When Marc Chapman went in to work on Monday, all the boys in the shop were calling him Killer on account of the shiner he\u2019d picked up at the game over the weekend. Chappy shrugged it off.<\/p>\n
\u201cShould see the other guy,\u201d he lied.<\/p>\n
As the weekend\u2019s hangover subsided, a deeper hurt set in. Terri\u2019d dumped him, and Shan was gonna shit a brick when he failed to deliver on Christmas. He\u2019d only glanced at the list of gifts she\u2019d written up for him to get their daughter, Alexia, before he\u2019d lost it. He knew she needed a new snowsuit. Beyond that, he was fucked.<\/p>\n
After work, he cruised over to the K-Mart out by the highway. He bought the pink snowsuit, ball parking on the size and hoping it would last Alexia through to next winter, too. He bought a pink plastic flying saucer, telling himself he\u2019d take her to the toboggan run in the park anytime she asked. It\u2019d be fun. Sure it would.<\/p>\n
Shopping done, he got back in the truck and drove out the Spirit River Highway. Just over the Alberta line, he turned up a gravel road, drove a couple miles and parked half in the ditch. Chappy walked deep into the snow of the bush. It was dark, the pure dark of a cloudy, moonless northern December night. Chappy had a little pocket lamp, which he held it in his teeth as he sawed down a small spruce tree. Then he hauled it, huffing, sweating, puffing, out the way he came and tossed it into the box. Back home, he fashioned a stand from some scrap pieces of 2×4 to hold the scruffy tree up, though it canted noticeably to the right.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019ll do,\u201d he grunted, satisfied with his middling handy work.<\/p>\n
Then he waded through the snow to the sun-bleached tin shed in back of his trailer. He dug through mountains of empties, past summer tires and over the broken lawn mower to a stack of junk in the far back. There, he found the old Gordon\u2019s Gin box that held what was left of the Chapman family Christmas ornaments, which he\u2019d salvaged from his father\u2019s house when the old man had died five winters back.<\/p>\n
Sorting out what passed for the old drunk\u2019s estate, Chappy\u2019d been surprised to find the ornaments intact from those few early, happy family Christmases: old glass baubles, the hand-painted wooden elves, the taxidermy bird that rested on the uppermost bough. Sure, it was all dusty and a little worse for wear than he remembered. But it was all there. It had always been tradition to decorate the tree together, as a family. As far as Chappy recalled, it had always been a great time. Maybe their best, even. But that year after his mom died, he\u2019d had to force his father to get a tree at all.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on, we gotta get a tree,” he’d insisted. “Mom\u2019d want us to, I bet.\u201d<\/p>\n
With a heavy sigh, his father had rolled off the couch where he spent most the time he wasn\u2019t working, and they\u2019d loaded into his old Chevy. They drove out the Spirit River Road into Alberta. The old man stopped where he always stopped, stomped into the bushes with a rusty saw in one hand and came back out with a tree. He set the tree up in the living room at home, but it wasn\u2019t until Christmas Eve that Chappy could convince his father it was time to pull out the decorations.<\/p>\n
\u201cGuess you\u2019re right,\u201d his father\u2019d said. \u201cGo get \u2018em.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chappy\u2019d run to the closet, dragged out the box. In a haze of rum, painkillers, and cigarette smoke, the old man shuffled around, wrapping the tree in lights and garland. When it came time to place the final piece, the little bird on the top, his father stumbled, nearly knocking the tree over before he caught himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoddamn Christmas,\u201d his dad had cussed. \u201cBuncha Charlie Brown horse piss.\u201d<\/p>\n
The next year, they bought a tree from the parking lot of the Co-op. Chappy did all the decorating himself. After that, they never bothered. It wasn\u2019t until Alexia was born that Chappy ever got a tree again. It had been Shannon, that first year, who\u2019d done the decorating. Chappy watched, bouncing the baby girl on his knee, rye and coke in hand.<\/p>\n
The following year, Shannon and Chappy had shared a couple laughs as the young girl toddled about, trying to help with the decorating herself. So cute, they\u2019d said. Just adorable.<\/p>\n
Since the split, the whole Christmas thing went down at Shannon\u2019s parents\u2019 place. Chappy hadn\u2019t been invited. This year Chappy resolved to show his daughter what a real Chapman Christmas was all about. They\u2019d decorate the tree, together. They\u2019d drink hot chocolate, eat candy canes and popcorn and whatever else the girl wanted. They\u2019d open their stocking and presents and go fuckin tobogganing and everything. Like a real goddamn family.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Come Friday afternoon, Chappy\u2019s shiner had begun to subside. He still looked and felt like hell, though. Snow was falling thick and heavy on the road up to Fort St John. The drive up the highway was slow, slippery, and lousy with other motorists.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi there, princess,\u201d Chappy said when he got to Shannon\u2019s door, squatting down to her level. His knees were sore and he felt a pinch in his hip from the drive. \u201cYou ready for Christmas with Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n
Pouting, Alexia shrugged, half-nodded yes, half-shook her head no.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019ll be OK, sweetie,\u201d Chappy said, to reassure himself as much as the girl. \u201cWe\u2019re gonna have lots of fun. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
Next morning, Chappy made breakfast. He cleared the driveway while the girl, pushing a cracked plastic shovel, \u201chelped.\u201d After lunch, he made hot chocolate and loaded up with marshmallows. They opened up the Gordon\u2019s Gin box while Miracle on<\/em> 34th Street <\/em>playing on the TV. Chappy did his level best to field the girl\u2019s endless stream of questions, comments, concerns.<\/p>\n \u201cThe tree\u2019s so sticky.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s sap, sweetie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy\u2019s it got sap?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause it\u2019s a real tree. Real trees have sap, like blood. Or boogers.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEww. That\u2019s gross.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLife\u2019s gross, girl.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe tree smells funny.”<\/p>\n \u201cReal trees smell funny. Just like people.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGran and Gramp\u2019s tree\u2019s real. It doesn\u2019t smell funny.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDoesn\u2019t sound real to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s real. I saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhatever you say, sweetie. Here, take this candy cane. Put it over there.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl grew bored of decorating the tree before long, so they called it quits. Chappy made popcorn and another round of hot cocoa, substituting spiced rum for marshmallows in his. When the credits rolled on the TV movie, Chappy put in the VHS he\u2019d rented and ordered pizza. They watched the Muppet gang caper through the holidays in the glow of the old Christmas lights. Chappy, dozing, felt like things were finally looking up.<\/p>\n Both father and daughter fell asleep before the film was over or the pizza gone. Chappy woke an hour or so later, groggy and needing to piss something fierce. He shut off the TV, unplugged the tree and crept to the bathroom. Deed done, Chappy fumbled back through the dark on tiptoe, until his right foot caught something on the floor.<\/p>\n Stumbling, over he went, arms spinning, hands grasping rough spruce boughs.<\/p>\n With a crash, the half-decorated Christmas tree came tumbling down, filling the dark living room with the jingle jangle of smashing ornaments and popping light bulbs.<\/p>\n \u201cMotherfuck,\u201d Chappy cursed as the branches scratched up his arms, stomach, his still bruised face like so many Western Canadian Lotto tickets on Christmas morning.<\/p>\n The girl jumped awake, screaming.<\/p>\n \u201cDaddy, daddy,\u201d she cried at the height of her four year old register. Her shrieking split his skull as he struggled to free himself from the fallen tree. \u201cDaddy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s alright, honey,\u201d Chappy said, pushing himself upright in the darkness. \u201cIt\u2019s alright, everything\u2019s OK.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDaddy!\u201d shrieked the girl.<\/p>\n \u201cGoddamnit,\u201d Chappy cursed, elbow pulsing as he clawed his way up through remains of the table and their greasy pizza dinner.<\/p>\n His daughter wailed.<\/p>\n Wincing, he pushed himself up painfully to his knees. He wrapped his arms around his terrified daughter. She howled, jumped back.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s OK,\u201d Chappy said. \u201cIt\u2019s me, Alexia. Daddy\u2019s here. It\u2019s OK. Please stop crying. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Night passed. Chappy cleaned up the mess quietly. He stood the tree back up, canting much further to the right than it had before, broken and bent branches dangling. He restrung the lights, swapping out the broken bulbs for new ones, and replaced all those decorations that had survived the fall to the floor. He swept up the debris from the carpet, Dustbusting the finer, sharper grains and tossed it all outside in a heap.<\/p>\n In the early morning gloom, Chappy dug his stash of presents out from the hall closet. As he set them down where the table had once stood, Chappy realized he\u2019d forgotten an important piece of the Christmas puzzle.<\/p>\n \u201cNo goddamn wrapping paper. Fuck sakes.\u201d<\/p>\n With a heavy sigh, Chappy gathered a stack of old Hockey News <\/em>magazines from the can and started ripping out the most colourful pages one by one.<\/p>\n When Alexia woke hours later, all her presents lay beneath the ragged tree, wrapped in glossy pictures of Gretzky, Gilmour, Lemieux, and the others stars of the big show. The lights of the tree sparkled off the unbroken ornaments, filling the trailer with a warm glow.<\/p>\n \u201cYay!\u201d the girl squealed after rubbing her eyes awake, her face lighting up in a way Chappy hadn\u2019t seen in some time. \u201cSanta came! He really did!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure,\u201d Chappy said over his fourth cup of instant coffee. \u201cSure he did, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl tore through each gift, the act of ripping the players apart as much a part of the thrill as any of the receiving. Chappy was glad she didn\u2019t stop to question Santa\u2019s choice of wrapping paper. In the end, the room looked an even bigger disaster than the night before, pieces of hockey heroes and plastic packaging strewn everywhere.<\/p>\n \u201cCan we go toboggan?\u201d Alexia jumped up and down with the plastic disc gripped tightly in her tiny fists. \u201cCan we go now? Can we?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure thing,\u201d Chappy laughed, forgetting his exhaustion for a moment.<\/p>\n Arm in arm, father and daughter marched out the door into the sunny, bluebird day, only to find that the temperature had plummeted overnight, mercury hovering down close to -30 and the wind howling. In his haste Friday evening, he\u2019d forgotten to plug the block heater in. Now, try as he might, and try he did, Chappy could not get the damned engine to turn over.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing,\u201d Chappy lied. \u201cLooks like we\u2019re gonna have to wait a little while before we go tobogganing, sweetie.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy?\u201d she asked, frowning deeply.<\/p>\n \u201cThe truck just needs a little time to warm up, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl did not take the news well.<\/p>\n When Shannon showed up, the girl was still crying.<\/p>\n \u201cYou lost the list, didn\u2019t you?\u201d Shannon said when she saw the girl\u2019s Christmas loot piled up on the flying saucer by the door.<\/p>\n Chappy made to deny it, but it was no use. Instead, he just shrugged, defeated.<\/p>\n \u201cMerry Christmas, sweetie,\u201d Chappy told his daughter, wiping the tears from her cheeks as he pulled her close to him so that she wouldn\u2019t see the tears pooling in his brown eyes. \u201cWe\u2019ll go tobogganing next time. Be good for mommy, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK,\u201d the girl sniffled.<\/p>\n \u201cI love you,\u201d Chappy told the girl. \u201cDon\u2019t ever forget, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK,\u201d she said. \u201cDaddy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, baby girl?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI love you too,\u201d she sniffled, wrapping her tiny arms tight around his unshaven throat. \u201cMerry Christmas, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" This year Chappy resolved to show his daughter what Christmas was all about. They\u2019d do it together, like a real goddamn family.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":16198,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[212,200,2346,672,2074,1308],"class_list":["post-16120","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-alcoholism","tag-bachelors","tag-canada","tag-christmas","tag-fathers-and-daughters","tag-hockey","writer-sheldon-birnie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16120"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16199,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16120\/revisions\/16199"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16198"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}