The Christmas Heir

 

A young man clutching a letter.

The Christmas Gift

I sat there on the bar stool, reflecting on my life from January to December. It hasn’t been easy. Looking back, it shows I’ve faced a very tough year. Out of 365 days, I only found happiness twice. Wow—two times in a whole year. It saddened me how life has treated me like trash. I sighed, drained my glass, and signaled the bartender for another. He brought it and lingered for a moment, seeing the sadness on my face.

"You okay?" he asked as he handed over the drink.

I was silent for a few seconds. Then I looked up at him and said, "No, I’m not okay. Do you know there are three kinds of people who frequent bars?"

"Beat me if I know," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I just serve people their poison and get paid."

I nodded. "The three kinds of people who frequent a bar are those who want to drown their sorrow in a drink, and those who want to celebrate their success with a drink." I paused, taking a sip. I could see the impatience on his face, but I ignored him.

Finally, he asked, "And the third?"

"And those who just want to enjoy the drink and observe other people."

"And which category do you belong to?" he asked.

"The first," I said, draining the glass and asking for another. He handed it over and muttered, "Sorry."

I ignored his pity and focused on my drink and the sad reality of my life. How could one man have it so rough that he only saw happiness twice in a whole year? I guessed it wasn’t normal. I wondered if it was a curse. How can a man struggle so much and yet see no light at the end of the tunnel? I sat there nursing my drink, wondering what the new year would bring. Would it get easier, or would this roughness follow me? It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and I was nursing my sorrow, my heart bleeding into my glass. I wondered how other people did it. I’m not an alcoholic—in fact, I hate drinking—but sadness had made me what I was in that moment.

There was a ringing of the bell as someone entered the bar. I glanced at him and I could smell money. He wore a three-piece suit and a dark hat, with a lot of gray at his temples. I guessed he was in his 70s. He had a Colombian cigar clamped between his lips with smoke drifting out. He took a seat just a few meters from me at the bar and ordered a vodka.

"Make it a double," he said to the bartender, pulling off his hat with a sigh. I could see his hair was entirely gray. He had wrinkles and heavy bags under his eyes. I saw nothing in his expression and went back to focusing on my own trouble. I figured everyone has their own poison eating them up. My own ups and downs were too much, so I minded my own business.

The man drained the glass at once and ordered another, which he also drained. Then he asked the bartender to bring the bottle. He was taking a long pull from it when he turned and saw me. Blowing a thick cloud of smoke from his nostrils, he asked, "Is the smoke bothering you?"

It had a nice flavor and felt clean, but honestly, I’m not a smoker, so I just said, "No."

He paused and looked at me closely. "What is eating at you, young man?"

I was quiet for a few seconds. I wondered why I would open up to him—a man who just walked into the bar. But I guess I didn’t give a damn anymore about life and the way it had treated me. I had no one to look to. No relatives. Just me alone, fighting the world and whatever it threw at me.

"Life is what’s been eating at me," I said.

"That’s brutal. I can see it in your eyes and how your shoulders slump. Care to celebrate?"

"Life has been mocking me. It’s been a fight every day. Can you imagine I only had two days of happiness in a whole year? That’s enough to say life beat the daylight out of me. I’ve been sad, and it hurts to work hard and see no results. I work with my hands, my blood, and my sweat, but at the end of the day, I can only afford a plate of food and nothing else."

"That is brutal, son. I guess some people don't know how much others are going through. Just because you see someone smile doesn't mean they're okay. I’m sorry, son."

I could see the sincerity in his eyes. It seemed to hurt him to see a young man struggling. I wondered why.

"Thank you," I said. "Life just happens. We don’t choose it. I wonder sometimes if we’re dreaming, and one day we’ll wake up and realize it was all just a nightmare."

He laughed a bitter laugh. "I wish you were right. It would be great to wake up and see that the life we’ve been living was just a dream."

"Do you think that’s possible?" I asked. He dragged his seat nearer to me and offered me the bottle of vodka. I took a sip and smacked my lips. "Good stuff," I said.

He nodded and continued, "What if this life is a dream? If we woke up and saw we’d been dreaming all along, what would you do differently?"

I paused and gave it some thought. "Well, I’ve made mistakes. If this is a dream, I’d make sure I never experience them in real life ever again."

He nodded in understanding. "I have just one day to live."

I froze, the bottle halfway to my mouth. I set it down to look at him. "Did I hear you right?"

"Yeah. Just one day. Tomorrow is Christmas Day. I wish I could turn back the hands of time."

"I’m sorry. My name is Larry Roger," I said, extending my hand for a handshake.

"Name is Elon Michael," he said, shaking my hand. "Don’t be sorry. As you said, life happens and we all make mistakes."

"Yeah," I said, handing him the bottle. "How do you want to spend the last day of your life?"

"No idea, son."

"What about your family?"

"I never married."

"Do you have kids?"

"No, I never fathered any. I had an accident when I was a kid and it damaged my... productivity area. You know what I mean, right?"

"I do."

"I'm impotent," he said, drinking hard.

I was shocked. Silence fell between us for almost a minute before I found my voice again. "I’m truly sorry, sir."

"It’s okay, son."

"Then allow me to spend the last day of your life with you. Allow me to show you some fun. Let’s forget our sorrows."

"My young friend, I accept," he said.

Larry Roger took him out and showed him a night of adventure. It was fun like Elon had never had in his life, and he enjoyed every moment. Larry could see the tears in the old man's eyes and knew he had done something worthwhile. He even forgot his own hardships, enjoying the company of Elon Michael and giving him the best send-off possible.

A few days later, Larry was in his cramped one-room apartment, eating bacon and drinking a diet coke, when the mailman came. He wondered who would send him mail; the only mail he ever received were bills and complaints about his lack of payment. He sat down and opened the letter. He saw it was from Elon Michael and smiled, remembering the old man who had made his Christmas Eve so memorable that he had forgotten his own sorrow.

He opened the letter and got the shock of his life. As he read, tears spilled down his cheeks. He sat there crying, wondering how a miracle like this could happen. He held the letter to his chest, clutching it and muttering a prayer for Elon Michael, wherever his spirit was resting.

My dear son,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I don’t have much to say, but I want you to know that you changed my life that day. You made me feel happy even though you were sad. You forgot your own troubles just to make sure I had the best moment of my life. I’m grateful, son, and it means so much to me.

I took the time to make some changes before my time was up. I hope you don’t mind, but I have adopted you as my heir. You are the one who will inherit my fortune. Don’t worry and don’t feel bad about it. I am leaving you my estate; though it is just $200M, I hope it will change your life and give you the happiness you deserve. You have a good heart, and I believe you will do justice to whatever I’ve left you. Just be happy and live a good life.

Elon Michael