Alone again, I sit down on the floor, my back resting against the couch. I fold my freezing feet under me and look at the black coal dust laying here, there, everywhere on the living room floor. The shape that Bob made against the wall is there as well, and if I look at the spot long enough, I see it makes the shape of a question mark. I look back at the floor and cry silently.

A second later I hear a small sound in the kitchen. I don't look up. The sound progresses towards me, until I hear a massive crash in the kitchen, as my next ghost crashes into the clothes drying rack we'd set up in front of the radiator.

"Oh, gosh! Sorry! I'm terribly sorry!" comes the soft male voice. I turn my head to the doorway and there, walking into view, is a man.

"What, I'm finally being visited by someone who doesn't need a flea collar?" I ask, wiping tears off of my cheeks.

"What? Oh yes. Right. The other two. Well, we do come in many shapes and sizes, you know," chortles my new ghost. As he makes his way into view, I see him clearly. He's dressed all in dark navy blue, with bright red epaulets and a ridiculous hat on. He has long brown sideburns and completely round Harry Potter-like specatcles. On his hands are white gloves, and in one hand he holds a shiny silver trumpet.

"Are you serious?" I ask. "I've been sent a Salvation Army ghost?"

The Ghost of Christmas Future looks down at his trumpet. "Oh right. The trumpet. Well, we all had other things we did in life before we got here. I used to play for them at the holiday times, yes."

"Are you serious?" I ask again, dazed.

"Oh yes. Serious indeed, yes. I am the Ghost of Christmas Future, but you can call me Reginald."

"I've been sent a Salvation Army trumpet player named Reginald?" I reply stupidly.

"I know it might seem surprising, but yes. That's the scope of things." Reginald walks into the room and sits on the edge of the couch. His trumpet reflects the light of the Swedish Christmas lights we have in the window, and reflects it back into little crescents of light throughout the ceiling of the living room. His black patent leather shoes squeak as he rocks his toes backwards and forwards inside of them.

I reach out and take Reginald's hand-reassured for once by the solid familiarity of a ghost whose corporeal form is a little more recognizable-and we walk out the front door. I am no longer shocked by finding myself somewhere else, only I try to close my eyes and accept that where I go and what I see is going to depress and horrify me. As my toes curl out and stretch down, waiting for purchase, I feel a sigh shudder through me as I watch my feet.

And when my toes find something solid, I see the ground beneath my feet consists of smooth, worn hardwood floors. They are very dark and scabbed, something old, something new. My toes slide neatly along the floor, the grooves like marble against my skin. I look around and see that I am in a long, lovely room. Ice has formed over the sash windows, which look thick and sturdy, eyes to the world for over a hundred years. On one wall is a roaring open fire, the red flames greedily eating the logs that pop and crackle from time to time. The mantle is covered with pictures that are too far away for me to see, and the walls are a smooth warm amber color, the ceiling high. Near a window is a tall Christmas tree, covered in sparkly fairy lights and brightly colored balls. On the top of the tree is a white angel, her arms held wide in a gesture of forgiveness, of acceptance, of love.

'Look!' I shout to Reginald, pulling away. I walk to a small side table, staring in wonder. There, on the table, is the white glass angel that my grandmother gave me many years ago. One of her outstretched wings has broken in the past, and been repaired. 'It's my angel,' I whisper to Reginald. 'But what is she doing here?'

Reginald smiles and adjusts his glasses. 'Just watch, Helen. Watch and see.'

I stare at the room. Outside of one of the windows I can see, just above the frost, the icy pull of water. It is foam-topped and gray, a wintry pallor over it, but there it is-the water view I have always longed for. I run my hand on the mahogany table that holds my angel, and I give a start as I hear footsteps.

Walking into the room, a tall dog at her heels, is me.

I am older, much, much older, but it is me. My hair is shoulder length and completely gone white with age, shot through with thick streaks of gray. I have a number of wrinkles and my chin seems to have disappeared, but my eyes look just the same. I see, embedded on my cheek, the scar from the mole that was removed. I move slowly, with some care, but not as though I am in any pain. My hands-my hands!-they are so wrinkled and fragile looking, the nubs of the joints showing as I bend my fingers to touch the dog on the top of the head. I am dressed in a thick sweater and a long fleece skirt, and beneath the edge of the skirt I see, true to form, that I am wearing thick yellow slippers with some unidentifiable cartoon character on it with round boggy eyes.

'That's Ronaldo the Rhino,' Reginald says, pointing to the slippers. 'He hasn't been invented yet, but you're going to love him!'

The older me is humming to myself, and I watch in wonder as she goes up to the tree and straightens a ball that has gone wonky. I watch my old hands manipulate the ornament and right it, and as I do so, the old me starts to sing in a high, soft voice, Silent Night. The dog curls up by the fire on a thick red rug, groaning softly with delight at the warm fire.

'Settle in, Fido,' the Old Me says with a laugh. I start at the name-did I name my dog after the Ghost of Christmas Past? Really? Fido looks up at Old Me and blinks a few times, chuffs softly, and lays his head back down. 'It's just you and me in here,' Old Me says wistfully. 'It's just you and me. I think for dinner we'll have macaroni and cheese, what do you say?'

I heave a deep sigh. At least my favorite meal hasn't changed, even if I am all alone to eat it. I turn to Reginald, the sight of the Old Me in my periphery vision, still straightening the ornaments. 'So this is my future? I am old and alone, in a beautiful house with just a dog as my companion? I mean, I get it. I'm going to die all by myself, a hermit surrounded by a lovely home, and people aren't even going to care. It'll be just me.' I start to cry. I hate my fucking self so much I can't bear the feel of it in my young skin, let alone my old skin. 'At least I'm not a crazy cat lady! OK! At least I don't have a hundred fucking cats which I call my children. I get it. I'm alone. Can we move on now?'

Reginald reaches his arms out for me and holds on to my shoulders. I feel the edge of his trumpet along my right arm, the cold metal cutting through my pajamas. He looks me in the eyes, and I see he has dark brown eyes, so dark I can't even see the pupils begin and end. 'Watch and listen, Helen.' He says softly and urgently. 'This is all part of a bigger piece.'

I snuffle hideously and look into the pupil-less eyes. 'What piece? There's no puzzle here. I get it. I don't ever reach out to anyone, I don't ever forgive and forget, I never move on.' I am crying freely now, sobbing my heart out on a Salvation Army ghost. 'I am trapped inside myself forever, I am the ice queen, the white witch, the one that is destined to live and die alone as I just can't do it. I can't make a break outside of myself. I gave up. I give up. The fucked-up, the crazy, we get to live long, tragic lives, and we get to do it alone.'

I swallow and shudder and open my mouth when I hear-

'Helen? Are you in the lounge?'

And I am speechless.

I stare at Reginald, my eyes huge and full of tears. Reginald smiles, leans in and kisses my forehead, and whispers again, 'Watch and listen, Helen. Watch and listen.'

'I'm in here, darling!' The Old Me shouts. I watch as she turns enough to the doorway so that her fleece skirt brushes against the bottom of the tree. Fido raises his head, and his tail thumbs out a heartbeat of welcome. I look at the doorway as the approaching sound of footsteps echoes on the smooth boards, and there in the doorway, is what I never expected to see.

'Angus!' I scream. 'Angus! Angus! It's Angus!' I drop to my knees as the Old Me walks forward and reaches an arm out, smoothly kissing him and smiling up at him. Angus has aged just as dramatically as I have, his hair also completely white. His face is as deeply lined with wrinkles as mine is, and sadly he has resorted to the type of sweater vests reserved for those that don't give a shit about fashion anymore. But he is there, in the room.

'I thought you weren't due back from your bother's until tomorrow,' Old Me says with reproach.

'Some watchdog you are!' Angus chides Fido, who hastens the staccato of the tail on the floor in response. 'I was bored to tears, darling. I had to leave, and anyway we'd finished the re-wiring anyway. Have you eaten?'

'No, not yet. Fido and I hadn't gotten around to it, yet.' Old Me admitted.

'Helen, you know you're supposed to eat regularly. You have to eat with the medication, doctor's orders.' Angus admonishes me.

'You should talk! I saw that someone had once again neglected his blood pressure medication on the kitchen table this morning!' I rebuke back.

'I don't need the tablets! My blood pressure is fine, I'm completely fit.'

Old Me laughs and wraps an arm around Angus' waist, as he slides an arm around my shoulders and we walk out of the room, Fido bounding up and at our feet. 'Come, darling, let's go whip up some dinner. I fancy a curry'¦'

I am still on my knees in the living room. Reginald places a solid hand on my shoulder. 'This is your future, Helen. This is what is ahead.'

I have my hands clasped over my mouth as tears stream down my face. 'I still have Angus. It can't be all bad. I still have Angus.'

Reginald sits down next to me, his trumpet clattering on the floor. 'The future doesn't have to be bad, Helen. I mean, I know this one guy once, a real old geezer money bags? His future was really dreadful, but his future isn't every future. This is your future.'

'I can't believe it. How can I be here, and have all of this?'

Reginald smiles and indicates the fireplace. I look at all the pictures lining it, and standing, I walk over to it. On the mantel are pictures of faces I know and love, but only just recognize. There's one of Melissa, laughing with two teenage boys on a beach. She has her arms around them, a bright smile on her middle-aged face.

'Melissa has kids?' I ask, breathlessly.

'She does. And she's very happy.' Reginald replies, standing behind me.

I see a picture of my father, a completely wizened creature, as we sit at a table together. 'It's my dad.' I say, breathlessly. 'But he can't still be alive.'

'He's not, I'm afraid,' intones Reginald. 'He died some years back. But when he did, you were at his side.'

I turn to him, holding the picture. 'I was?'

'Yes. Although the two of you were close, it wasn't a complete catharsis in life. There were many unsaid things between the two of you, but at least you were there for him. You always promised you would be, and sure enough, when the end came, you were.'

I hug the picture close to me. I continue looking down the mantel. There's a picture of Angus and I laughingly holding up scuba kit. A picture of Jeff holding up an enormous fish, a ridiculous cap on his head. A picture of Angus with his kids and-I can only assume-his grandkids. A picture of Angus and I dressed up at a registry office, signing our names in a book that will make our names one. And there, on the side of the fireplace, is a picture of a middle-aged me with my arms around a young woman in a cap and gown. We both look so happy, and I notice with a shock, we both have the same smile. My hand shaking, I reach out for the photo and hold it like it's made of china.

'Is this'¦?' I ask hoarsely.

'That's your daughter, Helen. That's your daughter.' Reginald says softly.

I am crying as I trace the picture with my fingers. 'I have a daughter. I can't believe it. I have a daughter.'

I hear a sound outside the window and see a car pull up. The Old Me and Angus are walking outside, arms outstretched, and as the car door opens I see my daughter emerge. She is laughing, long dark hair and bright red coat on. She grabs us both and hugs us, and then opens the back door, reaching in, and emerging with a squirmy happy bundle a moment later who immediately opens its arms to a happy and grinning Angus, who has his arms open to receive the baby in kind.

'It's her.' I croak to Reginald. 'It's her and her baby.'

'They're surprising you for Christmas,' Reginald laughs. 'Surprise! She's a few days early, and Melissa and Jeff and their kids will be here tomorrow.'

I sob, holding the picture. 'I can't believe this is my life. You don't understand. This is my dream. This is what I want, this can't be what will be. I can never get here, I can never get to this. I don't get good things, it just isn't the way it is. I don't deserve it.'

Reginald sinks to the floor, crossing his legs and letting his trumpet hit the floor with a soft cling. He looks at me. 'This isn't about what you deserve. This is about getting to where you are headed. Your past, your present'¦they're just a part of what you become, but they don't have to be all that you become. Your future has so much good in it. Not everything will be perfect, there is setback and heartache, there is a great deal of loss and pain. There is so much work for you to do. But the bottom line is, you are going to create this future. You can create this future. The reason you were chosen to see it all is simply because you're falling down in your present, kid. You're falling down, you're beginning to doubt, you're beginning to give up and not see the bigger picture. And the bigger picture is beautiful.'

I smile and look at his trumpet. 'Do Salvation Army guys ever play those things?'

Reginald looks down and picks up the trumpet. He licks his lips and burses them, puts them to the trumpet and plays a note that is loud and clear and beautiful. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I am back in my living room, the silent darkness reverberating from the echo of that note. I walk up the stairs and climb into bed, snuggling tight next to the furnace that is Angus.

'You know what I want for Christmas? I want a do-over. And if I can't have a do-over, I just want that stocking I made as a child. That's all I want. And you better keep taking your blood pressure medication,' I whisper, crying into his shoulder.

'The train's at platform 1!' shouts Angus, still asleep.

I lay down in the bed of my future, and I dream about a glittery red Christmas stocking hung by the fireplace, silver glitter falling to the ground in a halo.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 03:32 PM | Comments (29) | Add Comment
Post contains 2849 words, total size 15 kb.

1 Here's to the future. *clink*

Posted by: Lisa at December 13, 2005 03:45 PM (5vmEt)

2 an excellent way to represent your breakthrough, helen. well done. dammit, you made me cry.

Posted by: becky at December 13, 2005 03:59 PM (/VG77)

3 Again..Amazing.

Posted by: Amanda at December 13, 2005 04:45 PM (838ff)

4 Yes Helen, get that Christmas stocking you made as a child and hang it proudly on your fireplace mantle. And just think, your child will make a PERFECT stocking for him/herself and it will be so wonderful hanging next to yours. Happy Holidays!

Posted by: amelia at December 13, 2005 05:06 PM (m+C+k)

5 Awesome outlook. Are you sharing what your taking?

Posted by: drew at December 13, 2005 05:09 PM (Emc1Q)

6 I teared up. Tears are not far from the surface these days, but you made happy tears. Lots of love, H. I hope you get just what you wrote.

Posted by: RP at December 13, 2005 05:46 PM (LlPKh)

7 I'm teared up too. What a wonderful future full of love. Here's to it (raising coffee cup)!

Posted by: caltechgirl at December 13, 2005 06:24 PM (/vgMZ)

8 What a beautiful story. I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. Keep up the writing!

Posted by: Dave T. at December 13, 2005 07:07 PM (hkvGr)

9 absolutely amazing, heart wrenching and heart warming all at the same time. I'm a puddle.

Posted by: cursingmama at December 13, 2005 07:36 PM (PoQfr)

10 Beautiful Helen, really. My daughter brought home a handmade Christmas picture for me the other day. I always make sure to tell her how much I love her drawings, and what a good job she does. Because of you, I made a little extra fuss over her artwork, and really thought about how powerful a parent's influence can be-the good as well as the bad. So I just want to thank you for reminding me of that. The future is in your hands, Helen-and it is wonderful and waiting for you. And every one deserves at least one do-over in life.

Posted by: Teresa at December 13, 2005 08:11 PM (zf0DB)

11 Happy tears this time, Helen. A wonderful three-part story. I am so pleased with the happy ending.

Posted by: kenju at December 13, 2005 08:23 PM (+AT7Y)

12 You deserve it.

Posted by: Hannah at December 13, 2005 10:31 PM (ImQx2)

13 Thankyou - what a wonderful christmas presentt you've given us all - the gift of hope. xx

Posted by: flikka at December 13, 2005 11:21 PM (puvdD)

14 Wow. I know I became an emotional lump when my kids were born, but wow. You had me tearing up. Well done and ata girl! You are one fantastic person! A gift like that should not be ignored.

Posted by: Jeff at December 14, 2005 04:36 AM (n6Ija)

15 You have no idea, my darling girl, what you have wrought. My husband will want to know why these tears are streaming down my face and the front of my shirt is wet. When you wrote: I sob, holding the picture. “I can’t believe this is my life. You don’t understand. This is my dream. This is what I want, this can't be what will be. I can never get here, I can never get to this. I don't get good things, it just isn't the way it is. I don’t deserve it.” I sob with you. But you must understand -- not only do you deserve it but there are so many people who want everything good and warm and loving FOR YOU. All good things for your loving, beautiful heart. I mean that from the bottom of mine. My GOD, you can make me cry. *runs away sobbing*

Posted by: Margi at December 14, 2005 05:58 AM (nwEQH)

16 “I thought you weren’t due back from your bother’s Yeah, I think about my brother like that sometimes too. I rebuke back. You need to work a lot more on your dialogue. The non-dialogue stuff is pretty much there. Why so many adverbs all the time? They just irritate. Editing!! Otherwise brilliant.

Posted by: Helen at December 14, 2005 10:12 AM (Bj5Uh)

17 That's beautiful, Helen. Simply beautiful. I teared up right along with you as you picked up the picture of your daughter, and as she greeted you and Angus. Angus, however, with his "platform 1!" made me laugh out loud! I'll never understand how you weave the tales of your life, Helen, I can only sit here, an ocean away, and enjoy them. Thank you. And, as Lisa said, here's to the future!

Posted by: scorpy at December 14, 2005 01:15 PM (kqu+g)

18 Wow - you sure know how to get a girl sobbing What a lovely story. I'm so glad you are finally realizing how special you are. You deserve a lovely future (and a lovely present too).

Posted by: Kris at December 14, 2005 01:43 PM (3ODIP)

19 Crying into my cup of tea at the office. This was fantastic, Helen, simple fantastic. Thanks so much for sharing this.

Posted by: karmajenn at December 14, 2005 02:10 PM (fx1A8)

20 I haven't commented in awhile. But I really had to say that was just beautiful. I was crying too. I'm speechless.

Posted by: Tiffani at December 14, 2005 02:38 PM (KE4Gu)

21 *nodding my head* Yep. Reginald hit it on the head.

Posted by: ~Easy at December 14, 2005 05:14 PM (LN5gS)

22 I read all three of your Christmas posts...and I have to be honest...i have been doubting my future lately. Thank you.

Posted by: LiQiuD at December 14, 2005 10:54 PM (aw/eJ)

23 Thank you for these three lovely gifts. And a very Merry Christmas to you, too, Helen.

Posted by: Jennifer at December 15, 2005 12:53 AM (y4DOI)

24 I've got to say...I was afraid to read #3. Remember that in the original, the Ghost of Christmas Past revealed a terrifying vision for Scrooge. That happy ending really made my day. :-)

Posted by: Jim at December 15, 2005 02:19 PM (tyQ8y)

25 you are so talented. thank you for sharing your heart. xoxoxoxo

Posted by: kat at December 15, 2005 04:56 PM (xJGrF)

26 Haven't been back here for a while but Mia directed me back and I'm glad...absolutely brilliant work... PS: plus you already have a 'scorpy'

Posted by: Greg (scorpy) at December 15, 2005 07:25 PM (EIKwh)

27 I don't even know what to say... I'm speechless. Your writing goes so deep inside and touches so many emotions. You are an incredible woman... then, and now. What a beautiful future you have dreamed for yourself. No one deserves it more. Bless you, Helen, and have a wonderful Christmas... and look forward to the years to come.

Posted by: sue at December 15, 2005 09:05 PM (WbfZD)

28 Brilliant work. Just great. Thanks for writing it.

Posted by: Evan Erwin at December 16, 2005 06:20 AM (Oo1ez)

29 I love these little stories you write I hope all is well with you? you haven't posted in a few days!

Posted by: justme at December 16, 2005 10:25 AM (bIjw7)

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