A vivid, yellow school bus bearing the name “Emery Gettings High School, IN” turned the corner sharply, almost losing control on the quickly forming ice. The bus was transporting a high school choir from a Christmas performance, and was nearly halfway back when the winter storm hit.
“There’s a McDonald’s up here,” the balding choir director said loudly over the shrieks and general buzz as they came out of the intersection. “Let’s stop there and get off this road. We can get something to eat, too.”
“Sounds good,” the slightly overweight, bearded bus driver replied. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to drive this thing if the weather stays like this.” He carefully maneuvered the cumbersome bus into the small parking lot.
“McDonalds!”
“Oh, I knew I’d need my purse…”
“Yes! Food!” Various gleeful shouts and chatter came from the back of the bus as the doors whooshed open to let the students out. The bus driver waited until the last student had descended the steps, and the last “thank you” had reached his ears. The choir director remained seated behind him.
“Turn on the radio,” the director said. “Maybe this storm won’t last long.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” the driver replied as he fiddled with the bus’s rather finicky radio. “Even if it does stop, the roads’ll still be bad enough. We might be stuck here for the night.”
“The students will need to call their parents.” The director was concentrating on the radio, which was now listing counties included in a winter storm warning.
“...and White counties, all under a winter storm warning, in effect until midnight tonight. Again, that includes the entire WTKO listening area. For your safety, stay off the roads as much as possible, especially in the dark. And now back to the music—further updates will be broadcasted periodically, and as the situation warrants.” The driver turned the radio down as the opening bars of an oldies song began to play.
“You might be right about being stuck here.” The driver sighed grimly as he hefted himself out of the vinyl-upholstered driver’s seat. “Well, let’s go get something to eat and hope for the best.”
As the two men made their way across the snowy parking lot, hunched over against the bitter wind, similar thoughts were running through their heads. Why did this storm have to come up? They could have been safe in their warm homes right now, reading “The Night Before Christmas” to their families, sitting with their respective wives in front of a glowing fireplace, happy to be inside on this arctic night.
Their cozy thoughts seemed to keep them warm despite the wind and sleet biting their faces as they reached the door of the McDonald’s. They entered to the sound of the twenty-some students ordering their meals and discussing the storm. Some had cell phones glued to their ears, reassuring parents that they were safe and off the roads, but that no one knew when they would arrive back home.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” The director shouted. The students quieted; one of them stopped talking mid-order and turned to face the man speaking. “This storm won’t stop for a while,” he said. “There’s a winter storm warning in effect till midnight. I’m sorry to break the news, but we might be stuck here all night. Everyone should start calling their parents, if they haven’t already.” The director’s regretful announcement brought moans to the group of students; a girl dropped miserably into a booth.
Meanwhile, Clarisse was preparing another batch of fries in the kitchen. When she heard the choir director’s announcement, her gloved hand slipped on the handle of the fry basket and brushed the searing deep-fryer.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed. She peeled off the plastic glove, which had melted in the spot where it had touched the sizzling fryer, and sucked on her burned knuckle as the fries finished cooking. She immediately took the basket out of the oil, which seemed to be hissing mockingly at her. She hurried across the kitchen and turned on the cold water the moment she reached the sink. As she let the ice-cold water splash over her finger, she removed her other glove in her teeth and ran her now free hand over her forehead. She glanced at one of the cash registers, where Sheila was taking orders.
“Oh, no!” Sheila moaned. “Are you telling me I gotta be stuck in this place all night? I still got presents to wrap! How you expect me to...” The exasperated manager began muttering to herself, rolling her eyes every once in a while as she fiercely punched in orders.
At the other cash register, the usually perky Deanna was ringing up an order with an exhausted look on her face.
“Next,” she sighed dejectedly.
At a corner booth, a small family was eating their burgers and Happy Meals; a toddler struggled to free herself from her tired-looking mother, who was attempting to wipe ketchup from her chubby face. The little girl’s father and older sister got up and made their way between the conversing students to the table where the choir director and the bus driver sat. The man called Balthazar was standing at the table talking to them, his forehead creased with concern.
“The students—what will they do?” he asked in his deep, slightly accented voice.
“They’ll just have to camp out here. They’re all calling their families as we speak.”
The girl and her father approached the small group at the table.
“Sir,” the father said to the director, “Did you say we would be stuck here all night?”
“Unless this storm stops soon, we will be.”
The girl’s face fell. “Oh no, Daddy! What’ll we do? Santa Claus won’t be able to find us!”
“It’s all right, sweetie. Santa Claus never fails. We’re going to make the best of this.” Her father patted her comfortingly on the back. “Now, what brings everyone else here?”
“We’re a high school choir. We’re on our way back from our last concert of the year.” The director was glad to have something else to think about.
“Really? What high school?”
“Emery Gettings High. It’s...up north a ways.”
“Hmmm...” the father thought for a moment. “Never heard of it. What would you say to a little concert right here? I’m sure you’d love it, wouldn’t you, Natalie?”
“Of course we could do that for you! I’ll get them together,” the director agreed. “Hey everyone!” he shouted over the chatting students. “We have a request for a serenade. We’ll do our songs—concert order.” He paused a moment for the students to get to their feet and shift into their rows. He raised his arms high and began to conduct “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” As the choir started to sing, the family and the businessmen turned around in their seats to watch, and the employees came out of the kitchen.
The patrons listened, starry-eyed, as the choir sang its way through most of the concert. The wind howled its frustration in not being able to slip into the restaurant as snow and sleet pelted the windows. As the choir sang “O Holy Night,” there was a great gust of wind, and the lights flickered and went out. Several people gasped in the pitch darkness, and a few, thinking quickly, took out their cell phones and lit up the screens. Everyone in possession of a phone followed suit, lighting the McDonald’s with the dim white glow of their screens. The other two businessmen had joined the table where Balthazar and the father and his daughter sat, near where the director had been conducting his choir. The four men began discussing the situation in low voices.
“Daddy?” Natalie whispered, her face lit faintly in the light of the phones that lay on the table. “What’s happening?”
“The power’s out because of the storm. Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “We’re safe here.”
The choir director rose and addressed his choir in a low voice, inaudible to the rest of the patrons. His intentions were made clear when the choir reorganized themselves and began to sing softly: “Silent night, holy night...” The students had raised their lit cell phones to light their faces, giving them the unearthly look of a celestial chorus, seemingly out of place in this grubby McDonald’s.
Clarisse leaned against the counter, watching the spectacle. Lost in the music, she didn’t notice Deanna appear beside her. Deanna elbowed her gently, holding her cell phone, which showed the time: 11:37 p.m.
“It’s almost Christmas,” she whispered, smiling. Not even their bleak situation could dampen the holiday glow. Clarisse felt chills run up her arms as the choir finished singing. A few people clapped, including Deanna, the young girl, and her father. The choir sat down after being dismissed by the director, who resumed his seat at the businessmen’s table. At a nearby booth, Sheila sat resting her chin in her hand, a gloomy look on her face. Deanna and Clarisse walked over and joined her.
“Go away,” Sheila said sulkily. “And don’t say ‘Merry Christmas’ to me, ‘cause it’s not.” Deanna seemed to be resisting the urge to say exactly that, when one of the businessmen stood up. In a soft yet commanding voice, he said, “Can I have everyone’s attention?” He looked around at everyone’s faces, making sure he had undivided attention. “Considering the circumstances, we think it is a good idea for everyone to try to go to sleep. No one should open the door except in an emergency, since we have no heat as of right now. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.”
“Some Christmas,” Sheila declared loudly. At this, the little girl, Natalie, came over to the table where the three employees sat.
“Hey,” she said. “At least it is Christmas. You could’ve been stuck on the road. You could’ve been—“
“I coulda been home,” Sheila interrupted. “I coulda been in my warm house, with my cat, in front of a fire, with—“
“Remember Mary and Joseph?” Natalie countered. “They were away from home too. They didn’t have any heat, or electricity. It was cold and dark—not much different from now, right?”
“I guess, but—“
“Look, there’s even an angel choir,” she said, pointing at the choir, the nearest of whom smiled at her pep talk. “And three wise men,” she continued, motioning towards the businessmen. “You guys are just like the shepherds—you know, just regular people who—“
“Who witnessed a miracle,” Deanna finished simply. “Sheila, you can’t just focus on the bad things. It’s Christmas.”
“All right, all right,” Sheila said, raising her hands in defeat. “Just let me sleep.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, not about to listen to another word. Deanna turned to the Natalie, whose father had appeared behind her.
“Thanks.” Deanna smiled at her. “She needed that. And don’t worry—she’ll come around. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Natalie replied shyly. The boldness from her speech had left her. Her father put a hand on her shoulder.
“Thanks for everything,” he said to Deanna and Clarisse. “Merry Christmas.” He led his daughter back the table where his wife and two other children sat.
“Guess we should try to get some sleep,” Clarisse said to Deanna, glancing at Sheila, who snapped her eyes shut when she saw Clarisse look at her. She stood up and found an empty booth, where she lay down on one of the benches and closed her eyes. The last thing she remembered was the odd smell that had come to her before: the churchlike aroma of incense and candles.
* * *
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