Johnny Wraith Stories

Just another Christmas

I was walking downtown today, wandering around -bumming would be a more appropriate term- gazing at the awful lot of opportunities my surroundings were giving me but being too stupid to take advantage of them. It was a nice day. By nice I mean it was nice outside; the bright December snow was covering every house and skyscraper, but turned greyer around the streets and sidewalks where humans and cars took its wonderful virginity away. On this Christmas day I was observing people accomplishing their everyday task. Construction guys were working on the façade of a building. They weren’t repairing it or making it better. No, they were just working on it. You could tell the difference between those who liked their job and those who only needed money. Anyway, this totally incoherent team of construction guys made the whole “working on the building” very pointless since nothing was happening. No one could blame them though; they were working on Christmas day…

As I uncomfortably kept walking in my pierced shoes and dampened socks, I suddenly remembered the purpose of my stroll; I just had gone shopping for Christmas. I had bought a nice necklace for my mom and a book on astronomy for her new husband. The unwise decision I took next clearly reflected how carelessly I was walking. I took an unfortunate right into a dark alley that was my secret shortcut, or shall I say, a more direct route to my neighborhood. Happy with myself and with my knowledge of the town, I looked down to appreciate the calm and decided pace my feet: one and two, and one… and two… and one… and bam! I was on the ground.

The sogginess previously localized around my feet was now spreading throughout my clothes. This sudden humidity could have probably been explained by my body laying flat on slushy soils, but the sweat coming out of every single pore also assumed poignancy in moistening my garments. Why the heck did I fall? Who the hell had pushed me? As I turned around to face my opponent, his foot pushed me back down preventing me from getting visual contact with the foe. His boot, pushing harder each time I tried to make a movement, was now thrusting me into the snowy ground. Who was he? What did he want? All I new about him is that he was a male (or a really strong woman) and that he had enough money to buy really hard boots. As I tried to speak, he put his other foot on my head, which was now crushed on the pavement.

-“I’m the one who talks here”, he said. “Understood?”

-“But”, I attempted again until his boot pushed harder on my jaw to create a “crack” perceptible to the ears.

-“Shut up! Now listen to me”, he shouted in a convincing voice. “I hate you. Christmas is a good day for guys like you. Get up, have a nice breakfast and than go take a walk to buy a presents for your friends and your family. It’s nice to be rich, isn’t it? Let me tell you: you disgust me. You and all the people like you who just think for yourself.”

I was lying there on the ground, clueless… powerless… listening. I don’t know if I had peed in my pants but I sure was scared out of my mind. I hated that guy and at the same time I felt guilty. I don’t know why.

-“Now give me what you have there.”

His boot let me loose for a bit, just enough time to grab my bag of gifts and give it to my oppressor who was now facing me. My first moment with him left me under the impression that he would look like a big angry biker. But his face didn’t display any anger, madness or sadness. As a matter of fact, his expression was rather empty. I’m no hero and so I gave him his request as fast as possible than started to back off.

-“Don’t fuck with me you scumbag!” he told me punching me in the stomach to make me fall on my knees. I felt his hand reaching for my wallet in my back pocket. “I want that too”, he said before running away. Still on my knees, I was breathing heavily and stared at the ground for a while. Everything was cold: my clothes, the air, and the ground. The only source of warmth I had was the pitiful tears going down my cheeks. Why in the world was I crying? Was it because I felt bad for the man who had just robbed me? Was it because I felt weak and stupid for still being kneeling in slush? Or was it because my Christmas was ruined? At this very moment I sort of understood these raping victims who feel they did something wrong when they actually are the victims. I hadn’t quite got raped, but I felt lesser than ever. I felt like a fucking pathetic loser.

As I stood up I realized the poor conditions I was in. My clothes were wrecked, my knees were aching, my face was bruised and my nose was bleeding. The walk back home left me time to think. I thought about Christmas and what it’s all about. I thought about the social differences between poor and rich people. I also thought about what had just happened. Than I stopped thinking because I know that thinking is pointless especially when you’re like me and would be too lazy to change anything in your world.

As I entered my house my mom attacked me with questions. What happened? Where were you? Why are you like this? Anybody normal would have said the story that just happened in details, but for some reason I decided not to. Was I ashamed? I just embraced her and said “Merry Christmas.” She knew that she had to be happy I was in one piece. She knew I was her present. I was happy I had even made it home for Christmas. I’m happy I made it home for Christmas again this year.