I Am the Messenger

I give him a kiss myself, on the forehead, and a prime piece of turkey.

Thanks, Ed. He smiles.

The Doorman's got a nice smile.

We manage to get Marv to loosen up and laugh a bit later, though he still complains of tasting the Doorman on his lips.

We all eat and drink and play some cards until a knock at the door brings the boyfriend in. He drinks with us awhile and eats some prawns. He's a nice guy, I decide, but I can tell by looking. Audrey doesn't love him.

I guess that's the point.

After Audrey's gone, we decide not to cry in our beer. Ritchie, Marv, and I eat up, drink up, and go wandering through town. There's a bonfire lighting up the top of Main Street, and that's the way we head.

For a while, it's hard to walk straight, but by the time we make it, we're all pretty sober.

It's a good night.

People dancing.

Loud talking.

A few people fighting.

It's always the way at Christmas. The whole year's tension comes to a head.

At the fire, I see Angie Carusso and her kids, or rather, they come over to me.

There's a tap on my leg and when I look down I see one of her boys. The one that always cries.

"Hey, mister?" he says.

When I turn around, I see Angie Carusso holding an ice cream. She offers it to me and says, "Merry Christmas, Ed." I take it.

"Thanks," I say. "Just what I needed."

"Sometimes we all do." Her happiness at being able to return a small favor is obvious.

I take a bite and ask, "So how are you, Angie?"

"Ah..." She looks at the kids and now back at me. "I'm surviving, Ed. Sometimes that's enough." She recalls something. "Thanks for the card, by the way." Slowly, Angie begins to move on.

"No worries," I call after her. "Enjoy the night."

"Enjoy the ice cream," she answers. She walks alongside the fire.

"What was all that about?" asks Marv.

"Just a girl I know."

I've never been given an ice cream for Christmas before.

Watching the fire, I let the sweet cool of it soak into my lips.

Behind me, I hear a father talking to his son.

"Do that again," he says, "and I'll kick your arse so hard you'll fall into the fire." His voice sweetens sardonically. "And we wouldn't want that now, would we? Santa won't be too impressed with that, will he now? No, he won't."

Marv, Ritchie, and I all enjoy hearing that.