The Ghost of Christmas Present Read Online Free

chest.
    When he finally left and arrived home, there was a third notice tacked to the door, a Con Ed final shutoff warning. The next morning, Patrick called every person he and Linda ever considered a friend, even several who hadn’t quite merited the word. He’d tossed aside any vestige of pride and went begging, from phone call to phone call. People were wonderful, kind, sympathetic. Some of them remembered Braden as a baby. A few even pretended to remember—­Patrick knew they’d never met his son, but no matter. There were willing to help, but the help came in tens, not hundreds, which wasn’t even close to what he needed.
    When there was no one else to call, he’d collected just under half of what it would take to pay the rent notice, which had just been delivered by the building’s super that afternoon of the first.
    â€œReal glad you’re finally getting your bonus, Mr. Guthrie. It’ll be a relief to clear up last month’s rent and be on top of this one.”
    â€œYou bet,” Patrick said. “It’ll be a relief.”

    P atrick rode the subway in his green-checkered pizza shirt and white bow tie. He’d been too tired after his last double shift to change back into his street clothes. He wasn’t fatigued from working too hard, but from standing over a section of tables surrounded by empty chairs. It had been a particularly bad night, and his apron still hung about his waist with less than ten dollars in it.
    â€œHello, earthlings!” shouted a voice from the other end of the car. Patrick looked up to see a man wearing a wool cap with two antennae sticking up from it that sported two aluminum-foil-covered balls at their tops.
    â€œI hail from the Planet Neptune, and my spaceship has crashed upon your fair orb. I am in need of only a small sum of money to fix my craft and be on my way. If you wish to make a donation to my journey back home, I promise to take Donald Trump with me!”
    A scattering of chuckles brought out a few handfuls of coins and dollar bills dropped into the coffee can the alien carried. He walked the car’s length, nodding his thanks for each donation. Patrick watched in admiration as the man worked the crowd.
    â€œA five-spot from the lady in blue! For that generous donation I promise to do my best to take Gary Busey too!”
    The alien finally stood before Patrick, who could ill afford to give anything away, especially to a man holding a plastic jug in his outstretched hands brimming with bills.
    â€œAnd you, sir, the gentleman in green. Will you assist a humble space creature in finding his way back home for Christmas?”
    Patrick couldn’t help but ask. “They have Christmas on Neptune?”
    â€œIt’s the farthest planet away from the sun, good sir. That’s where they need it the most.”
    Patrick smiled at the thoughtful answer, reached inside his apron, and pulled out a dollar bill. “Have a safe journey home.”

    A nd that was how it came to be that Patrick arrived home that evening through the cold winds that blew down his block, and the cold winds that blew through his wallet, with a smile on his face. As he headed up the stairwell of his non-elevator building, he couldn’t help but replay the alien’s performance in his head.
    â€œHello, earthlings!” Patrick said to himself as he turned the corner down the hallway to his nearby door, where he came face-to-face with a young woman wearing a serious expression and carrying a serious leather satchel over her shoulder.
    â€œHello,” she said with an inscrutable face. “And may I ask what planet you’re just now returning from?”
    Patrick stood embarrassed and speechless for a second before trying to muster up the semblance of an explanation. “Excuse me. I just saw a very funny beggar on the subway . . . and I didn’t realize you were standing there, and . . . can I help