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The lights decorating the stores reflected on the windows of the passing cars; she noticed them briefly as she hurried down the busy sidewalk. Nothing seemed out of place or unusual, yet the air crackled with an unknown quality. She told her self she was simply tired and stressed and that this feeling would abate with a hot bath, a cup of cocoa, and no people to jostle and bump her. She reached the busy intersection and crossed with the crowd; halfway across she felt the jolt, as if an electric charge had entered her body. She paused, but the crowd carried her on across the street and deposited her at the curb. She turned and looked; there was nothing untoward. Shrugging her shoulders, and wondering if she weren't just a little more overwrought than usual, she turned and headed for the house in which her tiny apartment was situated.
She entered the front door, to be greeted by the smells of holiday cooking and a tree grand enough to match any in a public location. The entrance to the brownstone was open, the ceiling tall, and this tree stood easily twelve feet high, and was lavishly decorated with old Victorian ornaments. A few more modern day lights nestled discreetly among the branches. She stood for a moment allowing the warmth to wrap her, then moving to the staircase she slowly climbed upward to her rooms. Unlocking the door, she entered and reached for the light switch. Her tiny apartment drew her in lovingly and she quickly closed the door behind her, deposited her coat and purse on the chair, and moved to the kitchen. The hot cocoa and bath were her first priorities, then she would think about food. The softness of the hot water soothed her body, and she closed her eyes, allowing the tension to leave her.
She woke suddenly, the water was cold and she was shivering despite the heat that the furnace below was pumping into her living space. She stood, and reaching for a towel quickly dried. Her cocoa was cold and she reheated it while deciding on food, she had been too busy to eat earlier. Dinner over she relaxed on her couch letting the music on her stereo lull her back to sleep.
Her dreams took her back to her childhood, and away from the lonely existence she now lived. Christmas then was full of laughter and love, family and neighbours came and went, the table was always laden with her favourite things. She dreamed of her grandmother handing out presents while her mother fixed breakfast, of her father putting more logs on the huge fireplace, and her brothers running everywhere, stealing candy from the sideboard in the dining room. She woke with a start, halfway expecting her family to be there, but she was back in her apartment alone ... the farmhouse was long gone, burned to the ground on Christmas Eve long ago. Rising, she turned the music off and headed for bed, she wondered what had brought back the memories for she had not thought of her childhood in a very long time. Sleep overtook her almost immediately, and once more she dreamed of Christmases past. Every detail was so clear, as if she was reliving each and every moment of her thirteen years in the farmhouse. Tears began to seep from beneath her closed eyelids, the memories painful even in sleep, even after all this time. For although she was dreaming of happy times, she knew she could never regain that happiness and she cried for her lost childhood.
It was still dark when she awoke, some noise had aroused her from her slumber. She lay still, barely breathing, listening to the noises around her. There it was again, a slight rustling, she called out but no answer came back to her, no voice replied. She listened some more, but there was nothing, and once again she drifted off, back to her last Christmas with her family. It was Christmas Eve, she was thirteen years old, her brothers, nine and eleven, were doing their usual annoying of the entire household. They didn't believe in Santa anymore, but they still loved the surprises that would be deposited on the chairs the next morning. Her dreams suddenly became a nightmare, the fire engulfed the house rapidly, and she was the only one outside. Desperately she tried to go back and save them, but the heat was too much, the smoke too thick, and she saw herself standing, weeping for her lost family.
She woke, gasping for air as if she was once again breathing in the smoke and ashes of the fire. A noise from the living room unsettled her, and she got up and walked to the door. A Christmas tree was standing in the corner, lit and decorated, presents lay beneath its branches waiting for her to claim them. She moved forward, looking for the person who had done this, but no one was there. She sat on the floor and picked up the packages one by one ... each was from a member of her family ... each contained some trinket she had cherished and lost in the fire. She sat for a very long time, weeping quietly. Then putting everything back in its box she went quietly back to bed.
The sun woke her, and she lay there for a while remembering her dreams and the events of the early hours of the morning. Finally she rose and walked to the living room ... the tree and all it's trimmings and packages were gone ... it had been another dream. She sat on her couch, thinking back through all the years when she had shut out the memories because they were too painful, shut out Christmas because she was alone. The brightly wrapped package on her coffee table caught her eye, and she gingerly picked it up. There was no tag on its outside and she opened it wondering who had been there to leave it. Inside the white box, nestled in tissue paper, were pictures of her family taken on Christmas Eve just before the fire. She looked at them one by one, tears sliding down her cheeks as she saw them all in her heart and mind for the first time in almost 20 years. Her fingers touched something hard amongst the paper, and she picked up a delicate crystal angel, its wings folded back, its hands outstretched ... the angel she had bought with her mother that very Christmas Eve.
She rose, dressed and hurried to the market place to buy a tree and decorations ... her first in twenty years. She placed it in the corner, where the one in her dreams had stood, the crystal angel hung from the topmost branch, looking down at her ... her family once more celebrating the holiday.
Copyright © 12/21/2000
by Dragon Of Sephra@aol.com all rights reserved
CHRISTMAS PAST
"Even if it is a little thing, do something for those who have need of help, something for which you get no pay but the privilege of doing it." Dr. Albert Schweitzer
Before settling on the name of Tiny Tim for his character in "A Christmas Carol", three other alliterative names were considered by Charles Dickens. They were: Little Larry, Puny Pete and Small Sam.
