Twinkling lights were strung around the gathering room. Flickering on and off, the colored bulbs glowed as the sun ended its descent into the sky outside. As the people inside seemed suppressed and depressed, the sky lent no joy to the day. Cloudy, drizzly, any sunny rays breaking through simply reflected the slush in the parking lot. The quietness of the room was interrupted by Nat King Cole crooning on about chestnuts roasting and Jack Frost nipping and the nurses in their bright red and green scrubs chatting about last minute shopping.
The residents slowly began streaming into the room. The elderly grandmothers and great-grandmothers chatted amongst themselves, sharing photos of their grandbabies hoisted on Santa’s knee. The old men settled into their spots at the various tables, pulling out worn decks of cards. Mama Sue was murmuring on about her secret coconut cream pie recipe. Ellen Rae was edging in on Bonnie’s territory, not so subtly flirting with the ruggedly handsome ninety-two year old Jimmy Bob.
There weren’t as many as normal, considering the lucky few who would spend the holiday with their families, outside the lonely facility. Those who were stuck in the facility worked diligently to forget the holiday that was quickly approaching. It didn’t make sense for them to remember that Christmas was near when they wouldn’t have any special people to share it with. They’d just be stuck with all the old, forgetful people they lived with the other 364 day of the year.
Melvin Riddle was one of those who weren’t so lucky. Of course, considering the fact that no one inside the facility enjoyed spending time with him, it wasn’t surprising that his family didn’t either. Melvin wasn’t the jovial grandpa who hoisted grandchildren onto his knee and pulled out candy from his pockets for them. He wasn’t the old man who had a twinkle in his eye and a laugh always ready. He was a cantankerous, morose man who cheated at cards and enjoyed unhealthy amounts of Scotch.
Following the schedule he had kept for the past seven years, Melvin settled into his aged, faded forest green armchair. Melvin always speculated that the chair was likely as old as him, which meant it should have been thrown in the dump a long time ago. The armchair was situated on the east side of the gathering room, as far away as Melvin could sit from the fireplace and people. While the other residents preferred the warmth of the fire and each other’s company, Melvin appreciated the cold. He would sit there for precisely four hours in the morning and four hours in the evening, being interrupted only by sleep, food, cards, and his medicine.
Even with such a strict, regimented schedule, Melvin felt time move quicker and quicker. Life gained speed as it sped down the straight, downhill road to death. The miles per hour and day and year increased as the people around Melvin met their fate. As time became more rapid, his days lost purpose and meaning. He wasn’t the young whippersnapper he used to be- he couldn’t walk fast, he certainly couldn’t run. He needed strong glasses. He didn’t even have his real teeth anymore. Melvin found himself sinking into his daily depressing state. In this routine state, he would remind himself of his old age, physical limitations, short-term memory loss, and all the world’s problems.
Just when Melvin was transitioning from moaning to himself about the pink goo needed to insert his dentures to complaining about Christmas music, Rhonda interrupted. A large black woman in her mid-thirties with a thick Mississippi accent, Rhonda was the only nurse that Melvin tolerated. Perhaps it’s because whenever he complained about anything, she would whole-heartedly agree with a loud, “mm hmm.” “Mr. Melvin honey, remember now- your family is coming later this morning, at 11. When they get here, y’all can visit in here or go to your room. I know you don’t care too much for that daughter-in-law of yours, but you better be nicer this time around.” Melvin snorted in response to the mention of his daughter-in-law and, after offering a less than promising, “We’ll see,” shifted his gaze back to the dusty window.
As Rhonda proceeded to march over to the Gin Rummy table to break up a noisy argument, Melvin found himself recalling the afternoon his son had come to see him thirteen months ago. Arthur Riddle was a successful businessman now. Unhappily married with three ungrateful, snobbish, spoiled children, he didn’t seem to have time to visit his father. When his secretary did carve out a couple of hours in Arthur’s schedule to see Melvin, the time would consist of father and son arguing. Melvin wanted to know why Arthur wasn’t disciplining Emma more, why Sam wasn’t going to college, why his own son had no time for him. In return, Arthur wanted to know why Melvin never liked his blonde, shopaholic wife, Camilla. Snapping back and forth at each other, interspersed with huffs and rolling eyes, Melvin and Arthur couldn’t get along and wouldn’t try to get along.
The most recent visit was like all the others. Arthur strolled into the facility, loudly discussing some Chinese trade deal on his phone, thirty-nine minutes after his secretary said he’d arrive. After a terse greeting and awkward hug, Arthur and Melvin sat down only to become painfully silent. Melvin broke the ice by asking how his grandchildren were doing. Arthur mentioned that Emma was taking a semester-long break from college to be with her boyfriend in California. Melvin couldn’t understand why Emma would hurt her future career prospects like that. The misunderstanding turned into annoyed responses which turned into bickering which eventually ended in a full-blown argument. Forty-four minutes after his arrival, Arthur stormed out.
Contrary to how it seemed, Melvin wished he had a better relationship with his son. He wished that they could get through an hour long visit without arguing or becoming angry. He wanted to know what was happening in Arthur’s life. Unfortunately, the father and son were more similar than either cared to admit. While quick to express opinions, they didn’t know how to share feelings. While always ready to jump into a heated argument, they didn’t know how to sit back and simply enjoy the company of each other. Melvin knew this could all be attributed to when his beloved wife, Martha, passed away eighteen years ago. Martha was the glue of the family. She knew how to make both Melvin and Arthur happy. After she died, Melvin and Arthur couldn’t find a new way to connect and the chasm between them created after her death continued to expand more and more over the years.
Melvin preferred to reminisce on the better, happier times. The times when he, Martha, and Arthur were together, laughing, smiling, enjoying each other, enjoying life. For the Riddle family, the best month of the year was December; the favorite annual holiday was Christmas. Christmas was when the family would all be together. Melvin would have time off from work, Arthur wouldn’t have any homework. Martha would be whipping up batches of ginger bread cookies while Melvin and Arthur strung twinkling lights around the yard. The three would visit the MacArthur Family Tree Farm to pick the grandest Douglas fir available. In the months leading up to Christmas, Arthur could always be found hunched over the Sears Roebuck catalog, marking what Santa should plan to bring him. On December 24, the Riddle family would host the annual neighborhood Christmas party. With little children running rampant throughout the house, carols loudly being sung around the piano, and the smell of Judy Spark’s ham wafting from the kitchen, happiness was abundant. This overwhelming feeling carried over to the next day. Before the sunrise, Arthur would race into his parents’ room to hurriedly wake them up and remind them of what day it was. The family would make their way into the living room and proceed to discover what Santa had generously left for them. As the day carried on, Melvin would be most content. Each year, he’d find himself reflecting on his many blessings, namely his wife and son. He’d be amazed at how blessed he was to have such a family, how lucky he was to have them in his life.
The Christmas season used to be a joyful time for Melvin Riddle. Melvin knew that Christmas should still be joyful, but, as he fell back into the present, he found himself stuck in reality. He was trapped in that awful green chair in a place devoid of joy and brimming with age.
Glancing towards the ticking grandfather clock in the front room, Melvin spied Arthur and Camilla, with Emma, Sam, and Jude in tow. He instantly saw their looks of dread, boredom, and disdain. He knew the kids had been asking Arthur why they had to visit old Grandpa Riddle. He knew Camilla had been silently sighing on the way here, making it clear how she felt about her father-in-law. He knew Arthur had scheduled something just minutes after they would arrive, to provide a solid excuse as to why they had to leave early.
For a moment, Melvin wondered if this Christmas would be different, if it would be like the Christmases from decades ago. He wondered if peace and joy would abound, if there would be no “Bah! Humbug!” mutterings. Probably not, but he could always hope.
Melvin watched as the five checked in at the front desk and were then ushered into the gathering room. Heaving himself up, Melvin turned to face his family. With a plastered smile, he stepped forward and offered the obligatory “Merry Christmas.”