“Good morning, Belen,”Tyler Wilburn, with security greeted.
“Morning Tyler,” I stomped my snow-covered boots onto the oversized entrance rug with the letters P and G woven into it.
“Did you catch that game last night?”
“I did. And you owe me twenty dollars. I’ll come back around to collect at lunchtime,” I shouted over my shoulder, never slowing my stride.
There was no time for idle chitchat. It was November nineteenth, the day I’d been planning for all year. Santa Claus was coming to town. At Pavilion Grand Mall, Christmas was big business and as event coordinator, it was my job to drive families to the mall with the promise of a holiday experience like no other.
I’d arrived to work early to meet the man we hired through the talent agency to play the role of Old Saint Nick. After months of persuading, management gave me the green light to hire a Black Santa, the first in Pavilion Grand history. I couldn’t wait for thousands of kids to see a Santa Claus that resembled theirgrandfathers, with rich mahogany skin like mine and so many others in this community.
My quickened pace slowed when I spotted a tall bearded gentleman admiring my Christmas display in the center of the mall. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I called. This stranger was the first person outside of mall staff to view the Christmas toy land I’d created.
The man turned, sizing me up before responding. “It’s big.”
“The tree is real.” I beamed while moving closer to fully admire its refined elegance, at over thirty feet tall and just as wide. I’d overseen the selection and when it rolled in on the flatbed truck, it was just as impressive as the photos I’d perused online.
“Are you bragging about cutting down a tree?”
“No.” My full brows mashed together into a frown. “For every tree we cut, we plant dozens more. Pavilion Grand believes in the environment and we do our part not just at Christmas but all through the year.” I rattled off the talking points prepared by Pavilion Grand’s legal team for moments like this.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to chain myself to the tree you murdered and abducted from the forest.”
“Abducted?” I tried my best to stifle an incredulous laugh. “No … some would say we gave the tree a purpose.”
The man with broad shoulders and precision posture examined my face with his cognac eyes. “The tree’s very existence was all the purpose it needed. Being decorated and placed on display doesn’t increase its value.”
He had me at a disadvantage; I hadn’t really given much thought to the environmental or ethical impact of chopping down a tree. I just knew this massive Norway Spruce was the most expertly decorated tree Pavilion Grand ever had because I’d paid close attention to every detail right down to the silver and gold lollipops and red velvet ribbons.
Glancing at my phone, I said, “Wow, would you look at the time.” I had a busy day ahead of me and was not interested in entertaining a discussion that could spiral into talk about climate change and fracking.
“When do you think people decided this was what Christmas was all about?” The man pointed at the tree, causing his well-defined muscles to flex under the tension.
“Are you about to ask me if I’ve accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior?”
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, revealing teeth four out of five dentists would be proud of. “I didn’t have plans to, no.”
“So you hate Christmas?” I thought I was the only one who was haunted by Christmas’s past.
His head jerked backward. “No, I love Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday. What Ihateis the commercialization of Christmas. In my day it was less about the gifts and more about family and appreciation for things money couldn’t buy.”
“In your day. Are you talking about ten years ago?” This man was probably in his early thirties, but he was reminiscing like a senior citizen with decades of Christmases under his belt.
“More like twenty, actually.”
“Well I think Christmas is a bit overrated. Some people don’t want the ho, ho, ho and prefer the bah humbug and that’s their prerogative.”
“So one minute you’re extolling the majesty of this dead tree and the next you’re a Scrooge.”
“Christmas is really for the children.”
“Fuck them kids. Christmas is for everyone.”
This man was passionate about trees but kids could get the finger? “All I know is that Christmas has been increasingly disappointing as I’ve gotten older. If I’m being honest, I knewChristmas was a crock when I didn’t get the Barbie Dreamhouse I asked for when I was seven.”
“Santa stiffed you, huh?”
“I was so pissed. Because I knew I’d been a good girl all year. Straight A’s. Band solo?—”
