Christopher Marnach, 2012 Writers Retreat Fellow in Fiction

Christopher Marnach, 2012 Writers Retreat Fellow in Fiction



I'd like to introduce with a pride my fellow fiction for my picture took over as you are saying Christopher Mark at 12 2012 Paulo [Applause] I will be reading an excerpt from a piece that I had workshop this week it's called all I love for Christmas I was sullenly sipping on my second drink when the door of the bar flew open and Jesus dressed in a long white post-resurrection road first end he raised his arms and benediction raised his eyes to heaven and shouting a clear commanding voice it's my mother birthday bitches what the door swung open again in Santa's began pouring into the bar ten twenty men fifty of the jolly old elves spreading out like a SWAT team across the bar all of them are ho ho ho e drowning out poor Joe Strummer with their deafening Yuletide Capas the have the acid I for taking of in my misspent youth come back for a visit just to say Happy Holidays I had the bartender a road heart agent biker babe slip me a Mickey Finn was this actually happening I looked around to the smattering of other customers to see if or how they were reacting to the onslaught of Santa there are certainly nonchalant chatting with the Kris kringles assistants as if this happened every day I started drinking fast I needed to get out of there I was in no mood to be an unwitting actor in a David Lynch Christmas Carol but I didn't drink fast enough the Santa's were thirsty a mess they approached the bar a tidal wave of red Velveteen white fur and bowls full jelly within seconds I was gulped I shrank to my barstool trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible around me Santa's called up for beer and whiskey their cheeks rosy eyes shining they clink glasses with each other through their redheaded head redheaded heads back and took shot after shot beer dribbled down their beers the last microscopic shred of my childhood innocence threw itself off a cliff in protest I turned around my barstool looking for a hole in the wall of Santa's I might escape through and accidentally met the eyes of the Santa behind me he had a green velvet bag slung over her shoulder he smiled at me I spun back around my barstool and stared into my drink then I fed up I felt a hand on my shoulder hello there boy I should just ignore him but how could I ignore him and his hand was still on my shoulder I turned around slowly hi I said noncommittally looking down at the hand on my shoulder there are no liver spots no wrinkles no parchment-like skin his hand look young strong the heron is on the dark you are so little now are you paused in fact that's your pretty big boy was Santa getting on me I looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this the other Santa's with poor too absorbed in their own debauchery to notice shouting drink orders making lewd gestures at the bartender I looked up at Santa's face the only part that wasn't obscured by his hat and beard for his eyes they were mahogany color two lashes darker and they he was smiling down to me a spite there was a real situation despite the fact that part of myself was telling me to knock his hand on my shoulder to call him a queer and Pat pushed past him and storm out the bar I found myself smiling back instead so Santa hassed have you been naughty or nice drugged you're supposed to have a list tell me [Applause]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *