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In this second volume of the Better Next Year collection of true stories, discover more dashed holiday hopes, Christmas catastrophes, and slender, heartbreaking shards of joy.
Upon A Midnight Clear brings together emerging authors from across the country who share their experiences of Christmases gone wrong. These tales-sometimes funny, sometimes sad, always poignant-celebrate the spirit of the season and will warm your heart on even the coldest night. Sample from Upon a Midnight Clear: More Christmas Epiphanies
From "The Gift"
By Michael McLean
I put myself through school while working full time as a security guard. I attended classes by day and did an eight-hour shift until midnight at the mall.
I'd ditch the university with Burnaby in my rearview and Surrey in my sights. My ride was a gold 1980 Mazda 626. Not a spring chicken, but she held her own. No rust, no dents, engine purring like a kitten. She was my sanctuary for the forty-minute haul to the job. The speakers, a recent splurge, blasted my tunes, drowning out the world.
The Guildford Mall was a behemoth that sprawled over 500 hectares, a monolith, grey concrete and brick. It had windows, clouded with urban grime that all through the early part of the fall semester mirrored the harsh afternoon sun. The south entrance connected to the main artery and had the most foot traffic. Inside, the air was a cocktail of fast food and stale smoke, the ghosts of a thousand stories lingering in the sealed HVAC air.
The mall was so big it sprawled north across the street, joined by an overpass, to a quieter section. There was an inconspicuous door, tucked like a secret, that opened to a stairwell which led to a janitor's closet that was converted to a security hub. It had the smell of a gym locker on a bad day. The guards used it as a refuge from the mall's crowds. The hub had a changing room, lunchroom, coffee break room, and a haven for tall tales, all crammed into a windowless, forty square feet under the stairs.
On the job as security, I wasn't a patient person.
I often did not get a great night's sleep. I had submitted myself to such a demanding schedule. I thought back then I had something to prove not only to myself but to all those who claimed I was not smart enough or good enough. I was a survivor. I told my brothers time and again, "The shit that we lived through and came out the other side without criminal records and sane enough to participate in society is a badge of honour."
I also had trouble accepting simple kindnesses, like when someone recognized my talents. If someone at school said, "I believe in you," and the acknowledgement was biased, unprovoked, or not freely given, then I felt that that person was phony and the act was simply performed out of politeness.
I was proud, angry, and alone. I cared for myself. In Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte wrote, "The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself." That was me. No one was going to hold me back from achieving and gaining a real sense of accomplishment, except me. All this would manifest in frustration not only with myself but with others.
A mall customer or shop owner would be explaining an incident and go into excruciating detail. Silently I would be saying, "Just get to the point." I'm sure that the occasional eye-roll would occur, and as I would be taking notes, I would do the hand roll gesture as a way of demonstrating my impatience.
I should add that to the people I knew I also would be very direct and ask them to get to the point. I'd pretend to fall asleep or interject saying, "It all started when I was six," or "Jesus wrote a shorter book, bro, cut to the chase."
My tank was running empty in those times and I would throw myself the best pity party that you ever saw. That's what I was feeling when the semester ended and I agreed to work the Christmas week.
Everywhere
Upon A Midnight Clear brings together emerging authors from across the country who share their experiences of Christmases gone wrong. These tales-sometimes funny, sometimes sad, always poignant-celebrate the spirit of the season and will warm your heart on even the coldest night. Sample from Upon a Midnight Clear: More Christmas Epiphanies
From "The Gift"
By Michael McLean
I put myself through school while working full time as a security guard. I attended classes by day and did an eight-hour shift until midnight at the mall.
I'd ditch the university with Burnaby in my rearview and Surrey in my sights. My ride was a gold 1980 Mazda 626. Not a spring chicken, but she held her own. No rust, no dents, engine purring like a kitten. She was my sanctuary for the forty-minute haul to the job. The speakers, a recent splurge, blasted my tunes, drowning out the world.
The Guildford Mall was a behemoth that sprawled over 500 hectares, a monolith, grey concrete and brick. It had windows, clouded with urban grime that all through the early part of the fall semester mirrored the harsh afternoon sun. The south entrance connected to the main artery and had the most foot traffic. Inside, the air was a cocktail of fast food and stale smoke, the ghosts of a thousand stories lingering in the sealed HVAC air.
The mall was so big it sprawled north across the street, joined by an overpass, to a quieter section. There was an inconspicuous door, tucked like a secret, that opened to a stairwell which led to a janitor's closet that was converted to a security hub. It had the smell of a gym locker on a bad day. The guards used it as a refuge from the mall's crowds. The hub had a changing room, lunchroom, coffee break room, and a haven for tall tales, all crammed into a windowless, forty square feet under the stairs.
On the job as security, I wasn't a patient person.
I often did not get a great night's sleep. I had submitted myself to such a demanding schedule. I thought back then I had something to prove not only to myself but to all those who claimed I was not smart enough or good enough. I was a survivor. I told my brothers time and again, "The shit that we lived through and came out the other side without criminal records and sane enough to participate in society is a badge of honour."
I also had trouble accepting simple kindnesses, like when someone recognized my talents. If someone at school said, "I believe in you," and the acknowledgement was biased, unprovoked, or not freely given, then I felt that that person was phony and the act was simply performed out of politeness.
I was proud, angry, and alone. I cared for myself. In Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte wrote, "The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself." That was me. No one was going to hold me back from achieving and gaining a real sense of accomplishment, except me. All this would manifest in frustration not only with myself but with others.
A mall customer or shop owner would be explaining an incident and go into excruciating detail. Silently I would be saying, "Just get to the point." I'm sure that the occasional eye-roll would occur, and as I would be taking notes, I would do the hand roll gesture as a way of demonstrating my impatience.
I should add that to the people I knew I also would be very direct and ask them to get to the point. I'd pretend to fall asleep or interject saying, "It all started when I was six," or "Jesus wrote a shorter book, bro, cut to the chase."
My tank was running empty in those times and I would throw myself the best pity party that you ever saw. That's what I was feeling when the semester ended and I agreed to work the Christmas week.
Everywhere