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A Christmas Present 2006

JJ Harrigan

    Rico skipped up the steps of the State Capitol to pick up Martina, the smart and sexy politico on the rise. She had finally agreed to the dinner date he’d been pushing since they’d met at the State Fair in August. Wearing his best suit, he drove them to Mancini’s Char House, just ten minutes away on St. Paul’s renovated West Seventh Street. With its nostalgic 1950s décor and red vinyl booths, it was popular with local big shots.
    “Why Mancini’s?” she asked, as they picked up a chit from the coat-check clerk.
    “They do the right thing for the troops now and then, so I like to give them my business.”
    At the hostess stand, a young, smiling receptionist in a Santa Claus hat maintained a waiting list. A big Christmas tree stood behind her in the dining room, and a mob of unhappy customers crowded in front of her. One by one they bugged her to open up a table for them.
    “Maybe we should try someplace else,” said Martina.
    “We have a reservation. It won’t be long.”
    He led her to a velvet covered waiting bench. After half an hour, the outside door opened, letting in a blast of frigid December air. A man and woman came through the door, followed by a young soldier, wearing a camouflage uniform.
    “He looks dazed,” said Martina.
    “He is,” said Rico.
    “How do you know?”
    “It’s the way I felt when I came back from the Gulf War in ninety-one. Dazed and out of place.”
    The mother frowned with apprehension as she shouldered her way through the impatient crowd to reach the hostess. “We don’t have a reservation, because we just picked up our son at the airport. How long is the wait?”
    “He’s in the Army?” asked the hostess, looking at the son’s uniform.
    “He just arrived on a two week leave from Iraq.”
    “One second,” said the hostess, raising her index finger. She left for a moment and returned back with a balding man in his fifties, sporting a tweed blazer with a small Italian tri-color flag pin in his lapel. He picked up three menus and motioned for the family to follow him into the dining room where he sat them near the Christmas tree. Several people grumbled, but the manager paid no attention.
    A moment later, the hostess led Rico and Martina to a red vinyl booth near the soldier’s family.
    “Nice gesture,” said Rico.
    “What?” replied Martina.
    “Bumping them to the head of the line.”
    “It sucks,” she snapped. “What’s so special about these three that they can leapfrog over everyone else?”
    “Two weeks ago this kid was in a desert dodging IEDs. Cut them some slack, Martina.”
    “You’re too romantic, Rico. War is tough, but the kid signed up. It’s not like he was forced into it.”
    Rico rolled his eyes. “You’ve been working for the politicians too long. Christ, you’re starting to sound like them.”
    He put a smile on his lips to soften the words, but the smile didn’t work. She stuck out her jaw and narrowed her green eyes into a squint, although she didn’t reply. They sat in awkward silence, staring at the soldier’s family, until the waitress came to take their orders. The activity of ordering broke the chill. Martina reached over and put her hand on his wrist.
    “Peace, Rico. Let’s enjoy our dinner and let them enjoy theirs?” She nodded toward the soldier and his family.
    “Do you know what I can’t get out of my head?” Rico asked.
    “What.”
    “Look at them.” He pointed to the family sitting by the Christmas tree. “They’re all happy to be together again, joking and passing around photos like the war is a million miles away.”
    “So what? That’s what people do.”
    He swept his hand toward the other patrons in the restaurant. “The rest of us get to go back home to our daily lives. But two weeks from now, that kid has to go back to the war. And his parents have to delivet him.”
    “What are we supposed to do? There’s a war going on. Somebody has to fight it.”
    Rico let the remark pass as he gazed at the family, still looking happy. He knew from experience what going back was like for the soldier. But what was it going to be like for the mother and father? Right before Christmas? Dropping their child off at the TSA line? In the midst of a war?

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