Page 79 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“The Miracle on 34th Street started with a single strand of lights hung on a tree by a teenage boy named Dale in 1947,” she says. “His neighbors caught on and started hanging their own lights. Now it’s a Baltimore tradition, and one of the most visited places in Maryland.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“I listened to a podcast.”
I park on the street, and we start walking. Within seconds, we join a flow of pedestrians headed to the same place. Families with young kids, couples holding hands, teenage girls skipping together in matching Uggs. A guy in a parka carries a Bluetooth speaker that plays “Last Christmas” by Wham!
34th Street is about a block away so we can’t see the lights yet, but there’s a yellow glow in the sky ahead, like when you approach Times Square.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Meredith asks.
“You’ll see,” I say.
Her glasses keep fogging up, which is endearing, and she looks good in her hat.
“How do you like Baltimore so far, by the way?” I ask. “I just realized I haven’t asked you that yet. Seems unwelcoming of me.”
“I like it,” she says. “Everyone here always seems like they’ve been drinking.”
I smile because that’s maybe the most astute observation I’ve heard about this place.
We turn a corner at a blue city mailbox that’s covered in graffiti, and there it is: a full city block of houses decorated as elaborately as you could imagine.
“Oh my god,” she says.
“Yep.”
This becomes Meredith’s refrain: “Oh my god.” She says it when we pass the Christmas tree that’s made entirely of old hubcaps. Again, at the house that’s decorated in all flamingos. Then at the Hannukah house, and later at the house with twenty lit-up Disney characters out front like carolers. A full lap up and down 34th Street, even walking slowly, only takes about fifteen minutes, so we do it again, catching a few things we missed the first time, like the tree with all the blinking crabs. I’m not sure where the guy with the Bluetooth speaker is, but he’s put “Last Christmas” on repeat, and the song never sounded so good.
“Here, let’s sit,” Meredith says, and we settle onto a bench with a great view of the street.
“I’m glad I didn’t look at any pictures when I was researching,” she says. “They wouldn’t have done this justice.”
“Yeah, this kinda tacky needs to be experienced in person,” I say.
We watch the crowd and the lights. New people keep streaming in as George Michael sings on.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says. “I mean, I know I kinda made you, but…”
“Nah,” I say. “Well, okay, maybe, but it’s my pleasure.”
A cop strolls nearby. When he’s a safe distance away, I say, “Everyone here always seems like they’ve been drinking, huh?”
“Yes,” she says, “and I stand by that.”
I unzip my coat and take a silver flask out of my chest pocket. “You’re not wrong.”
She laughs and accepts the first hit of mint schnapps and what I’m sure is now lukewarm hot chocolate.
“So,” she says. “Did Cal tell you my sob story?”
“Your what?”
“I spent eight years with a guy who was fundamentally against marriage.”
“Ah,” I say.
“The institution,” she says. “He said it was deeply flawed—antiquated, even misogynistic. He was big on that, the unfair politicsof marriage. Like not wanting to be married was him doing me a favor.”
