A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR PEOPLE WHO HATE CHRISTMAS

In which our hero breaks out of jail on Christmas Eve

(A few years ago, I was living in anarchist collective called Le Recif in a place called Riverere-Trois-Pistoles in an area of Quebec called the Bas-du-Fleuve. My girlfriend and I were working on a play about the Witch Hunts, which was never completed. Anyway, one day a Quebecois author came through and gave a writing workshop. His name has escaped me, all I remember is what he looked like and his stories about going on tour with Berurier Noir.

Anyway, as part of the workshop, we had to write a short story, and I wrote one about someone breaking out of jail. I named the main character Dez, after someone Id known in high school. The real Dez was a violent, impulsive criminal who died in a motorcycle accident not long after getting out of jail. He robbed my brother once and it is to my disgrace that I never avenged this robbery. Later, Dez and I came to be on friendly terms, and I have to admit that I had more rapport with him that I do with most people. But I never forgave him for robbing my brother. Ive heard it said that “to the dead, you owe only truth”. Well, the truth is that Dez was a bastard. But he wasn’t just a bastard, if you know what I mean. He was a human being with all of the complexity that you or I or anyone else has.

I liked the story, but I never did anything with it because it was fucking dirty and nasty, and it had a depressing ending. Generally, I dont like being negative. The worlds full enough with negative shit without me adding to it.

Eventually, though, I came up with an ending that gives the whole story a redemptive feel, and that’s the part of this story that I like best. So if you’re going to read this story, read it to the end.

In any case, I wish you all a Merry Christmas! Thank you to all those of you who have encouraged me along the way - it really does make a difference. May you all have a lovely time with friends and family and together remember what is truly important.)

The Angel of Crows Nest Pass

Dez was a proud son of a bitch. He wasn't a quitter, and he wasn't a loser. When he needed money, he went out and got it, without making himself anyone's bitch. He did what he wanted, and he didn’t like it when people got in his way.

No one was surprised when the cops came for him one day, and no one was all that sad that he couldn't make bail. Being Dez's friend wasn't easy. He had a short fuse and when he got drunk, shit could get ugly. The people who knew him best figured maybe he'd be a little calmer and a little wiser when he got out.

But Dez wasn't made to be locked in a cage. He didn't take well to being told what to do. It made him think of his mom’s asshole boyfriends and all those fucking fake-ass foster parents and the teachers who always treated him like shit. His problem wasn't the other inmates – he knew how to deal with them. It was the guards, their fucking smug shit-eating faces, their petty, power-tripping bullshit, and their dumb, gloating superiority. From day one, Dez knew he was going to have to wipe those looks off their faces.

Dez prided himself on his strength. Not just his body. His mental. One of his fondest memories was spitting out a tooth in high school after he'd just gotten his ass kicked by three jocks. He'd never been higher. It felt like the sky was opening, like angels were all around him, and even though he couldn't stand up he felt strong, because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would make each one of those assholes pay. The blood in his mouth tasted sweeter than revenge.

It wasn't long before Dez did get his revenge, but it only felt good in the way that scratching an itch feels good. It was nothing compared to the angels. This wasn't lost on Dez. He thought about it often afterwards. Eventually, he figured it out. What people can't touch, they can't violate. What stays hidden can't be stolen. When you’re the only one who knows you, you’re safe. And when you believe in yourself, you’re God.

Dez prided himself on his determination. He knew that if you want something in this life, you gotta set your mind on it, wait for the right time to act, and then pounce. So before he got to prison, he already knew he was going to break out. He knew that if he’d let on about his plans to any of his fellos inmates, they'd have mocked him, so he kept it to himself. When they watched T.V., he watched them. It kept him motivated. He'd look at their dull, glazed eyes and think, fuck, kill me before I look like that.

It took him two and a half months to make his plan. He figured the best way out was inside the back of the refrigerator truck that made deliveries to the kitchen. It took him seven months to make his move. He got a job in the kitchen and studied the protocols. Surprise, surprise, they weren’t as tight as everyone thought. They were just counting on people being dumb-asses.

He learned that the truck went directly to the same depot every day after making deliveries, and where the depot was. He came up with a plan whereby he could conceal himself in the truck without anyone noticing that he was gone until lockdown. The depot wasn’t actually that far from the jail, so he’d then have a few hours to get the fuck out of Dodge before they figured out he was gone.

But that wasn’t the trickiest part of the puzzle. Once the truck was parked at the depot, he’d still just be trapped in the back. Those trucks have levers you can use to open the back door from the inside, but the company’s security protocols involved locking the door with a heavy-duty padlock from the outside. If he had a cutting torch or even an angle grinder, it would be a cinch. But power tools aren't easy to come by in jail. The only solution he could come up with was some combination of a blunt instrument and brute force.

While he mulled over how to get his hands on a suitable tool, he worked out like a beast every day to up the amount of damage he could do. He knew that it wouldn’t be easy to bust through the back of the truck with a blunt tool, but he was pretty fucking sure he could pull it off. Going ham was a Dez specialty.

Eventually, an opportunity presented itself, and he managed to get his hands on a tire iron. There was no way he could stash it in the kitchen, but he managed to stash it underneath the truck by tying it to the undercarriage of the truck. Then, when the fateful hour arrived, he could grab it right before he hid himself in the truck.

Finally, he was ready. It wasn’t a surefire plan, but it was a plan. And Dez knew that the universe doesn’t work like most people think it does. Fortune Favours the Bold. He’d learned that from the angels.

But still he bided his time. He was waiting for a storm, the bigger the better. But not just any storm. A rainstorm. Snow and ice would complicate things. If it was raining hard, there was less chance that people would be outside, and the sound of a good storm provided cover for the noise that it would take to bash a hole in a metal sheet with a tire iron. A thunderstorm would be perfect. And even though it was Winter, you still get heavy rainstorms when the chinooks come over the mountains and thaw everything out.

Dez kept a keen watch on the weather and doubled down on his fitness regime. It was that time of year when people were getting spazzy because of Christmas. Perfect, thought Dez. It’s easier to keep your head down when everyone’s got bigger shit to worry about.

When the news that he’d been waiting for came, he had to laugh. He was probably the only one that was overjoyed that the weatherman was forecasting a gnarly storm on Christmas fucking Eve. Good God, he thought. Does someone up there love me or is this a sick fucking joke?

Long story short, his plan worked like a charm. The pre-Christmas spazziness had given way to a weird kind of Christmas spirit, a mix of forced cheerfulness, undisguised sorrow, and unusual friendliness. Despite everyone wanting phone time more than ever, there were no fights over the phones. It was heart-warming, in a fucked-up kinda way. Both the guards and the inmates got in on the act, and Dez even got a few packs of hot chocolate mix from his cellmate as a gift. The whole strange mood worked in his favour, because people weren’t on edge as much as normal.

When Dez headed to his shift in the kitchen, he was feeling lucky. And sure enough, everything went as smoothly as could be. No one noticed him disappear into the truck, and the delivery guy wasted no time in getting his job done. Probably wanted to get home to Christmas dinner.

It really wasn’t far from the jail to the depot, and the sky chose that moment to open up and start pouring rain. When the truck came to a stop, Dez heard the door slam, a few footsteps muffled by the rain, and then it was nothing but the hard pattering of the rain on the roof.

And just when Dez thought things couldn’t get any better, they did. After waiting what felt like forever, Dez climbed out of his hiding space and made his way to the door. He still needed to wait awhile more to give the delivery guy the time to leave, but he wanted to get into position. And when he did, he saw the lever to open the door from the inside and gave it a try. To his shock and delight, the door slid open. The driver had forgotten to lock it! He couldn’t believe his luck.

Dez raised the door up to waist height and crouched down. And when he saw the glorious sight right in front of him, he couldn't believe his eyes. Goddam, he thought, do I have a horseshoe up my ass or what? There was an old green Chevy pick-up truck parked twenty feet from him, particularly identical to the first truck he’d ever owned. GM never made anything easier to hotwire. He smiled. Fortune favours the bold. In ten minutes flat, he was pulling onto the road. In fifteen he got to Highway 3, the Crow’s Nest Pass. He turned West.

Fuckin’ eh, he thought, barely able to contain his elation. I fucking did it. Vancouver, here I fucking come!

His plan was simple: Make it across the border to B.C., ditch the truck, steal another one, and get to Vancouver ASAP. It's easy to disappear in a place like that. His sister could help.

He turned on the radio and he found the rock station. They were playing Trooper's Raise A Little Hell. For the first time in seven months, he sang: “Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell”. He'd done it. He thought about the chumps back on the range. Fuck, some people are born to be losers, he thought. Those guys'd never even try to break out of jail. He smiled inwardly, glowing with pride. He wasn't like that. He was an O.G.

Goddammit, though, the weather was shit. It was raining hard, and the wipers couldn't keep up. Well, fuck, all the better. The pigs ain't gonna be doing speed traps in this shit. Then it happened. The thing that wasn't supposed to happen. Someone riding my ass. The feeling of cops. Dez's heart stopped, and he hoped against hope that it wasn't what he thought it was. Then, sirens flashing, the high-pitched wail that
might as well have been the sound of a guillotine.

Motherfucker! He slammed his fist on the dash. Pain. His field of vision splotched red. The desire to hurt. He wished that there was someone he could punch, someone's face he could stomp on, anyone he could fuck up, beat on with the tire iron. The song ended and an ad with a stupid fucking Christimas jingle came on. He punched the radio. Now there was just the sound of the sirens, the whirring of the engine, the sound of rain, the squeaking windshield wipers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Dez thought, his mind spinning about. What the fuck do I do now? Dez hated feeling this way. No way was he going back to jail. He hadn't even gotten one bump of coke. He hadn't even gotten his dick wet. The fuck I'm going back to jail, he thought. He stepped on the gas.

II

The Roberts family was its on way back home to Calgary after spending the weekend skiing in Fernie.

Jake and Suzy were fighting in the back seat. “Mom, Jake's bugging me!”

Charlene turned around and very seriously and intensely said:

“Jake, your father is driving right now. You see how bad this weather is. It's very hard to see, and your daddy needs all of his attention on the road right. Do you want us to get in a car accident? So please, I'm asking you, just calm down.”

“But she won't share the Game boy! It's not fair!”

Dan Roberts angrily turned down the radio and slowed down even more. Why did he bother trying to make his family happy at all? After a weekend with his family, he couldn't wait to get back to the office Monday morning. At least there he got some respect.

“Jake, you're going to be in big trouble if you don't cut it out. I don't want to hear one word out of either of you until we're out of this rain. Ferchrissake!”

“Dan! Don't swear in front of the kids!”

III

Dez prided himself on being a good driver. Since the time that he stole his first car, he liked to race. It was a piece of shit truck, no 4x4, but it had a manual transmission. A real truck. He pushed it up to 170, which given the rain was saying something. He couldn't see shit and he knew that he'd skid out for sure if he tried to brake. Good thing that there was hardly anyone on the road. He tore past a few cars, terrorizing the shit out of them.  He couldn't see the police lights in the rear-view mirror anymore. The pig was probably hanging back and calling for back-up. Fucking wuss.

“What the fuck do I do now?”, he thought. He knew that the smallest fuck-up and he'd crash. Fuck, how many years would they give him for escaping from prison and then starting a car chase? What the fuck's the point of living if you're gonna spend the rest of your life in a cage?

Then things got worse. Beep! The gas light flashed on. Dez’s thoughts raced, trying to find some way to spin this as anything other than GAME OVER. He might have enough gas to make it to the next gas station, but it's not like the cops were gonna wait around while he tanked up. They’d be all over him like flies on shit.

Dez wasn't an idiot. He knew he was fucked. There was no happy ending to this shit. But somehow he wasn’t surprised. Somehow he felt like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Turning the problem over in his mind, he could only see this ending one of two ways: the jail cell or the coffin. He thought of turning up back in prison, the fucking guards smirking and making some smart-ass remark. Laughing at him. No. Over my fucking dead body. I'd rather die. He stepped on the gas.

And just like that, the decision was made. Dez never thought it that it would end this way. He'd thought about killing himself a lot, just like everyone, but he never thought that he'd actually do it. It was a matter of pride. He wasn't a quitter. Suicide is for pussies.

Now, how to do it? Dez knew that that not every car wreck was fatal. He'd lived through four car accidents. The worst one he'd been in, the car had rolled four or five times and smashed into the face of a cliff. He couldn't believe it when he walked away from that one.

His mind was a step ahead of his thoughts, 'cause as soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. A head-on collision. All he had to do was veer into the oncoming lane and it was lights out for sure.

Only problem was that it’d be lights out for whoever was in the oncoming car too. No matter how jacked up on adrenaline he was, he couldn’t not ask himself the big question. Am I willing to kill someone just so I can die? Dez wasn't a psycho. He didn't think of himself as a bad person. He knew he was a bit fucked in the head, but in a world full of rapists, pigs, snitches and child molesters he figured he ranked in the middle of the pack somewhere.

He helped out his buddies when they needed him. He put in work. He stood up for people when they were getting fucked with, so long as they weren’t fucking goofs. He could think of a few people he'd gladly kill if he could get away with it, but killing someone at random? What kind of sick fuck does that?

He did some math in his head. He figured the world was maybe 50% assholes, 40% losers, and maybe 10% solid people at best. So there was a 9 out of 10 chance he'd kill an asshole or a loser. Well, fuck, he thought, lots more where that came from.

Then an ugly thought occurred to him. What if it's a kid? Fuck, what if it's a family with kids? Goddammit, he wouldn't want to have to live with that. Then he realized he wouldn't be living with that. He'd be dead. If there was a hell, he was headed there either way. So what the fuck did it matter?

Then a thought occurred to him. For sure there were cops on the way. Maybe he could get lucky and take a pig or two to hell with him! His spirit soared. Maybe there would be a happy ending after all. He took a deep breath in and realized he'd been holding his breath. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes twinkled and shone, and he remembered why he loved himself, even if no one else ever did. He did what other people would do if they weren't such fucking pussies.

He turned the radio back on. AC/DC came on. Highway to Hell! He cranked it up. Well I'll be goddamned if that's not a sign, he thought.  

He decided that he'd be better off if he turned around 180 degrees and headed East again. He was still a ways from Sparwood, so it seemed likelier that the cops would be coming after him from the East. Maybe he could even ram the very same fucker than ruined his night in the first place. He started looking for somewhere to turn around. Problem was he couldn't see shit.

Fuck, he thought. I wonder how much time I've got left. His best guess was that you'd have about half an hour or even 45 minutes left once you're on empty. Then again, it was an old truck, and he was driving fast. Better to err on the side of caution.

He must have been driving for at least ten minutes since the lights went on, so he was probably safe for at least ten minutes, but he wouldn't risk twenty. He looked at
the clock. 11:11. Make a wish.

What wish do you make when you've got less than twenty minutes to live? He thought of his sister, strung out in East Van. I wish that Tammy gets clean, he wished. He wished he could tell her that he loved her one more time. With him gone, who would give a fuck about her?

He thought about the life he would leave behind, and a lump came into his throat. He felt choked by the ugly, cruel totality of it all. What kind of a fucking life is this? Shit on from day one, fucked with, bossed around, bullied, beaten down. Never good enough for no one. Fuck 'em all! Fuck this world! Who the fuck's fault is this bullshit
world? He smashed his fist against the dash. He cursed his mom, and he cursed God, and he cursed the Devil for inventing crack.

He'd never fall in love, never get married, never have a family of his own. He’d never keep that most sacred promise he'd made to himself, the one he'd never forgotten – that if he ever had kids, he’d move heaven and earth to give them the chance in life that he and Tammy never got.

At least he was going out on his own terms. Better to die on your feet than live on your knees, right? The AC/DC song ended and Rage Against the Machine came on. Today is a good day to die, he thought. How often do you hear Rage on the radio? Then the car started to shake, and the engine started to sputter. Game over. He looked into the oncoming lane and saw headlights, someone driving slowly, carefully. It was now or never. Do or die. Nah, do AND die!

He swerved into the oncoming lane and stepped onto the gas just as the chorus hit. He yelled his last words - “Sleep Now in the Fire!” - as he saw the pure, dumb horror on Dan and Charlene's faces, the last moment of their lives.

IV

It doesn't matter if you're ready to die. It still comes as a surprise. Dez felt himself ripped straight out of his body, propelled forward, directly through the Roberts family. As soon as he realized what he'd done, as soon as he felt the pure, uncomprehending horror of his victims, two of them children, his every instinct was to rectify what he’d done. But how? How did this work? He turned towards the mangled mess and moved towards it, only peripherally feeling how strange it was to move without a body. Ohhhh fuck.... It was a sickening sight. This was his doing. He'd just killed four innocent people. How the fuck do I take this back, he desperately thought. What do I do?

He saw four spheres of light floating above the car. They seemed to be rising upwards slowly. They each had a splotchy, erratic array of colours, all nauseating in a beautiful way, like the severed head of an lamb.

He swam towards the car. Maybe he could help somehow. Maybe he could bargain for a miracle somehow. Maybe there was still something he could trade. Maybe his soul was still worth something. With the entirety of his being, he declared to the universe I'LL DO ANYTHING TO MAKE THIS RIGHT.

He moved forward towards the four orbs. Maybe he could communicate with them. Maybe he could explain... Maybe he could make them understand. But as he moved towards him they moved away. Dez tried to yell: I want to help you! One orb moved in front, protecting the others, and they looked a little splotchier and more afraid. A mental image flashed into his mind of a deranged monster lurching forward, and he understood that they were showing him how they saw him. He stopped moving forward. He tried to calm himself down, to calm them down. They only kept moving away, though. Energetically he pleaded with them, like a dog watching its master leave...

The further away they got, the paler and purer their colour became. The different colours melted together, until all that was left was a haunting, radiant glow. Then, they were gone.

The Devil never came for Dez. The was no reaper. He never saw a light. Something told him that it was out there somewhere, and he could search for it if he wanted to.

He didn't want to. He cried for a long time. He didn't have eyes for tears to come out of, no gland to secrete endorphins, so it didn't feel good. It was ugly, impotent crying, anguish with no climax, no release, and no relief. It felt like it would last forever.

Finally it became unbearable. He needed to do something. He started searching around. Goddam if he hadn't picked a beautiful place to die. There was solace in the silence of the wilderness, in the resolute stillness of the mountains, the passage of day and night, the cycles of the sun and the moon and the stars. And he knew what he must do.

Over time, Dez became progressively less and less Dez. He forgot about jail, forgot about school, forgot about the people he hated. Things started feeling less unfair. Things were more and more just what they are. Then he forgot about his friends, his mom, Tammy. He forgot his name. The last thing that he forgot about was why he was doing what he was doing...

One day, someone will almost die in a car accident in the Crow's Nest pass. A close shave, a miraculous result. Some one will lose control of their vehicle and experience a moment of terror, only to find that things end as perfectly as they could have.

They will thank their lucky stars or their guardian angel or whatever. But really, it was Dez.

And he doesn't care that they would've thought that he was a scumbag while he was still alive.