This is not my usual fiction, but a request from a friend... a Christmas gift delivered late.
Christmas Past, Christmas Present
Foggy Nelson kicked lightly at the boxes under the Christmas tree and a sour look flitted across his face. The duplex in Manhattan was home, everyday and in every way it was home… but it was not holiday home. Gramps house in East Hampton was where all the holidays were celebrated and it was gone. The whole Nelson clan had agreed and sold it within two weeks of the death of his grandfather and now it was filled with someone else's family, someone else's fun.
Could be worse, he could be Matt Murdock.
Foggy remembered watching Matt shut down piece by infinitesimal piece each day since his father had won the title… and lost his life.
"Son," Foggy jumped when his father, Edward Nelson, ruffled the top of his head, "what is so fascinating outside that window? You've been sitting in one spot over fifteen minutes staring at nothing."
"Just thinking."
"About Matthew, no doubt. Franklin, I think you should go and get the boy and bring him here. No one should be alone on Christmas Eve."
Foggy twisted around and stared at his Dad. "What makes you think I didn't invite him? Damn, I planned to drag him here the last day of class, but he slipped away before I even noticed. Don't give me that look, when Matt Murdock wants to disappear, he ain't gonna be found."
"You might try going to that church of his in about an hour."
A smile slowly broke across Foggy's face, "midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. He kept telling me about how he and his Dad went there every year."
"I'll have the car drop you off," Mr. Nelson said as he turned from his son. "Call when you're ready to bring him here. I expect to see you both in the morning."
"Yes, sir," Foggy said as he grabbed his coat from the closet and left for Hell's Kitchen.
Shadows were cool; not the beatnik, finger-snapping, oh what a trip cool, but the chill of the night, never reached by the warmth of the sun cool. December always filled his usual hiding place, the shadows of the streets, with the soft warmth of Christmas lights. Therefore, instead of expending the kinetic energy that filled his body by flying high above the streets of Clinton, Matt Murdock walked. Block after block, mile after mile, Matt Murdock covered the streets of his childhood and visited all the places he and his father had ever been to. Matt tried to remember every sound, every smell and, reaching back into the recesses of his mind, every sight he had ever shared with Battlin' Jack Murdock, the man who loved and raised him. But all that Matt could recall was what now he was alone.
Pulling his head down Matt turned the corner leading to the church. He could feel the rumble of the organ as it played 'Adeste Fidelis' through off-key pipes. The stamp of boots climbing the steps and the incessant calls of 'Merry Christmas' stopped him in his tracks. When Dad was with him all Matt had to do was hone in on the strong steady beat of Jack's warrior heart to block out the other sounds in the church. Now it was an avalanche of conflicting noise he could not shut out. So Matthew just leaned on the dirty wall of the alleyway and shut his eyes. The one thing he had promised himself was he would not cry tonight.
"My god, Murdock, you look pathetic."
"Foggy?" Matt raised his head toward his college roommate.
"The one and only, on a mission from my father," Matt felt Foggy's arm encircle his shoulders. "I am supposed to get you to our place for brunch tomorrow morning. In the mean time, how about you and me get a cuppa coffee. I am freezing my balls off."
"Sorry, but I'm fasting," Matt reached into his worn pea coat and pulled out his white cane for the first time tonight.
"Fasting? You mean like some Zen thing until Christmas comes?"
"You idiot," Matt slapped his friends shoulder, "like a Catholic thing so I can have Communion during Mass."
Foggy dropped his arm and looked at his friend. "Sorry, just not a Quaker thing so I wouldn't know."
"You're a Quaker?" Matt tried to picture the mental image he had of Foggy in knee breeches and a tricorn hat. It was not a pretty picture.
"Mom's a Quaker. Dad's not much of anything and Sis and I were raised to be good citizens… the rest was up to… whatever." Foggy finally checked out Matt closely. He needed a haircut and a shave and while his clothes were clean they definitely didn't have the extra touches Matthew Murdock prided himself on. "Well, what are you waiting for, looks like standing room only inside."
"Care to join me? You can add it to your list of experiences of social interaction."
"Heck, I been to church with you before, how different can this be?" Foggy rocked back on his heels as Matt folded his cane.
"Are you allergic to incense?" Matt smiled as he reached for his friends shoulder and allowed the thump thump thump of Foggy's big heart to guard him from the chaos inside.
"As long as you buy the coffee after this, I can stand anything." Foggy laughed as he led the way inside.
Foggy woke with a start as WCBS blasted out of the clock radio in the bedroom. Once again he woke up on the Murdock couch and wondered if that damn busted spring had drawn blood this time. Then the scent of frying bacon put a smile on his face.
"You finally awake?" Matt called from the tiny kitchen in the shabby apartment.
"How could I avoid it with twenty four hour news ripping through my eardrums?" Foggy groused and scanned the place in the light. Last night he had allowed Matt to bed him down without even bothering to turn on the lights. "Just how long was that thing supposed to last? We must have been there hours?"
"Only about two hours, if you thought this was bad wait until Easter Vigil." Matt smiled as he expertly cracked an egg into the bacon grease sizzling in the cast iron pan.
"No way, Jose, I have a nice bed at home and a real guest bedroom for the weary guests my father expected me to bring home last night and I ended up on the sofa from Hell's Kitchen." Foggy slipped past Matt and stole a piece of bacon from the platter. "I was supposed to kidnap you, what happened? That incense was narcotic, wasn't it? That's the only reason sane people would sit through two hours of religious claptrap every December 25th."
Foggy knew he'd blown it big time when the smile disappeared from Matt's ace. Silently Matt cracked another egg into the pan and this time the yolk broke.
"I'll take that one," Foggy tried to keep his voice light but knew he'd crossed the line.
"Set the table, okay," Matt asked quietly and waited for his friend to move away from him. "I've got places to be today and you slept in."
"Slept in? It's barely seven o'clock and Christmas morning to boot. You are coming with me after breakfast and we'll go to Casa Nelson and check out what Santa's little elves have for us."
"Set the table," Matt's cold voice was the only incentive Foggy needed to get down the plates. Matt was in a mood.
Breakfast was silent. Matt rubbed his eyes every time Foggy tried to start a conversation which was his cue for Foggy to shut up. So Foggy shut up and checked out the apartment. Jack's clothes still peeked out of the wardrobe and his size 12 shoes still stood like silent sentries by the front door. It was easy to forget that the man had only died three weeks ago. Matt barely took any time off school and he threw himself into every day activities with his usual 110. Yet, somewhere along the way Matt Murdock had stopped smiling. Foggy silently kicked himself in the ass for being such a jerk.
"You need some company when you do the things you do?"
Matt raised his head, "no, I'll be fine by myself."
"Come on, Murdock; stop thinking of yourself and save my butt this time. If I walk in without you Dad will bounce me from Clinton to Canarsie. How's about I come with you on your little expeditions and then you come back to the duplex with me. That way I can say I helped you and you can eat turkey with the Nelsons again." Foggy hoped he didn't come off like the asshole he sounded but the fleeting smile on Matt's face told him he had played it right.
Matt raised his opaque eyes to Foggy. "Sure, I just hope you brought your walking shoes."
Oh god, my dogs are barking, Foggy thought as he followed Matt into another five story walk up. He'd been enlisted to do 'elf' work as he carried a knapsack stuffed with crudely wrapped parcels and then he would pull out the correctly labelled one at each stop.
This stop was Mrs. O'Doul and it was three battered romance novels Matt handed to her. The old lady's face lit up and she ruffled Murdock hair with her gnarled, crooked hands before sparing Foggy one contemptuous snort and banging shut the door.
Next was Kara Hightower, a petite black child whose scarred face and halting steps told a story of recent loss. Matt crouched down until he was face to face with the little girl and slid a colorful rag doll to her. The child's fingers ran over the face, finding shoe button eyes, a wool nose and velvet lips.
"She's touchy," the child whispered in an awed voice.
"She was made just for you," Matt said as he kissed the top of Kara's head and said good bye.
There was an old boxer, Jerry 'the Bear' O'Brien, palsied and brain injured, who smiled like a four year old when Matt gave him a bright red scarf. Then an old woman, Doris Monk, who wouldn't let the guys leave without feeding them weak tea and stale cookies. This one got true crime books and a promise to sit in on Matt's first trial.
Next he followed Matt into the local police precinct and watched as the desk sergeant called one of the administrative assistants to lead both Matt and Foggy down to the holding cells in the basement. The smell of urine and vomit hit Foggy like a slap in the face and he noticed Matt almost staggered when the door to the place opened. Head high, Matt gripped the aide's arm and moved through the stink as if it wasn't there. Foggy realized they were heading to the drunk tank and a small, very hung over man stood as Matt approached.
"Dennis," Matt's voice dripped with sarcasm, "this is not one of the twelve steps."
"Matty boy," the man nervously swiped at his forehead, "what are you doing here?"
Matt gave that exaggerated Irish sigh that made him sound like a Barry Fitzgerald imitator. "For some unknown reason Mary wants you home. Dennis, if you get arrested again there isn't any way you can avoid doing at least thirty days and it will probably be closer to ninety. Mary is pregnant with, what; your third child and you can't stay sober on Christmas."
The man pulled himself to a straight backed five foot four and tried to look dignified. He failed. "I never asked you to rescue me, Dare Devil, go back to your books and let me take care of my family."
"But you aren't taking care of your family, you bastard, and no matter how often I tell Mary to divorce your sorry ass she just shakes her head and says she loves you."
"Jealous," came the snide reply.
"Of you, never, I'm here because Mary asked me to come, but I swear this is the last time I bail you out." With that Matt turned on his heel and walked out of the precinct basement and back to the street. Foggy had to put on some speed to follow.
The last stop was back at the church.
"Do we have to go to Mass again?" Foggy made sure to goose up the whine in his voice.
"No, not today," Matt smiled, "today we're just visiting."
Foggy followed his friend to the back entrance of the place and watched as Matt's nimble fingers punched the button lock on the door. Inside was a small room filled with closets and drawers. The old priest stopped his polishing of the vessels on the counter when they entered and swung round to embrace Matt in an enveloping bear hug.
"Matthew, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me."
Matt stepped back from the priest. "No, Father Fallon, I just had a visitor last night and didn't get started as early as I wanted to. Father, this is my college roommate, Franklin Nelson."
Foggy waved his hand, "call me Foggy."
The man looked Foggy up and down, "you can call me Father Fallon." He pointedly turned back to Matt. "Does he know about your talents?"
Matt shrugged "No Father, he doesn't. He doesn't have the seal of the confessional."
"Hey," Foggy broke in, "I know about that stuff and I have attorney, client privilege going for me.
"He has to be a Prot," the priest's cool voice brought a grin to Matt's face.
"That he is, Father." Shifting his weight from one foot to the next Matt looked positively sheepish. "Foggy's father has invited me to their home for the day. Would that offend Clara, because I know she's been cooking since yesterday?"
"You tell her, just remember that suicide is a sin." With that the priest went back to his work.
Matt sighed and shrugged. "Come on, Foggy. You can call your parents from inside the rectory. Just tell them I had a previous engagement."
"No way, uh uh, not in this life time… didn't the nice man of the cloth tell you suicide is a sin. You lead, I'll follow."
Matt quick marched Foggy across the alley to the large rectory. Foggy noticed it was almost all offices now, no doubt the lack of priests in Manhattan made the place too damn big to stay just housing. Again the pair slipped over to the back door and Matt knocked the old 'shave and a hair cut' rhythm. Almost immediately the door sprang open and a rotund Chinese woman pulled Murdock into a breath stealing hug.
"You finally got here. I was beginning to think you'd never make it." The woman danced Matt into the kitchen. All Foggy could do was follow.
"I've got turkey and dressing, roasted potatoes and broccoli with cheese sauce and peas and yams…"
"Are you feeding an army Clara?" Matt laughed.
"No, only the regulars, Fallon frowns on having more than twelve at the table."
Matt shook his head, "Oh no, does that mean my friend will be the thirteenth guest. I have always been told that is the unlucky one."
Clara finally acknowledged Foggy's presence with a small smile. "Why don't we wait to see if everybody shows up? In the mean time, go and wash up and join the crowd in the rec room." With that the housekeeper turned back to the stove to continue cooking.
"Miss Clara," Foggy finally found his voice, "may I use the phone? I have to call my father and tell him why I'm here with Matt and not home with the family."
Clara glanced over her shoulder at the slightly over weight college student. "Matt will show you the phone and remember anyone who sits at my table is my family too."
It was after midnight when Matt and Foggy finally stumbled into the Murdock
apartment. Foggy eyed the sprung couch with trepidation but he was so damn tired he wasn't sure if calling for a ride home was worth the effort.
Matt, however, was already at the phone on the wall dialling the Nelson's duplex.
"Hello, Mr. Nelson," started the side of the conversation Foggy could hear. "Yes, he's still alive… no, it wasn't intentional. Time just slipped away from us… He was a lot of help, thanks for the loan of your son… Okay, we'll wait. Good bye, Mr. Nelson." Matt hung up the phone and turned to his friend. "Your father will be here in half an hour, can you stay awake that long.?"
"I will if only to avoid sleeping on killer couch another night." Foggy said as he hung his coat over the back of the sofa. "Murdock, sit down and I'll make the coffee, as long as it's instant."
Matt wrinkled his nose at the thought of instant coffee but sat at the kitchen table while Foggy rattled through the cupboards. He heard the mugs slap down on the counter and water filling the kettle but winced at the sound of sugar getting dumped on the floor.
"Oops, my fault," Foggy scrambled past Matt. "Where's the broom, I'll sweep it up."
"In the broom cupboard by the fridge," Matt felt the crunch of shoe to sugar as Foggy went for the broom. The door squeaked open and then there was an unexpected intake of breath. "Foggy, what's the matter."
"When did you open this cupboard last," Foggy asked in shaky reply.
"Nearly everyday, why?"
Matt heard the grunt and heave of Foggy reaching up to the top shelf of the closet. The rattle of paper and quiet footsteps followed and then something was dropped on the table in front of himself.
"I think these are for you."
Matt stretched his hands out to find wrapped boxes in front of him. He sprang from his chair as if the parcels were electrified.
A strangled whisper came forth from Matthew's throat, "Dad."
Foggy laughed a little self consciously. "I guess he got his shopping done early this year." He reached over and put his hand on his roommates shoulder. "Better open up your Christmas presents, buddy, or your old man will haunt me until the day I die."
Matt sank back on the chair and reached out for the first box. Carefully he ran his fingers over the wrapping paper. Red? Yeah, Jack would have used red foil with a ribbon and when Matt had ripped the paper away and scooped out the contents Foggy gave a whoop.
"Sock and underwear! Why do all parents think that socks and underwear are what Santa's elves slave over eleven months of the year." Foggy's quick movement got the tatters of the first gift away as Matt opened the second. "It's a white turtleneck, Matt."
Matt ran his fingers over the soft wool of the sweater in the box before him. "Last year it was a black turtleneck."
"One more box," Foggy coaxed Matt on.
"Old Spice, I can smell it through the paper."
"Your Dad wore Old Spice, didn't he?" Foggy laid his hand on Matt's shoulder.
"Yeah, he did," Matt said softly.
The roommates remained silent as they both remembered what they had lost this year. Foggy realized loosing his grandfather was bad, but Matt loosing Jack was like he had gone blind all over again. Then a knock at the door broke the scene.
"That would be my Dad. You're coming, Murdock."
"No, I'll stay here." Matt said, "Someone has to sweep up the sugar."
"That was not a question; that was a command. Tomorrow we'll sleep in late, eat leftovers and avoid "It's A Wonderful Life" on t. v… Right now, I'll let my Dad in, sweep the floor and turn off the kettle. And Matt."
"Yeah, Foggy."
"Thanks for a truly unforgettable Christmas."
FIN