait, I guess I'm get-in off track here. This story isn't about doing business in small towns, it's about my strained relationship with Santa, himself.

I haven't received a present from Santa since the last Christmas before I left my Mama and Daddy's house.

I was think-in about that, just the other day, and I decided that I must be on Santa's Naughty List, maybe for my less than legal activities. Who Knows?

Anyway, I've decided to get back on Santa's Good List before Christmas Eve rolled around, and this is how I was gonna make that happen.

Three years ago, right after Thanksgiving, I called the county orphanage and asked them what the kids could use for Christmas; they always are in need of things the state can't pay for.

Then I called a Christmas Decorating Company that I had heard about. They delivered and set up their top-of-the-line, "Bonanza Light Extravaganza; with a slough of Animated Lawn Characters."

Then I called the "Bounce-House Boys" and they installed two Bounce-Houses, one with a Slide and one without.

I had them put one Bounce-House at the north end of the property and one at the south end.

Next came the Zip-Line that went from the temporary elevator tower, across all the decorations on the property, and ending at the ice rink I had installed at the other end of the street.

After that, I made arrangements, with the powers that be, for a bus to pick-up the kids from the Orphanage and bring them to my house for "Fun with Santa Night."

Well, all this cost me a bundle of cash. But I have to admit that I love doing it.

All the while, I was sure Santa would notice the joy I was bringing, after all, Santa see's everything good that you do.

I know that cause my Mama said so.

So for weeks there were kids, and grown-ups alike, enjoying my Christmas Lane.

 

They say that all good things must come to an end, and I guess that may be true for some. But after three years of doing Christmas at my house, the Thank You-s and the Merry Christmas-as never seem to stop, all year around.

However, that jolly old fart, Santa, never seemed to notice.

 

This year, Daddy came by the house on the second day of January. And he brought a six-pack with him cause he knows I never have any beer in the ice-box.

We sat out on the front porch watching the crews of people dismantling all the fun stuff, and the Christmas lights.

And during the drinking of the beers and the watching I said, "All this money and time spent, and Santa still didn't come to my house and leave me a present."

Daddy laughed, and then replied, "What are you talk-in about? Santa doesn't have to come to your house to deliver the kind of present that he has given you. Three years ago Santa gave you the best present anyone could ever asked for, he gave you the gift of a sharing heart."

But as for your wrapped-up presents, you'll have to come to our house to get them. Mama still has your Santa-Presents under the tree, three years worth.

And I guess you'll have to spend Christmas day with Mama and me, from now on; Cause Santa can't deliver wrapped presents to your house cause your chimney's not big enough for him to get into."

That sounded logical enough, so I agreed.

 

 

D. Thurmond / JEF

11-30-2020


Submitted: November 30, 2020

© Copyright 2021 D. Thurmond aka JEF. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Vance Currie

A delightful story, DT. I like the way you wrote this. I could imagine the voice in my mind, and it was all legible.

Tue, December 1st, 2020 9:08pm

Author
Reply

Thanks Joe, and thanks for leaving a comment.

Tue, December 1st, 2020 2:23pm

Ann Sepino

Definitely not a kid's story, but I love how the text is so consistent with its childlike tone. And the setting and characters remain vivid without outshining each other. It's great!

Fri, December 4th, 2020 1:57pm

Author
Reply

Thanks so much.

Fri, December 4th, 2020 3:39pm

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