FourLegged

There are three basic groups of people who buy the 75% discount holiday cards: the thrifty folk who know a good bargain when they see one; the anal-retentive people who start planning for the next year's holiday season before the Christmas tree lights have been taken down; and then there are those lonely individuals who buy the cards in the hopes that maybe by next year, they will have someone special to share the romance, love, and togetherness that the cards seem to offer. This is about a member of that third little group.

Charlie worked the graveyard-shift at a gas station. His job was to sit in a little bullet-proof glass enclosed booth all night. Most nights dragged by slowly, and Charlie would bring books with him to work. Little pieces of escapist fiction; science-fiction stories of high adventure on distant worlds, mystery novels where the investigator is seduced by sexy femme fatales, or fantasy stories where the princess is saved from the rampaging monster by the dashing hero. Occasionally, when people would roll up in their automobiles and push their money through a slot in the booth, Charlie would activate their car's gas pump, or sell them cigarettes and candy. They would inevitably get back into their cars and roll away, and Charlie would go back to his books. This would go on all night, five (sometimes six) nights a week. After work, just as the sun has crested the horizon, Charlie would go home, after stopping at a fast food restaurant to buy some greasy little "value meal," eat, feed the cat, and go to bed.

When Charlie wasn't working, he would sit at home in front of his computer and pretend to be someone else. On the internet, Charlie was Thordan, a powerful and virile man who exuded charm, charisma, and self-confidence. Charlie was none of these things. He was a sad, nervous little dumpling of a man, who had, on one occasion, actually vomited on a woman's shoe when she had the poor sense to say hello to him.

This is how Charlie lived his life. He put his head down, went to work, ate, slept, got up, and went to work again. Throughout this soul-grinding cycle, Charlie dreamt of something better. He fantasized about a woman who could take him away from his life of lonely torment: someone who would care about him, someone to love. But Charlie had long since been beaten down by grim reality. Intellectually, he knew that true love and a perfect mate were pipe-dreams created by movie studios and romance novel publishers.

And so Charlie's existence continued in this fashion, day after day, month after month, and year after year. The only time Charlie would openly acknowledge his loneliness was around the holidays. He would start to become depressed around Halloween. "Why does all of this Christmas junk have to come out so early?" By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, Charlie's depression had become a dull throb just behind his sternum. "This holiday music is driving me blinking nuts!" By the time Christmas hit, Charlie's misery and alcohol induced madness had become so overwhelming that he was forced to retreat even further from the world. Charlie would snarl at the happy shiny people wishing him a "Merry Christmas!" He would wince at the sound of bells. He would, upon hearing the canned Christmas music in a store, turn around and walk out.

The one holiday that Charlie actually looked forward to was New Year's Day. New Year's Day was officially the last day of the holiday season. His two months of hell were finished until next year. Not long after, of course, Charlie would be ambushed by the most painful holiday of them all, Valentine's Day. A day designed especially to celebrate your love for your chosen soul mate. That is, of course, unless you were some kind of freak who had no one with whom to celebrate.

One day in June, after a particularly painful Valentine's Day heartbreak, Charlie found himself standing in front of the discount holiday card bin. The front of the bin held a little placard that read: Special! 75% off all holiday cards (in this box only)

Charlie didn't know what drew him to look in that box. Maybe it was the thought of saving money, or possibly it was the idea that he might actually remember to send his parents a card next Christmas. Whatever the reason, Charlie distractedly thumbed through the box.

The cards were cute in a shabby sort of way. Nothing worth sending to anyone… But eventually Charlie found one that struck his interest. It was a simple card, basic but strangely elegant. Charlie imagined himself giving this card to "her" and through that simple act, sweeping her off of her feet. Charlie still didn't know who she was, or when he might meet her, but with this card, he could win her heart.

With feelings of fear mixed with glimmerings of hope, Charlie quietly went to the register and placed the prized card on the counter. The cashier, barely glancing at the card, rang it up and stuck it in a little paper bag. Charlie paid for the card, reverently took the bag from the cashier, and went home.

Once home, Charlie took the card out of the bag, sadly smiled at it, "I'll never find her, but if I do, I'll have this card to give to her," and put it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Time passes, the card is forgotten, and the cycle continues.