DECEMBER 1967
The company-wide Non-Denominational Winter Holiday Party was to be held on Friday at Site A, where larger, more formal-looking meeting rooms were available. It would be quite the change of pace for the workers of Site E, used to their single elevator with a hundred floors, to see the beautiful old building with its stone foundations and white marble floors. In the underground entrance foyer was a massive pendulum swinging back and forth from the ceiling, pointing its brass finger down into a bowl in the floor. Supposedly, the rotation of the Earth would change its apparent direction, and every hour, it would point to one of the twelve reliefs of the founding fathers of science – Newton, Pythagoras, and so on. To the side was a gift shop with snow globes.
Surely, the twanging guitar of the Ventures would call out from Ballroom A along with the chatter and laughter of a hundred people. Lead tinsel garlands would glitter across the ceiling, silver aluminum trees meticulously lined-up along the walls. Small, round, red-clothed tables would form a sea on either side of the room, dominated by the green-trimmed buffet table topped with crystalline towers of gelatin and bowls of punch and eggnog. There would be space enough in the middle for several couples to dance cheek-to-cheek, bouncing and kicking and jingling all the way. Off to one side, there would be a Santa Claus sitting on a gift-wrapped throne, listening to multiple young children lobby for their due rewards and nodding his agreement.
And there would be Caroline in a silver party dress, her hair let down, her pearls shining in the light. Standing tall beside her would be Mr. Johnson in his Sunday gray tweed suit, a glass of eggnog in his hand. He would give a hearty laugh at something someone in their group had said and decide then was the perfect time to welcome everyone to the festivities, proposing a toast, bashing Black Mesa, and promising a better year next year.
Doug lifted his coffee mug, and Marianne lifted her blue sippy cup. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice, puffing out his chest:
"LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND IRRADIATED HUMANS OF NO APPARENT GENDER – THANK YOU ALL FOR JOINING US TONIGHT FOR THE ANNUAL NON-DENOMINATIONAL WINTER HOLIDAY PARTY! YOU ALL HAVE DONE GOOD WORK THIS YEAR, AND I CAN THINK OF NO GROUP OF PEOPLE MORE DESERVING OF A GOOD SHINDIG THAN YOU. SEEING AS UNCLE SAM IS TAKING YOUR BONUSES THIS YEAR, NEXT YEAR, AND PROBABLY OFF INTO THE FUTURE, I SAY EAT, DRINK, AND DANCE TO YOUR HEARTS' CONTENT! AND NEXT YEAR, WE'LL SHOW THE BASTARDS AT BLACK MESA WHATFOR!"
Surely, there would be a round of applause, accompanied with hoots and hollers, and the music would return with a fanfare, shaking the tinsel overhead with the brass backing Kay Starr. But as it was in their home lab, Marianne's giggling and the tinny radio notes of "The Man With the Bag" were all that responded to Doug's speech. He clanked his mug against her cup and said, "Cheers."
"Tees," said Marianne, and they drank.
They were picnicking on the floor, a small spread of food between them – cheese cubes, two cups of cherry gelatin, six chicken nuggets, and a can of salted mashed peas. It wasn't much compared to the gleaming feast the rest of the facility was enjoying, but it was enough.
Marianne politely held up her plastic plate, and Doug picked up two of the nuggets and put them on her plate along with a spoonful of pea mash. She crinkled her nose at the pea mash.
"You have to have peas," Doug said gently, spooning some on to his own plate. "If you don't eat greens, you won't get tall like me."
Marianne immediately held her plate to her face and scooped all the pea mash into her mouth with a look of absolute disgust. Doug grimaced but had to admit – she'd done what he'd said. He nodded his approval, and his girl shoved a victory nugget into her mouth, chewing with all six teeth.
Once they finished the proper part of the meal, they each ate a gelatin cup, savoring the treat. Doug had swiped most of what they'd eaten from the cafeteria earlier, and he wondered, vaguely and with a pit in his stomach, if they'd have enough holidays down here for her to notice.
Marianne's lips her red with coloring, smacking contentedly. Her hair had grown out to the point where it had to be pulled back to keep out of the way, and she wore two little pigtails behind her ears. She looked up at Doug with big, curious eyes and asked, clear as crystal, "Storytime?"
He grinned and nodded: "Storytime. Go get your pajamas on."
The plastic dishes were washed and left to dry. A plate with a sugar-glazed donut was left on the table near the large, floor-level air vent, two small stockings taped to the wall over it. Marianne's teeth were brushed, and she crouched by the stack of books along her wall.
"Mija," Doug said, putting on his own comfy shirt, "do you want to read something new?"
Marianne nodded, jumping up and stamping her bare feet against the tile as if revving-up to run to her cot and jump into the blankets. She did and nestled in deep, and Doug reached into his pillowcase to pull out a thin, golden-wrapped gift. He handed it over to her, sitting on his cushion beside her. She held the gift in both hands and stared at it in the desk lamp light.
"Merry Christmas," Doug said. "Go on, open it."
Marianne's little fingers picked at the creases of the wrapping, and Doug pulled one edge so she could see how. She grabbed the edge and ripped it down, revealing the book inside. On the green cover was a red-faced man in red clothes climbing out of what looked to be a hole in the wall.
"Want to read it?"
Marianne nodded, and Doug snuggled her close and opened to the first page.
" 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring… not even a mouse.'"
o- -o ooo- -o
Mama Ixchel had gathered the children around the campfire, her son under one arm and Ed Hopper's boy under the other. The dusty trucks circled them, keeping the warmth in under the starlit sky.
"The stockings were hung over the mantle to dry by the fire," she said, "and my sisters were fast asleep, dead to the world. It was so nice and warm, I wasn't far behind them. But a few hours later, I woke up to Cholo barking outside, and when I looked—there was something in the sky."
The smaller kids scooted closer to her feet. Mama Ixchel nodded to show she was telling the truth.
"And you'll never believe it—it was a snow-sleigh up there, I could see it against the moon, and it had eight little deer pulling it like sled-dogs. Cholo was barking at them, and I worried he'd scare them away, but he didn't. The snow-sleigh came down over the other houses, swooping and sliding like it was on snowy hills, and I lost sight of it for a moment before I heard on the roof click-clack click-clack. The ghost, the Spirit of Christmas was here! I was scared of what might happen if I saw him, so I hurried back under the covers, just peeking out a little."
Mr. Ed Hopper, Ms. Yelchin, and Ms. Theodora grinned from where they sat on one of the trucks' bumpers, sharing a warming bottle between them. Mama Ixchel continued, motioning with her hands in a way that jostled the boys beside her.
"Lo and behold! A big, fat man with big, fat, rosy cheeks fell down the chimney and put out our fire with his behind! And he laughed about it! Ho ho ho, he said! I stayed under the covers and watched while he put things from his pockets into our stockings, which were probably still damp by the way, and he ate one of my candies I'd left on the table! I'd been saving it, but I guess he decided it was payment for whatever gift he'd left us, so it's fine, I guess."
The children giggled.
"Then, the strange Spirit stepped back into our little fireplace, whistled fweet!, and flew back up the flue! The fire sprang back up after him, and I heard the click-clack click-clack on the roof again. I looked back out the window, and there he went! Off into the night! Laughing all the way! Ho ho ho!"
Her son tapped her hand on his shoulder: "Mama, what'd he leave you?"
"Oh, in my stocking?" she chuckled. "He left me… my favorite hairpin."
She tilted her head to the side, pointing to the coiled snake pinned to her tocoyal wrap. It was dulled with age but shone gently with the care it had been afforded.
"I've brought this thing with me across countries, over mountains, through rivers, through snow. Even when I lost Cholo, when Cristina went with God, when Manuela ran off with that sailor-boy—" she looked around at the children, cold and hungry and wearing everything they owned in an attempt to keep off the winter cold "—this life can be hard. We'll lose things, and the world will sound like it's against us. But there's always some little light we can hold on to. Little Ed, what's something you hold on to? What makes you happy?"
Little Ed, who was once pudgy and now had a hollowed look about him, bit at his scarf and said, "Oranges."
"Oooh, good, good. Nickie, what about you?"
Nickie, curled against her elder sister, whistled through her loose tooth as she said, "I have a bear!"
"Very good, bears are good."
The children began to offer up what they had, shouting "Ms. Michelle! Ms. Michelle!"—a lucky nickel here, a favorite book there—and Mama Ixchel grinned wide, her cheeks crinkling up into her eyes. Her son looked up at her and pulled her arm closer around him. She was warmer than the fire by far.
- - - -o - - - oooo o o-o
" 'Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!'"
Marianne clapped her hands together, making little noise at all. Doug sniffled and blinked back to the present—had he actually read through the entire book already? He vaguely remembered reading it aloud, felt the words on his lips, but had he actually done it? Marianne seemed to think so. That's what mattered. He closed the book and pulled her to him, kissing her on the top of her head.
She took the book from him and opened it back to the first page. She pointed to the words and babbled as if reading, and Doug leaned his head on her small shoulder.
"Oooh," he said encouragingly, "it's so quiet, huh?"
She nodded and turned the page, pointing to the children nestled snug in their beds: "Sleep!"
"They're sleeping?"
He felt like he should be going to sleep, too. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't go to the holiday party this year. Last year, the year before… it had exhausted him, too loud, too many people. The only real good thing was the free food, and with the extra money he was getting to take care of Marianne, pretty much all the food he got was now "free."
Marianne turned the page and yawned and decided she was done. She closed the book and handed it to Doug, who took it.
"Sleep time," she said matter-of-factly.
"Sleep time?"
"Yes."
"Alright."
He reached over and put the book on top of the stack, and Marianne slid down into her nest of blankets, none of which matched and all of which had been snuck down early in the mornings. He tucked her in, kissed her forehead and turned the desk lamp to face away from them as he laid down, too.
"Hey," he said quietly, and Marianne turned her head to look at him. "I love you."
"Lovey, Daddy."
"To the moon and back."
"Moon'm back."
o-oo - -o o o-oo oo -o o ooo ooo
Caroline knew it was stupid, but she'd bought the gifts anyway, wrapping them together in shiny silver paper. She hated sentimental holidays, found them to be a waste of resources, but she couldn't deny that this was the one time of year when gift-giving made sense—they'd survived another trip around the sun, another 365 days without succumbing to the natural entropic state of the universe. Even now, in the coldest time of the year, when trees were sleeping and animals would be frozen in-place overnight, your recipient had kept on going, kept being warm and alive. It was a battle, it was rebellion, and she couldn't help but think fondly on her fellow man.
Monday was Christmas Day. Caroline had tried to entertain their social friends during the weekend before, had poured the eggnog, had roasted a ham, but it felt hollow. Hollow as the glass ornaments on the aluminum tree. Hollow as the empty wine bottles at the end of the night. She didn't sleep well and left her snoring husband in bed near four in the morning, getting dressed and driving out to Site E. The gate guard was a skinny boy in a coat thicker than he was. He wished her a happy holiday. She politely wished him one back.
Caroline went through the motions, unlocking the main office, moving the clock forward on the impossible windows so that the cellophane sun shone throughout the room. She took her seat at the receptionist's desk, sorted papers and signed documents. She brought them to the office desk and set them down, then sat in the large leather office chair and stared through the open doors and down the orange hall at the elevator.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years she'd worked here, and she'd never sat in this chair. She felt the leather armrests under her fingertips, breathed the scent of it.
In a couple hours, she'd be sipping coffee at home on the sofa, opening meaningless gifts straight out of the Sears & Roebuck. Probably pearls. Maybe a book or two. There would be another gathering tonight at a friend's house, and they'd ply her with champagne to sing at the piano, just like every year. And she would, just like every year, ignoring the lyrics to keep herself from exploding.
The false sun shimmered behind the glass, rising slowly into the vague sky.
Someday, she was going to break. Fire would escape the hearth, smoke would fill all the rooms of her house, and she'd be laughing, taunting, and singing, oh yes, she'd be singing.
Caroline breathed deep and pushed the feeling back down into her gut. She stood from the chair, pushing it in—there was no point in dwelling on fantasies. She moved the clock back to the correct time, and the sun set back down behind the edge of the windows. She locked the doors and took her purse from the receptionist's desk and saw the glint of the silver wrapping paper inside.
This was stupid.
She rode the elevator down, past empty floors, her reflections staring back at her from the mirrored walls. She ignored how they seemed to move, independent of her, before the doors even opened on to floor 19. Her low heels made little noise on the tile as she walked, the hallway lights buzzing almost imperceptibly. There was only one lab door with paper taped over the thin window, and even then, the warm yellow glow of the desk lamp shone within.
Would it be so bad, she wondered, if he was awake, too? Would it be so terrible to open the door herself? She had the second key. Would it be horrible of her to go in and find him sitting there, working away on his little cores, to see him look up and be terrified for a moment before settling into relief? He never expected anything of her. He wouldn't expect a real reason for her to be there on a holiday, a holiday she wasn't supposed to be working, instead of at home. He'd accept it, just as he'd accepted Marianne, just as he'd accepted her place as his boss. Just as he'd accepted that she didn't want to date him after that one Valentine's movie at university.
Caroline sighed. How different would her life be if she hadn't—no, no, she wouldn't think about such things. There was no going back and doing things over. There would never be an opportunity to tell her younger self about all the hard times ahead, how they compared to the sweet ones. She only had what she had now, and that was it.
She took the single silver gift out of her purse and placed it standing against the door before turning away and heading back to the elevator.
Merry Christmas, she thought as the doors closed. I'm sorry.
oo-o o- ooo- - o-o oo - o -o-o - o-oo - o-o
"Say," Mason from Engineering said, standing in line for cafeteria breakfast, "that's a mighty fine tie, doc. Brand new?"
Doug touched the yellow tie bashfully, feeling the little sunflowers embroidered into the silk, but grinned nonetheless: "Thanks. It was a present."