A Christmas Story

The Goddess is in a musical right now. A Christmas Story, based on the movie.

Now, I have loved this movie for a long time, back when there weren't many people who had seen it. My college roommate had a copy of it on VHS that his parents had taped from television, and we watched it 27 times our sophomore year, commercials and all.

It's extremely quotable and I do so frequently, even among people who have never seen the movie. They just look at me like I have lobsters crawling out of my ears.

One of the best written lines in the story comes from the narrator: "Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at its zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us!"

So it is.

It's been a pretty good few weeks. The Goddess has been busy with rehearsals and the opening of her show. A few weeks back we were really stretched on money, but even that has picked up. I've been getting overtime, the Goddess has been substitute teaching, we've both gotten paid to do some writing, and I've been gigging a lot. This past weekend I even had a show at the Greenbrier resort and got a room to myself.

Neither one of us is great with money. That's probably the understatement of the year. We always seem to be a few bills behind, dodging cut-offs and making urgent payments. It's not just being broke. It's also that we can never seem to breathe long enough to get everything organized.

"Hey, I just got a call from the gas company." "The Internet isn't working. Did you pay the bill?" "We're behind on the car payment. When do you get paid next?"

"First world problems." I know. But I don't have any experience in any other world. 

My brother has helped us out a lot over the years. He saw me bitching about bills on Facebook and transferred money into our bank account. I am grateful for him.

So, we were doing alright. For the moment.

Yesterday was our one month wedding anniversary. Incidentally, it was also the 20th anniversary of my first marriage. I got home late. I had a rehearsal with a new guitarist and we had a beer afterward.

After I came home, the Goddess and I got into an argument. It was about the seven-year-old and her punishment for using the iPad when she was told not to. It really wasn't that big of an argument, but you know how things feel when you are tired. She thinks I was too tough on her. Maybe I was. I thought she was making me look like the bad guy. Maybe I am. 

The Goddess fell asleep while we were talking and I left her on the couch. (In my defense, I had asked her repeatedly to go to bed.)

I dozed for about an hour and then I heard her screaming for me to come downstairs.

There are not many things that can send your heart racing than being woken from a dead sleep by screaming.

I threw on some pants and ran downstairs. She wasn't there. I opened the front door.

She was sitting on the porch steps, crying. There were two men standing in the yard, looking up at me.

"They are here to repossess the van."

My stomach dropped.

We aren't the type of people things like this happen to, or so we thought. We don't live extravagantly. We work hard. We pay the bills we can, usually at the last possible minute. Sometimes after that.

The van is in the Goddess' name. She had bought it before we were together. She takes care of the bills. She knew the van payment was overdue, but we hadn't had the money to pay all of our bills.

Then we had to have a stupid wedding.

But we had money now. She had just forgotten to pay the bill since we had money come in last week. We could pay it now, right?

No, we couldn't. It doesn't work like that, they said. They were here to do a job -- collect the van. They don't work for the finance company. You'll have to call them, they said.

But I can pay it right now, she said. I'll call the company and pay it and you can talk to them and leave the van.

We can't do that, ma'am, they said. We have a contract and if we don't do what we're supposed to do, we'll lose it. We have families to take care of, too. 

Besides, they said, we didn't have to let you know we were taking it. We just saw that there were children's things inside and wanted to let you take them out.

I could just give you some cash and you could say you didn't get to it tonight, she said. That way, I'll have time to pay it.

No, ma'am.

This went on for about twenty minutes, then things intensified.

The Goddess refused to empty the car or hand over her keys. She stood in front of the van, blocking the tow truck. They threatened to call the police.

She cried. A lot. There were threats exchanged. She pleaded with them. She was a good person. We have kids. We need the van to take the baby to the doctor tomorrow. She had never been in trouble before. She hadn't even had detention when she was in school.

They understood. They didn't think she was a bad person. One of them had a sick kid, too, in the hospital. The other said he had his truck repossessed when he was at work one day.

I eventually turned over the van key, so that we could get our things out. The Goddess was angry with me.

We cleaned out the van. We took out the baby seats and the double stroller. We got the kids' blankets and books and small toys. We cleaned out some of the trash, too. 

Somewhere during the process, the Goddess came completely unglued.

She ran to the backyard with some items and I followed her back there. She began throwing things. Then she started banging her head against a glass patio table. I tried to restrain her. She screamed bloody murder at the top of her lungs for several minutes. She bit me.

"I hate everyone and everything! I can't do this anymore!" She screamed more, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying.

I held her by the wrists for about ten minutes while she screamed at the repo men who had already left with the van and at me and at her anger at herself. She was worthless, she said. 

Once I thought she was calmed down somewhat, I let go of her and we went inside. I poured us each a glass of wine. She didn't drink hers. I finished the whole bottle while we talked.

I won't recount the whole conversation. A lot of it was personal. There was some anger and shame and blame and guilt. But mostly, I think, there was fear.

It is hard to watch someone you love so much at such a low point, even if you are there with them. 

We slept just two or three hours. She got up and called the finance company. They were not helpful. 

Can we just pay for everything now and get the van?, she asked.

No. They may just sell it at auction. They will send a letter in about a week. You can call then. Maybe you can get your van back then. No promises.

"I can't believe I've become this person." The Goddess said this several times last night. I know what she means.

We got into this because we didn't have the money. It's not that we are big spenders. We really aren't. Four kids are expensive. $1600-a-month for daycare alone is enough to break us.

And we also suck with money. I don't know if it's because we're both just artsy-fartsy, or if there is something we really are missing. I know the Goddess missed the payment because she's thinking about kids and musicals and dance. 

The absurd part is that we have the cash now, but can't solve the problem.

So we're down to one car, a four-seater for our family of six. "First world problems." Yeah, but it's our world.

This morning is just somber. I'm home from work because of a sick baby who now can't make it to the doctor. The kids don't know, of course, and haven't even noticed the missing van.

We can't even make a plan until after the holidays. Maybe we can get it back. Or maybe we'll have to get a new one. Or maybe that's not possible and we'll just have to learn to do without.

Deep down I know we don't need "things" -- even cars -- to make us happy as a family. I also know that this is just the way the world works and I guess we're just not the types of people who navigate these things well.

We'll huddle and regroup, try to organize and see what we did wrong. We'll work harder and try to get more cash flowing through this place. We'll love each other more and try not to think too much about the van and all our problems for the next week and try not to let the other four who live here know the fear that we feel this Christmas.