Grace Under Pressure, by David John Drew
The atmosphere within reverberated warmth on a night rapidly descending to freezing point. Through the cold window wisps of wind blew snowflakes hither and tither, then they settled on any available stable surface. The barely visible garden fence grew a fresh, new collar of icy ermine, hardy shrubs hid beneath blankets of virgin white. As far as the eye could see, the land was transformed by the whims of weather – delicately adorned with the breath of a frosty season.
Inside, the gabble of numerous voices, lubricated with choicest liquors, wines, or whiskey infused with ice-cubes… seemed overwhelming. Faces reflected in the glittering orbs decorating the Christmas tree in the corner, moving, mingling, and masticating on delicious treats. Abigail’s new ‘beau’ seemed startled at first, even overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of the characters.
“Diane always comes into work drunk… believe me!” She said. “Terrible… simply atrocious…” replied Steve. “And about this time of year she manages to slip on a patch of ice in the car park, snap a leg bone, skinny legs you know… then claims compensation and spends six months in recovery… we are the ones picking up the slack…” Dot moaned, “Crazy you know!”And she circled a finger around while pointing to the side of her forehead… “Bonkers… Nuts...” Steve was sympathetic, “Some people know how to work the system…” Dot added, “Every year the same old thing… so we are all taking bets on what day she is going do it this year… I’m betting on December 21st for sure…” Steve laughed, “Dot, your sure to win… you always come out on top!” Dot gave Steve a wink, “Honey, nothing can pin me down – I’m a seasoned strategist!” She gave Steve a sideways knock with her hips, and he nearly lost a grip on his champagne flute, thinking, ‘Yes, and I know were this could all lead… that’s why they call her ‘octo-pussy’ … once a man gets caught in her tentacles he’ll never escape!’
James suffered the barely audible monologue of introduction, handshake, or in the case of Aunt Lizabeth, an importune smear of a kiss planted firmly on his cheek. James thought that kiss too much pressure – there was a lust in those lips beyond the normal, acceptable pleasantries exchanged… even in an informal seasonal family gathering like this. He puzzled over whether he had actually felt her hand giving him a firm pat on the buttocks at the same time. He didn’t have time to think.
A boy appeared from nowhere, began screaming and commenced a hazardous climb over the leather couch with a large silver fork on which was impaled something that resembled a jelly donut with green icing… “Stop that kid… get off the couch you little brat…” An anonymous voice screamed.
Abigail led him quickly, windingly through the throng, by the hand to her father. “Father… James… James… my father, Roger, daddy… well, this is Jimmy my boyfriend…” And she whispered, “Daddy’s a lawyer, be careful Jimmy, don’t perjure yourself!”She walked away giggling, James cemented to the floor without any visible means of escape. Father Roger’s moustache seemed to bristle at the confrontation, and eyes pierced his victim. He wondered where the red smudge on his cheek had come from? A short, solemn silence was punctuated with a terse enquiry, “And what is it you do… ‘Jim’ … or should I call you James?” Daddy’s face seemed to thrust itself too close for comfort into Jim’s, and he stuttered, “Well… just been promoted to district manager at Carpet Warehouse… tremendous opportunity… I love home furnishing… and… and…” He spluttered ungainly as if being interrogated. Despite the earnest reply Roger only nodded and ‘Mmnned’ while looking over Jim’s shoulder and giving a genial wave at another guest. “Faith!” Roger shouted provocatively. Jim slowly rolled his head, in the same way one does with brain freeze… not quite understanding the exclamation, his forehead wrinkled quizzically… straining… to understand beyond the noise of yuletide chant and jovial chatter the nature of the word. “Faith” He repeated, “What Church are you with James?” For a second James thought, ‘that he really loved Abigail, that this, her father standing like an icicle of a specter before him, stood in the way of true desire… and then there was the good prospect of this wealthy lawyer investing in a future business… ‘that idea he had of importing luxury Persian rugs needed an investor’ but as of yet it seemed like a long way down the road… but still, the icicle must be melted first so to speak… ‘ And another second lapsed while he, James, reminded himself of his tendency toward atheism… Time seemed to slow down as he purveyed the absurdity of the situation, weighing up the warmth of the drink and the festivities, the future of a well financed marital bliss with the woman of his dreams, and the cold, analytical decision to disregard the fairy tales of superstitious ancients…
“Faith” seemed to echo through the empty caverns of his mind. Perhaps unconsciously he blurted out, “St. Grobius Presbyterian church in Colingwood… “ And the ice melted in a warm embrace, “Good to have you here son, it’ll be dinnertime soon… have another drink!” James’ knees grew weak at the thought, ‘but it’ll be forgotten – we’ll move on soon to other topics’ – so he began to mingle and add his voice to the rising chorus of party and family, which he hope he would soon be part of. James seemed to be miraculously pushed to a group of uncles, brothers and sons telling jokes, “Why was Santa’s little helper depressed? - I don’t know… Why? - Because he had low elf esteem!” Another round of laughter and giggles… all in good fun. James soon forgot his claim to religiosity. ‘There was more useful spirit in his tumbler than a dry old tome like the Bible’ he thought. He melted back into the crowd and awaited the call to dinner.
And James believed as they all sat down to dinner that his fake religiosity had been forgotten, that is until the father turned to him, and in a stern… a terribly stern grimace, asked James to say grace – and James froze… with nothing to say.
End.
All Rights Reserved & Copyright 2021 David John Drew
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