It was a cold December evening and wind whistled through the branches of the linden tree in Dan's back yard. Dense clouds the color of steel wool were rolling in from the west. Dan took a swallow of beer and listened for birds, but the only sound he heard was a freight train blowing its whistle somewhere in the distance -- probably heading south like the birds, thought Dan. He put his beer down on the porch near the three empties and rubbed his hands together.
Dan hated holidays. On holidays he and Ann used to go to their favorite restaurant for dinner and then to see a movie or play, but that was a lifetime ago. Now he preferred to stay at the office and work, the later the better. Today, however, everyone had gone home early and the building manager had turned the heat off at five o'clock, so Dan had little choice but to lock up his office and go home. He stopped at the Seven-Eleven and bought a couple of six packs, deciding quite deliberately to get wasted that night. One of the six packs was almost finished.
All the other houses on Dan's street were decorated with colorful Christmas lights but you would never know it was a holiday In Dan's house. He had briefly considered getting a small Christmas tree to put on his dining room table, but the idea of going to the mall and wading through crowds of shoppers made him drop the idea. Who would see it anyway? He avoided the Christmas party at the office as well, telling his co-workers that he had a migraine headache. Everyone tried to be nice, of course, but they didn't really understand. Ann had been gone four months and Dan was just going through the motions. His days passed as if he were sitting alone in a theater watching an old black-and-white movie run over and over and over again. Sometimes he wished he he'd been the one to die.
Dan was thirty-six years old, well-educated, a smart and successful architect. He was fit and handsome as well, standing a little over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a washboard stomach that he inspected with a critical eye each morning when he dressed. He had a taste for expensive clothes and wore them well. Seeing his dark, curly hair framing a boyish face, some of his clients found it hard to believe he was old enough to be the managing partner of his firm. But there were other things they'd never believe about him. Such as the fact that he was sitting alone at home getting drunk on Christmas Eve. But what else could he do? He didn't know any single women to ask out on a date, and he detested going to singles' bars where all the losers with painted-on smiles searched the room desperately for someone to go home to bed with. He would rather drink himself to oblivion than subject himself to that kind of torture.
The darkness was descending now and the wind was kicking up in frigid, piercing gusts. In the fading light, tiny snowflakes began to swirl and form a thin coating on the deck. Dan got up and stumbled into the house.
The kitchen with its sleek white cabinets and stainless steel appliances – it was one of Dan's pet projects at one time -- seemed as cold and sterile as an operating room. He began to pace aimlessly, walking into the dining room, then into the living room and back to the kitchen, like an animal in a cage. He stopped at the refrigerator and was reaching for another beer when he heard a loud knock on the back door.
"Hey, Dan, you in there?" a muffled voice called.
"What the --?" Who would come to visit on a night like this?
Dan opened the door and peered out with surprise to see his young neighbor, Tim, standing in the swirling snow. He had no hat or coat; he was standing in jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt, shivering. His cheeks were red and his hair was matted with glistening snow.
"C'mon in!" said Dan, shoving the screen door open.
Tim wiped his feet and quickly stepped inside, slapping his sides. "Damn it's cold! How's it going, man?" He sputtered and grinned.
Tim was almost ten years younger than Dan and somewhat smaller in stature, with reddish-blond hair and freckles on his cheeks that gave him the fresh-scrubbed look of a schoolboy. He was a newcomer to the neighborhood, having moved into the small framed cottage at the end of the block the previous summer. In realtor's parlance his place was a "fixer-upper," meaning that it needed some serious rehab work to escape the wrecking ball. Tim had picked it up for a song and was working on it in his spare time.
Tim was also gay, but Dan didn't mind that. Dan had never been troubled by homosexuals as long as they didn't talk with a lisp or wear studs in their tongues. And Tim was a pretty regular guy as far as gay men were concerned. He worked for a construction company and didn't have any feminine mannerisms. In some ways he reminded Dan of the guys in his high school who didn't bother going to college. After graduation they bought pickup trucks and watched Monday night football and tossed down beers when they finished their shift at the steel mill. And most surprising of all, they always seemed happy. There were times when Dan wanted to be a regular guy like that.
The first time the two met, Dan disclosed that he was an architect and it wasn't long before Tim started dropping by, asking for tips about remodeling his house. Dan didn't mind because the younger man had an easygoing personality and a wicked sense of humor. After they had gotten to know each other, they developed a sort of running joke between them. Tim would tease Dan about being straight-laced and uptight, and Dan would pretend to be shocked by Tim's licentious gay lifestyle. Sometimes they would say outrageous things to each other and it led to some entertaining conversations. And then when Ann died, Tim sent a flower arrangement to the funeral home and stopped by the house with a big box of delicious baked goods. Dan was touched. It was a kindness he wouldn't soon forget.
"Have a beer," Dan ordered, pointing to a chair.
"Thanks, don't mind if I do." The young man wiped his brow and sat down at the kitchen table. He popped open the can and looked at the falling snow through the kitchen window. "I was out on the ladder doing some caulking and it got too dark to see so I thought I'd come over and say hey."
"Are you nuts? It's crazy to be up on a ladder working in weather like this."
"Yeah, I know. Hell of a way to spend Christmas Eve. But I didn't have anything better to do. So, how are you doing, Danny? Still hangin' in there?"
"Oh, everything's peachy," said Dan, drumming his fingers on the table. Then he had second thoughts about being so sarcastic. "Actually it's been a lousy day," he admitted. "Not in the mood for Christmas."
"Sorry to hear that."
"It sucks to be alone on a holiday."
"Yeah. Well, maybe it's a good night to get hammered."
Dan was well on his way to meeting that goal and nodded. He looked across the table at Tim's freckles and grinned. "So tell me, what do fairies do on Christmas Eve for fun? Party with Santa's elves?"
Tim grunted. "Caulk holes."
"C'mon, seriously. What does a gay man like you do for fun at Christmas?"
"We do the same thing straight guys do. We just have more fun at it."
"Such as?"
