On the fifth Daze of Christmas,
John Weagly highlights the beauty of a Christmas classic.
John Weagly highlights the beauty of a Christmas classic.
Altercation on Ballet Boulevard by John Weagly
“Two! I got two!” Bobby
called to passersby. “Who needs two?”
He couldn’t believe he was standing outside in the
nineteen-degree wind and snow trying to scalp tickets for The Nutcracker. At one hundred and six dollars each, he needed to
recoup his losses.
“Two! Tchaikovsky’s
Christmas classic! Mid-level
mezzanine! Great seats! I got two!”
Fucking Janice. All she talked about since Halloween was how
much she loved going to see The
Nutcracker for the holidays when she was a kid. Bobby wasn’t all that into
seeing dancers on stage unless they were taking off their clothes, but he
thought he’d surprise her. Then Janice goes and breaks up with him. You cheat
on a woman a couple of times and they lose their holiday spirit.
“Two! Who wants
‘em? Sold out show! Two seats for the sugar plum fairy, the
chocolate pudding prince, and whatever the Hell else is dancing around the
stage!”
“I need two tickets.”
A middle-aged man in a puffy blue winter coat and black knit gloves
walked toward him. “How much do you want for them?”
“I spent two hundred and twelve, plus another thirty in
fees,” Bobby said. “I’ll let you have ‘em for two hundred.”
“I haven’t got that much,” the ballet enthusiast said. “Can
you give me a break?”
Cars rolled through grey slush. The crowd had thinned now
that it was almost curtain time. This guy was probably Bobby’s last chance. But
Bobby was also probably his last chance, and he really wanted that money. “Two-hundred.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Sorry,” Bobby said, with an unaffected smirk.
“I’ll give you one fifty.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Bobby said. “I want two hundred.”
“Come on, man!” the guy said, trying to be reasonable. “My
date really loves the ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes.’”
“Here’s your ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes,’” Bobby said,
spinning around in a street corner pirouette and ending with two elaborate
middle fingers. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the patch of ice next to his foot
and slipped on his grand finale. Bobby’s back hit the sidewalk with a thumpity-thump-thump.
Before Bobby could catch his breath, the arts patron’s hands
flew over his body like two coked-up dormice, dodging in and out of pockets. The
improvised mugger found the theater tickets inside Bobby’s coat.
“Sorry,” the man said. “But this is going to make for a
great first date.”
Bobby groaned his displeasure.
“Did you get them?” a familiar female voice asked.
“I got them!”
Janice stepped out from under the theater’s marquee. “Wonderful!”
she said. She looked at Bobby on the ground and took on an elfish grin. “Kick
him in the balls.”
“What?”
“We’re seeing The
Nutcracker. Crack his nuts.”
Bobby tried to curl up, but had trouble making his body obey
his commands.
“That seems a little… excessive,” the man said.
“I’ll do it.” Janice
stepped between Bobby’s legs. “Thanks for the tickets, loser.”
Janice drew her foot back and let it go.
Bobby’s bells rang with the agony of the angels. Boiling
eggnog flowed through his veins. Noises sounded like someone was writing his
name on an aluminum cookie sheet with a rusty nail. A taste like old fruitcake
mixed with expired frankincense rose in his mouth. Bobby couldn’t, and didn’t,
want to move. He didn’t even want to be alive.
“Do you know that guy?” the man asked, a little confused.
“No,” Janice said. “I’m just looking forward to the show.”
Janice and her date walked into the theater.
