Christmas Confidential - 8. Henry

Henry

By Valkyrie

“Aw… c’mon Henry! The kids are counting on you!”

Henry held the phone away from his face and rolled his eyes. Why he even bothered answering it was beyond him. The conversation was doomed the minute he hit the ‘talk’ button. “I can’t, Doug. I just… can’t.”

“Fine. We’ll put All I want for Christmas is You on continual playback and be sure to drive especially slow down your street. We’ll give your phone number to everyone who complains.”

“Not buying it. You can’t stand that crap any more than I can.”

“All right. You asked for it. The Christmas Shoes it is.”

Henry scowled. “You’re bluffing. I bet you already found someone else to play guitar.”

Mariah Carey’s voice blared into his ear.

“All right! All right! I’ll do it! Just turn that noise off!”

The music stopped. “Great! I’ll pick you up in an hour!” Doug disconnected the call before Henry could change his mind.

Henry sighed. Normally he loved the firehouse’s annual tradition of driving the fire truck around the neighborhood at Christmastime. One of the guys dressed up as Santa and sat on top of the truck, waving to the kids and throwing them candy canes. Henry would set up his 1969 Gibson Les Paul jumbo acoustic guitar and sing Christmas songs as they drove along.

But not this year.

It was bad enough he’d need the guys help just to get on the truck. He’d broken his leg the month before after he fell through an unstable roof at a particularly nasty fire. Henry hated being on the sidelines. He liked being active and having to rest in order to heal was tantamount to torture. To add insult to injury, his house had been robbed while he was in the hospital. They took everything of value, including his father’s Les Paul.

He still had his old Fender, but after playing the Gibson for so long, it sounded like a battered high school instrument versus a Stradivarius. He’d always been intrigued by the instrument, even as a small child. His father would play it gently at nighttime, singing him to sleep. Every birthday, Easter, Christmas… any excuse, really, and the guitar case would be brought out in celebration.

Singing around the campfire, listening to his father’s deep voice accompany the dulcet tones of the instrument were some of Henry’s favorite memories. He’d never forget the first time his father put the guitar into Henry’s hands and taught him his first chords and first simple song—Smoke on the Water. After that it was Pink Floyd’s Wish you were Here and a smorgasbord of Simon and Garfunkel and Cat Stevens songs.

He received his own guitar for Christmas when he was ten and explored the blues and classical guitar. He treasured the jam sessions with his dad, and playing together on the fire truck every Christmas brought him joy.

Then came the horrible day five years ago when the call over the radio was for the address of the house he grew up in. Sixty-five-year-old male, massive heart attack, DOA.

Henry had carried on the Christmas tradition of singing on the truck every year since then, playing the Les Paul he’d inherited. He was regretting letting Doug blackmail him into participating this year. Without his father’s guitar, it just wouldn’t be the same. He grabbed his crutches and headed to his bedroom to grab the old Fender out of the closet and wait for his friend.

Getting onto the truck wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated, despite the cast covering most of his leg. Setting up the portable amp and guitar didn’t take long either. The old Fender tuned up nicely, even if it lacked the quality of the Les Paul. He strummed a few chords of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

“You have a real talent for the guitar.”

Henry smiled and stopped playing. “Thanks. I thought Brandon was playing Santa this year? I’m Henry.” He held his hand out.

The man dressed in the Santa outfit shook his hand briefly. He fit the part well. He looked middle-aged, with a bit of a gut and gray hair and beard. “I’m Gabe Murray with the local news. I asked if I could do a ride-along since I’ve heard such wonderful things about this annual event, in particular the music. How did your love of the guitar start?”

“I got it from my dad. He loved playing the guitar and it was a big part of our relationship.” A pang went through Henry as he thought about the loss of both his father and beloved instrument.

“You looked pretty sad for a minute there. What’s going on?” Gabe asked gently.

“It’s been a bit rough since my dad died five years ago. I miss him terribly. He left me his prized guitar, but it was stolen when I was in the hospital last month after I broke my leg. Even though it’s pretty rare, the police had no luck finding it.”

Gabe reached behind him and picked up a small, rectangular box wrapped in brightly-colored foil paper. “I’m not just here to do a ride-along. I’m also here to bring you a gift on behalf of an anonymous benefactor.” He held out the gift toward Henry.

“What?” Henry looked around, sure he was being pranked by the guys.

“It’s no joke. Open it.”

Henry raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by Gabe’s words. “Okay, so what’s going to jump out at me? Snakes? Spray foam?”

Gabe laughed. “I guess you’ll just have to open it and find out!”

Henry removed the lid to the box and stared at the picture he withdrew. “I don’t understand. It’s a photo of me and Dad playing guitar by the campfire. I remember this trip….”

He looked up to see Gabe holding a black guitar case. “I couldn’t fit the actual gift in the box.”

“Wha….”

Gabe opened the case and removed a 1969 Gibson Les Paul jumbo acoustic guitar and held it out to Henry. “It’s the same make and model as your father’s. I wish I could have found his, but I figured this was the next best thing.”

“I don’t believe this… wow… thank you so much. I… I don’t know what to say!” Henry took the instrument and strummed it lightly. The sound went straight to his heart, filling it with the joy he felt when he and his father used to play together. He started playing and sang along to Joy to the World. Tears streamed down his face as he finished with a flourish.

He looked up when he heard loud applause.

“Wow! That sounded fantastic! Guess you’re all ready to go, huh?” Brandon climbed onto the truck and sat next to Henry. He tugged at his Santa beard. “Man, this thing is itchy.”

A confused Henry looked around, but Gabe was nowhere to be seen.

Two more stories to go!  One from me and another one from Aditus.  Thank you all for taking this journey with us.