For the past few years, I was a ne’er do well. I was the one kid from the Houston ghettoes that would throw illegal raves, steal cars, run a couple meth labs, run drugs to Mexico and saw the inside of a jail cell more times than dudes saw the panty line of the neighborhood slut. The number of times I’ve been arrested should go in a record book somewhere. I’m surprised I’m not featured on America’s Most Wanted. The beginning of November was when my luck began to change, thanks to a meeting with my probation officer and a volunteer opportunity that came my way, along with some much-needed freakiness.

I went to the police station to talk to Officer McClusky, the guy who handles my probation. He’s one of the cops who spend a lot of time in the field, receiving a permanent farmer’s tan, an easy to do in the Texas sun no matter the time of year. A little on the portly side, McClusky is fatherly and tough when it gets down to dealing with a twenty something miscreant like myself.

“Holly, the girl of the hour,” Officer McClusky greeted me as I walk into his office that reeked of days-old cigarette smoke and stale coffee. “I have an opportunity for you.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, sitting on a cold chair. “What is it?”

“There’s a motorcycle group in Katy that has a toy drive for the orphaned children every year. This group also cooks dinner for families in shelters. I think it would be good for you to volunteer at the club.”

“This is the last thing to do before I go in front of the judges?”

“Yes it is.”

“Deal. Give me the address and the name of the person I’m supposed to contact on Monday.”

Officer McClusky scribbled the info on a piece of scratch paper and handed it to me. “When this is completed, you’re free from my clutches forever. Don’t let me catch you trespassing and throwing illegal raves ever again.”

“The faster I’m done with this, the faster I can become a more productive person in society and become the person I was meant to become, officer.”

“Who do you want to become, Oprah?”

I scoffed at the idea of becoming that old, fat biddy. “Fuck no, officer. That’s crazy. I want to own real estate in Harris and Fort Bend counties.”

Rubbing his double chin, Officer McClusky nodded. “It’s a great ambition you have. Report there on Monday at three and speak to Travis McDade. He’s the one that runs the nonprofit.”

I didn’t know what to expect pulling up to a dilapidated brick-and-mortar building outside of Katy. Looking around, I see garbage in the street, cracks in the sidewalk, broken beer bottles littered in the grass and a stench that would not leave. Nervously, I ring the bell while fearing for my life. I know the neighborhood I live in is bad, but this takes the cake: gunshots in the distance, sirens going off every few minutes, Confederate flags waving around, KKK and skinhead paraphernalia hanging in shops and kids running around the streets talking like sailors. The only difference is that there’s not one sign of gentrification and there are no project buildings that are either boarded up or overflowing with people selling homemade crack out of their windows.

“Who’s there?” a voice asked.

“It’s Holly Mayfield, the newest volunteer,” I spoke into the voice box. “Officer McClusky sent me over.”

A buzzer rang from inside and unlocked the door. I walked in, coming face to face with a gentleman with red hair and a grin on his face. “You’re Holly,” he greeted me, his Cockney accent strong.

“Yes I am,” I responded. “You must be Travis.”

Travis nodded. “I’m your supervisor. Did McClusky tell you what you’ll be doing?”

“No he didn’t. Am I assigned to do manual labor?”

Travis laughed. “No, Holly babe. The three weeks you’re going to assist the club in collecting toys for the hospital, orphanages and homeless shelters in this county and Fort Bend. We do deliver them on motorcycles dressed up as a variety of characters you see for Christmas. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful. When do I begin?”

“Today. You can help me decorate the tree in the main hall.”

Travis led me into the main hall, where it looks like a winter wonderland. Since it rarely snows in Texas, it’s nice to see there’s no palm trees with garlands on them, or pink flamingos pulling Santa in a lawn chair. A plastic Douglas fir stood in the center of the room, bare of all decorations. Travis handed me a plastic bin with ornaments and I started decorating the tree. As we decorated, I learned he’s an avid motorcyclist and started a nonprofit in London that was successful and decided to replicate it in a warmer climate. He chose Houston and began an offshoot of his nonprofit to help the ones that are the most vulnerable during the holiday season.

I told him my story of growing up in the ghettoes of North Houston with parents who were both crack heads and alcoholics and me raising my three younger siblings and selling drugs until I got picked up and sent into the foster care system. When I got out, that’s when I began a history with seeing the cops on a daily basis until Officer McClusky became my probation officer.

“You’re looking to redeem yourself. You came to the right pace. Go get some rest and come back Monday bright and early.”

I returned to the building and performed my assigned tasks. When the week before Christmas rolled around, people brought in toys for the kids and a myriad of food to prepare for the shelters. I assisted in preparing the food and loading them in the back of vans, along with the toys. Travis came into the main hall with several bags and passed them out to everyone.

What are they? I asked.

“The costumes I told you about your first day here,” Travis explained. “We’ll wear them as we pass out food and gifts to the people. The first of the deliveries begin tomorrow and run all the way through Christmas Day.”

The next day, I show up wearing a green dress with red crinoline, red and green-striped tights and red boots with a bell on the toe. The green felt hat had bells on it as well. I was clowned by half of the neighborhood, calling me every name ranging from a black-ass Keebler elf to a stale Christmas special extra but I didn’t give a shit. I’m contributing to society in a positive manner. Travis came to the door, dressed as St. Nick next to my Christmas court jester. Your probation is almost over, I said to myself.

“Holly, I’m glad you made it. You’re riding with me on my motorcycle. There’s a helmet in my office.”

The club made the last of the deliveries to a couple homeless shelters and an orphanages. We fed the people, sang carols and passed out the gifts. I didn’t’ want the magic of Christmas to end, seeing that it’s something I want for myself on a future date. I also know my probation was coming to an end once Travis gives the cop my report once the New Year began.

“Holly, do you mind coming back to the lodge? Travis asked. I have a gift there I forgot to grab.”

“Sure.”

Travis and I hopped on the bike and sped to the lodge. He unlocked the door, allowing me inside before he came in. I went into his office to locate the gift and couldn’t find it. I turned around to see Travis standing in the door, wearing a wicked grin, holding a manila envelope in his hand.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Your gift,” he replied. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone there.”

I took the envelope from Travis’s hand. I opened it and I found a certificate and a couple smaller envelopes. I looked up at him and smiled. “I’m a free woman?” I asked.

“Yes you are,” he answered. “I told your probation officer how well you’re doing here and he wanted me to give you the certificate for Christmas. The smaller envelopes contain your first two paychecks, if you decide to work for me full-time.”

I ran over to Travis and gave him a hug. “Thank you. This is the best Christmas ever! I don’t know what to say.”

“Your contribution here was thanks enough. I’ll see you after the New Year as my administrative assistant.”

I went home with a smile on my face. I’m finally going to turn my life around for the better.