The Christmas Before Hell Froze Over

This short story appears in Tiny Treats: A Holiday Collection. This story stars Beulah Land as the narrator and takes place before The Happy Hour Choir and introduces John the Baptist from Bless Her Heart.

That year I had a love-hate relationship with Christmas. Ginger had been given a clean bill of health, but the Gates brothers had an irrational love for Feliz Navidad. To make matters worse, they were both flush with cash from having worked the Christmas tree lot in town and had plenty of fives to ensure I kept playing it.

At least they weren’t requesting Sweet Home Alabama daily.

            As I wrapped up Jose Feliciano, I looked around The Fountain. Bill and I had draped Christmas lights all the way around the room, draping them over old metal signs for Ne-Hi and Sundrop, the lone deer head, and even a smoke detector. In some places they hung over nails painstakingly driven into the cinder block walls. A tiny Charlie Brown tree leaned on the corner of the bar, but the mood was festive. Only three more days until Christmas, and we had a new waitress, Tiffany.

            “Hey, Beulah, why don’t you play that Christmas shoe song?” Mac slurred through the last word.

            “Nah, man. That’s too sad.” Pete Gates yelled before leaning over to make a shot at the pool table.

            To stop the argument I launched into a request for Angels We Have Heard on High. As was custom, the regulars sang along. They sounded pretty darn good on all of those glorias. And was that Tiffany’s shy soprano?

            I took another swig from my beer. Since it was my second beer on an empty stomach, it was more likely I was hearing things.

            The clock chimed, nine saving me from any more Christmas music. Everyone knew I played Christmas music only from open until nine and only from the day after Thanksgiving until the day before Christmas. There were plenty of rules I was ready to break, but I wasn’t going to play Christmas music any longer than I had to.

            As I played my signature song, Dwelling in Beulah Land, the door opened and revealed a possible rule for me to break. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to date any more bikers, but…this guy.

            Tall and lean with leather pants, he took off his helmet to reveal long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. As the song registered with him, he turned to face me with a grin, and I sucked in a breath.

            It was John.

            He’d been ahead of me in high school, the kid who had a band and was actually good at singing. Last I’d heard he’d gone off to be a star. But he was here. And he was looking even better than he had back when we were in high school.

            I couldn’t wait to finish the song that signaled the beginning of my break, and I practically leapt from the risers to join him at the bar.

            “Beulah, is that you?”

            “The one and only. What are you doing after close?”

            “Oh, I’m not sticking around.” His eyes darted to the door as if he couldn’t get out of the place soon enough.

            I leaned against the bar and poured on the charm. “That’s too bad. I was hoping we could catch up. For old time’s sake.”

            I’d found an exploration of the male species dismal for the most part, but I had fond memories of John. In fact, John was the only guy I remembered fondly. If not for him, I would’ve sworn men off altogether.

            “I gotta get out of here.” He grabbed his helmet and bolted for the door.

            I followed him outside. “Was it something I said?”

            He stopped outside, gasping in air. “No. I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”

            “Do what?”
            He turned to look at me, his hazel eyes glinting under the security light. “I can’t be in a bar yet. Beulah, I’m not the guy I was. I’m sober now.”

            Sober? And I was tipsy? What kind of crazy world was this? He was about to walk away from me, and he was the only guy to ever treat me like. . . a person. 

            So I kissed him.

            He froze for a minute, but then he met me touch for touch. My body tingled in anticipation, and for a minute I thought I had him. Then he broke the kiss.

            “Too soon,” he said in a ragged voice, his forehead against mine.

            “What?”
            “For a relationship. And for what it’s worth I’m sorry for taking advantage of you before.”

            That had cost him, but my mouth went dry at the idea he thought we were a mistake.

            “Don’t be. You’re the only man who ever—who was good to me.”

            He flashed me a brilliant smile. “That means a lot to me, Beulah.”

            “Will I see you around?”

            “Not unless you head over to Grace Baptist Church.” He said as he prepared to put on his helmet. “I’m the new youth leader there.”

            My blood ran cold. My father had been preacher there. We hadn’t been on the best of terms. “Unlikely you’ll see me there.”

            “Too bad. Maybe in town, then.”

            Off he went with a growl of his motorcycle, leaving me very, very confused.

            “Ho there, Beulah! Why so glum, chum?” Bill asked when I walked in.

            “John’s a sober preacher now.”

            He chuckled, “Oh, that sounds horrible.”

            I smacked his arm playfully. “I thought he might be the one, you know.”

            ”Maybe he still is.”

            I snorted. “Bill, hell will freeze over before I fall in love with a preacher.”

            He laughed. “You need to be careful, Beulah Land. The good Lord has a way of making us eat our words sometimes.”

            I stuck my tongue out at him, reminded myself that John wasn't the only man who’d ever been nice to me. “Just for that I’m gonna go break my own rule and make you listen to The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

            “I take it all back!”

            But it was too late. Bill had to listen to the Twelve Days, and I had said words that were just begging to be eaten.