christmas Eve

She pulls her coat tight, warding off the brittle, gusty wind. It’s almost midnight, Christmas Eve. She has no one waiting at home, so she’s in no hurry. As the wind dies, the snow begins to fall gently. When it picks up, again, the eddies reswirl. She thinks: Maybe I should just get in my car and drive. Just go, anywhere, somewhere. Stop and sleep. Wake and eat breakfast. See what Christmas feels like, there, somewhere. It’s not always been so, like this. Her ex has the kids, tonight; they’d decided to take turns with the holidays and he’d won the coin toss. So, this is new. She passes a bar – “Gracie’s” – then stops, turns and heads back, stops, peeks in, pulls open the door and enters. It’s warm, dark, but it feels safe. “Come in, hon,” the older man behind the bar says. She does. “Whatever you want, it’s on the house.” She smiles and says, “I want to be six, again.” The barkeep chuckles, nicely. She smiles, says “Merry Christmas,” and turns back into the evening. From somewhere far away she hears carolers singing – “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” As she walks, now, she sings along.