The Christmas Intervention
written by: Nathan Perrin
Gabriel Grubb was dead, to begin with. At least that’s what he would tell anyone who listened.
Gabe grew up near Lawndale, got hooked on heroin at a young age. Like a lot of kids around Chicago.
On December 22nd, he woke up with a needle in his right arm and a dark purple hue around his veins.
When Gabe’s eyes adjusted and his body forgave him enough to see forward, he saw he was across the street from a church. Narcotics Anonymous was advertised proudly on the sign.
Gabe searched his memory and couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t high. Surely, life was more than this. He remembered his old friend Jason, whom he used to shoot up with, getting sober and his life in order.
Gabe wondered about Jason, and about his future.
What if Gabe could get sober, too?
***
Gabe sat in the Narcotics Anonymous meeting, hands trembling.
“When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me ghost stories,” said Jason across the room. “Growing up here around Chi-town, he used to say every corner was full of spirits and that Christmas was an open window for us to communicate with the supernatural world. That’s what comes to me this time of year. Been clean five years, and Christmas is slowly turning into a good thing. Didn’t know it at the time. But here I am. That’s all I got.”
The group said, “Thanks, Jason.”
Silence.
Gabe rubbed his arms, cursed a little under his breath.
“It’s been about thirty hours since I last shot up heroin,” he whispered. “I’m in pain.”
Sweat beaded down his brow. Chills up and down his arms.
“I know I can get through this,” Gabe said. “I know I can. It’s Christmas, after all. It’s when miracles happen.”
He laughed hysterically a bit. The room remained quiet. Jason forced a smile in Gabe’s direction.
“I have to rely on my Higher Power to get me through,” Gabe wiped the sweat from his brow. “That’s it.”
“Thanks for sharing, Gabe,” the group mumbled.
***
After the meeting, Jason approached Gabe at the coffee pot.
“Hey, man,” Jason put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “You don’t know what’s around the corner. Keep praying. One day at a time.”
“My Higher Power’s been awfully silent,” Gabe mumbled.
“Give God room to breathe. You’ll come to your own eventually.”
***
A few hours later, Gabe lay awake at night.
“God,” he whispered. “Get me through the night. Whatever it takes.”
The blood boiled underneath his skin…
He sat up on his bed, hands clenching the sweat-drenched sheets.
“I can’t do this,” Gabe whispered. “I can’t do this.”
The chills crawled up his arm. He quickly threw a blanket around himself.
Gabe looked through his phone contacts to see if his dealer replied.
Nothing.
Gabe couldn’t wait any longer.
He remembered his dealer said sometime back would bury drugs at Al Capone’s grave, in the Chicago suburbs. Something about giving an offering to the mobster, and also an ironic place to hide a stash.
Tears streamed down Gabe’s face as he stumbled in the darkness and threw on his clothes.
***
Gabe hopped the fence and got into the cemetery. In the distance, he saw a little boy standing next to a tombstone. His heart paused.
The boy made direct eye contact with Gabe.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Gabe said clearly. “I’m just here to get what’s mine. That’s it.”
The boy nodded and looked away.
Gabe kept walking. In a normal state, he perhaps would’ve asked why the boy was there – but his body screamed at him by the second.
***
Gabe’s hands clawed at the earth.
Snow started to fall.
Gabe’s hands were dark scarlet from digging, clawing through the dirt.
“Come on,” Gabe whispered. “Just give me some kinda break.”
A bead of sweat dripped from his nose.
That’s when he heard a soft snap behind him.
Gabe quickly turned around and grabbed his knife from his belt.
“Who’s there?” he yelled. “Is that you, boy?”
Silence.
Probably a stray dog or the boy playing tricks on him, but Gabe figured he couldn’t take any chances.
Gabe held his knife up to the darkness.
“Whoever’s out there, let me know!”
Two red eyes glowed in the darkness.
A snarling, growl.
Gabe’s hand trembled.
“What are you doing here, Gabriel?” a scratchy voice asked.
Gabe shook his head, “How the hell do you know me, man?”
“What are you doing here, Gabriel?” the thing repeated. It took a step towards him. “Looking to score?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Gabe yelled.
“Why else would you be here, Gabriel Grubb?”
Gabe lowered his knife, “How do you know my name, man?”
The thing laughed and lurched towards Gabe.
Gabe screamed.
***
Screams.
Laughter.
More screaming.
Gabe woke up in a cave with many red eyes in the darkness, staring at him. He got back up.
Gabe noticed his body felt normal. There were no signs of withdrawal.
In the center of the room was a cauldron with a boiling bluish-green liquid.
“Go,” the voices said. “Go and see.”
“Who are you?” Gabe asked.
“Go and see.”
Gabe walked over to the cauldron and looked down.
He saw in the liquid a clear picture of a family singing Christmas carols around their living room. Children laughing, wife smiling. Her hair was blonde. Gabe loved blondes.
“Who is this?” Gabe asked.
Silence.
Gabe kept looking.
The front door opened to the living room, and in walked a man that looked like Gabe except ten years older. Gabe’s heart stopped.
When he was younger, he dreamed someday about having a family of his own – a place he could call home. Here, in this cauldron, was an image of his hopes.
“This is who you will become if you keep away from poison,” the voices snarled. “But the choice is always yours. The future is never written.”
Gabe remembered what was said at the meeting, by his friend Jason. Gabe thought about all the good things that could potentially come to him if he just stayed the course. Hell was worth overcoming if it meant finding a home. A real, true home – where he belonged.
“If I keep using,” Gabe whispered, “will I end up here?”
“Yes,” the voices whispered.
“I understand. I think.”
“The future is never written,” the voices repeated.
***
Gabe woke up on Al Capone’s grave covered in dirt and still feeling well. He got up, brushed it all off. He thought about the vision he saw in the cauldron.
Gabe remembered hallucinations could happen during withdrawal, but it wasn’t common. Maybe last night was another symptom of a hazed dream. That’s when the chills hit him again, and he threw up on Al Capone’s grave. He shuddered and leaned against the Capone family tombstone.
The boy he saw earlier was standing in the middle of the road. The boy pointed towards the entrance, which was now unlocked and open. As Gabe walked up to him, the boy started to look familiar, too.
He recognized himself at ten years old.
Gabe’s eyes blinked a few times as he stood across from his past self.
“I’ll do us proud,” Gabe whispered.
“I know,” a tear streamed down the boy’s face. “Christmas is when miracles happen.”
Gabe nodded, and walked on.
As he got into his car and turned it on, a peace settled in.
A serenity. Like those cheesy damn prayers they say at meetings.
Gabe took out his phone and dialed Jason’s number.
A few rings.
“Gabe?” Jason asked on the other end.
“Hey, man,” Gabe fought back tears. “I need someplace to crash. I’m gonna use if I don’t.
I want what you have.”
“Of course, man,” Jason’s voice was kind. “Come on over. It’s Christmas Eve. None of us should be alone.”
Gabe wept.
***
A year later, Gabe was at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, sharing.
“My Higher Power came through in a way I didn’t expect,” he said. “I guess that’s the beauty of the steps and programs like these. Miracles can and do happen.”
Across the room, he saw a familiar blonde woman. She held a five-year sobriety chip.
After the meeting, he would go up and introduce himself. He decided it right then and there.
Two years after that, around Christmas time, Gabe will come home to her after a long day of work. The house will be full of cheer and cheesy Christmas music and the scent of homemade desserts.
All will be well.
- The Christmas Intervention - December 21, 2025
- A Chicago Carol - December 24, 2024
