CHRISTMAS MEMORIES
1.
Diane was convinced there was absolutely no way all would be either calm or bright this late December eve. The reason being she knew with certainty this was the most horrible Christmas Eve ever. The day had been as awful as one could imagine. She sat in the stillness, in the only place Diane could think of where she could find a reprieve from the insanity. That place was Church, where she had long worshipped, found her quiet place, and was an integral part of the parish community.
When she pushed open the door, sure enough not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse, the pastor having successfully exorcised the rodents earlier in the year, with an assist from Tomcat exterminators. Entirely familiar with the building, Diane went to the empty choir loft, where she changed out of her everyday uniform into casual clothes. Her day outfit attracted notice and for once, she felt the need to be unobtrusive, and as relaxed as possible. As if such a thing were possible after this day.
The nightmare had started, rather incongruously, not at night but at daybreak. Diane had been tasked with picking up supplies to replenish the household's pantry. She started very early, since she had work, this being a week day. Moreover, Diane firmly believed mornings were the best time to avoid confrontation (late December holiday crowds were noticeably unruly) and to ensure the grocery store still had adequate supplies of the needed foodstuffs.
The key word in the above was confrontation. As Diane was leaving the store, a middle-aged woman in a sporty car ignored the yield sign and rammed Diane's beat up (Diane preferred to think of it as vintage) Honda Civic. Even in a no-fault state like New York, insurance companies always seemed to jack up a victim's rates post-accident, including when it was clearly not Diane's fault. Adding to this, although the old Civic really took a beating and, like the old Timex commercial promised, kept on ticking, the body was hopelessly shattered. That was not the end of it however. The woman who had caused the mayhem berated Diane endlessly, refusing to acknowledge that yield signs applied to people in high end cars. When the policeman arrived at the scene, the woman insisted Diane was at fault. "Look at how beat up her car already was," the woman insisted. "It's clear she's had issues as a driver."
Diane did her best to control her anger, in part because that was her nature, and in part because she was in uniform and would never risk being the cause of others' condemning her whole group. People did love to stereotype, she had long noticed. The officer was more understanding, though he would not write in his report the true cause of the accident. "I didn't see it, Ma'am," he pointed out to Diane, adding, "And the lady does appear well heeled."
"So are most dogs, but they aren't allowed to drive," Diane said morosely. Notwithstanding her pithy observation, the cop wrote a bland report that did nothing to assuage Diane's superior when Diane returned with groceries and a seriously damaged auto.
If Diane thought the middle-aged driver had delivered the tongue lashing from hell, it was nothing compared to what her boss now presented. "But it wasn't my fault," Diane sighed inwardly as she had to hurry off to work.
Work was at St. Anthony's grade school, in the lower Hudson Valley. Diane taught fourth graders, whom she genuinely liked, a feeling much reciprocated by students and parents alike. That is, reciprocated on most days. Today, near the end of the academic day, a father showed up unannounced to visit with Diane. He bore a VERY ANGRY look. "This is a disgrace!" he thundered, tossing a piece of paper onto Diane's desk. When she glanced down at it, Diane knew what was coming. Her looking at the paper infuriated the man who demanded, "Look at me when I am talking to you, young lady!" The "young lady" remark set Diane off, but she figured it best to let the volcano exhaust itself.
Diane swallowed and said, "Mr. Henderson, I'm sorry but your daughter Lucy did poorly on the test. I didn't make up the grade."
"Well, maybe you are in over your head and can't teach!"
"Lucy was not only the only child to fail, but the only one to score less than 80," Diane explained in a very mild voice, so as to defuse the situation. "She didn't apply herself."
This had no effect on the irate parent who told Diane, "This can destroy my child's future! She may end up in a lower tier college!"
"She's only in fourth grade," Diane spoke rationally. "One bad grade will not imperil her career. I hope she will learn from this...and I am willing to tutor her off hours to help her get up to speed."
The man's nostrils flared as he near shouted, "My children do not learn how to fail! The only failure I see in this room is you! I've half a mind to pull her out of this crappy school! Which, need I remind you, we are generous donors to!"
Diane so wanted to agree he had only half a mind, but she resisted the impulse. Instead she said, "Mr. Henderson, we appreciate your generosity, but that cannot influence how I teach or grade. I think helping Lucy get on the right track is the best way to safeguard her future. No one wants that more than I, and I am willing to work with your daughter, or with you and Mrs. Henderson, to develop an enhanced study plan."
"The only enhancement I want is for you to change this grade!" When Diane said she could not do that, he stormed out, an unwelcome epithet trailing in his wake.
Shortly thereafter, the principal called Diane in, complaining that Diane had enraged one of their most prominent benefactors. Like so many bureaucrats, the principal could not be confused by the facts, and gave Diane yet another tongue lashing for the ages. The tirade likely would have continued, but for Diane's having an urgent appointment with her doctor. That meeting went about as poorly as the rest of the day. Far worse, actually.
So it was, that an emotionally drained Diane went to the one place where she regularly found surcease, the House of God. It had always been so for Diane. She had long believed the world had gotten too busy, too noisy, with the constant bombardment of social media, emails, and 24/7 news reporting of disasters. God, she felt, could only be heard in the quiet. And His house was one of the few remaining places where one could readily find that quiet. Even as a child, when attending Sunday mass with her family, Diane felt an inexplicable warmth deep within. As she grew older, she visited more frequently. It was where her best ideas, what she thought of as divine inspiration, came to her. Including finding her current position. Hence after a day like today, being here was second nature.
The other thing that comforted the young woman no end was music. How she loved singing with Mom, until the cancer took that sainted woman away way too soon. After Mom's passing, Diane could still frequently be heard singing, even before class started. So many people had complimented her voice. "They're just being nice," Diane thought, but it was in song in Church that she felt most at peace.
Looking around, to be sure no one else was in the Lord's house, Diane broke into song. It being so close to Christmas, she sang her favorite. O Holy Night. The acoustics were fabulous, as was the purity of Diane's voice.
When she finished, she buried her face in her hands, raising herself abruptly when she heard...applause!
Stunned, because she had neither seen nor heard anyone enter, Diane was taken aback to see a mid-thirtyish man smiling happily at her in the pew just behind. "That was...heavenly!" he exhaled.
"Th...thank you," Diane said softly. "I didn't know anyone was here."
The man just smiled. "I just flew in," he explained. "I do a lot of traveling and this is a good place to decompress." Diane nodded but looked downcast.
"Cheer up," the man said. "Surprises are supposed to herald glad tidings. You have a magnificent voice. I've heard them all, Karen Carpenter, Ella Fitzgerald, Cecilia Bartoli, Sissel... you name it, and hands down your rendition was the best!"
"Sissel?" Diane looked puzzled. "Isn't that a type of plant? Like hemp?"
The man smiled. "Not s-i-s-a-l. S-i-s-s-e-l, the Norwegian singer. I can't pronounce her last name. Too many consonants. That's why I don't get assigned to Scandanavia. When I was there, I called everything 'Fluvensnooven', which was offputting to the locals. Anyway, she has the voice of an angel...until I heard yours."
Tears formed in Diane's eyes.
"What gives?" the man asked. I've just given you the nicest of compliments, offered you hope of a wondrous surprise, and you look so...morose."
Through misty eyes, and quivering lips, Diane said, "I'm dying."
2.
The man again offered that placid smile and said, "People are all dying. Humans are born, then travel into the future one second at a time, until their time is up."
"No, you don't understand," Diane told him. "My doctor showed me the test results. I've got about four months. At my age, I'm only 26...there was so much I had hoped to do. Now I'll never get the chance." Her last words trailed off.
"Well!" he clapped his hands, somewhat inapposite to the moment, Diane thought, as he said, "So you'll be in a better place sooner!"
Diane thought he might be mildly deranged. "If there is a better place," she mumbled. "I'm beginning to doubt."
"Doubt is the beginning of faith," the man offered.
"For this to happen to me when I've hardly had a chance to leave a mark, it's...it's hurt my faith."
Gesturing to the Church surroundings, the man said, "And yet you are here."
"Out of habit," she monotoned.
"In that you have spoken truly." Diane's head snapped up. "You are out of habit, aren't you?" he said.
Diane said, "I changed out of my nun's robes when I entered the church. People look at us nuns differently, and I didn't want to deal with that right now. But, how did you know?"
"I know a lot about you. By the way, my name is Malcolm." Diane took the proffered hand and shook it, gently.
"Are you from this parish?" she asked. "Is that how you know of me? I don't think we've ever met."
"No," he was still smiling kindly at her. "But I do keep tabs on things around here. I know you have a good heart, and don't deserve to go through this illness with the additional weight of doubt upon you."
Diane sniffed. "You couldn't possibly understand what's weighing me down."
He pulled at his sleeve, tugging the cuff closer to his wrist. "I know a lot about you. I know you hoped to teach enough young people, that they would one day make a difference in the world. If lightning struck and one of them became president and solved world peace, that would be an added bonus. You hoped to re-start the parish players that lapsed long ago. Maybe get a lead role where you could see how the public reacted to your singing. And of course, revitalize your order of nuns. They're dying out, not a lot of young women opting for the religious life these days."
Diane narrowed her eyes. "How do you know these things? I've never shared my dreams with anyone. Who are you?"
"Malcolm," he inserted helpfully.
"Okay. Malcolm," she almost glared. "What are you?"
"Why Diane, I'm your guardian angel."
Diane rolled her eyes. "I have a guardian angel named Malcolm? Hmph! Aren't you supposed to be named Gabriel or Raphael or Michael?"
Malcolm grinned. "They are up there too." He motioned heavenward. "We all have names. Mine is Malcolm. Why is my charge named Diane? Why aren't you called Beth or Caroline?"
"Okay," she spoke evenly. "So why are you here?"
"Why, to help you, of course."
Suddenly Diane's eyes widened. "You're going to cure me! Oh praise the Lord!"
Malcolm replied, "The Lord is indeed deserving of all praise, but I cannot cure you. I cannot give life. Only the Creator of all things can do that. Some of us angels can take life away however. Remember the tenth plague in Moses's time? The Angel of Death? Perfectly grisly fellow."
"Great," Diane harrumphed. "So I get stuck with only a partially functioning guardian angel."
"We are what we are," Malcolm said. "By the way, I'm surprised you haven't asked for proof. Humans invariably do when one of us visits."
"You carry ID?" Diane asked.
"Er, no."
"And I suppose magic tricks would be beneath you?" she suggested.
When Malcolm nodded in the affirmative, she said, "So why bother with proof? Besides, the way this day has gone, my having a mediocre guardian angel is no surprise."
"Even a mediocre angel, which I do not concede to, is mightier than a multitude of your armed forces. Diane, a part of you deep inside knows what I am. Let me help you." And he reached out his hand, not to be grasped, but in a gesture of assistance.
Diane bit her bottom lip and shook her head yes. "If you can't cure me, how can you help me?" she asked.
"By restoring your faith, and helping you come to grips with your life," Malcolm told her.
"Well, Mr. Angel..."
"Malcolm," he corrected her.
Diane sighed. "Malcolm, how do you propose to do that? Take me back like the Ghost of Christmas Past to show me the error of my ways?"
Malcolm chuckled. "That's right. I almost forgot. You are a big fan of Dickens."
"How do you know that?" Diane insisted.
"I'm an..."
"An angel, I know," Diane finished.
"And no, I'm not going to revisit your prior life," Malcolm said. "Worked great for Scrooge, and Dickens, but somehow I don't see it in your case. You do raise an interesting concept however. Scrooge's redemption began when he returned to the past. And Jimmy Stewart, or dare I say George Bailey, was redeemed when he was shown a vision of the present, an alternate time line I grant you, but the present nonetheless. So...how about we do something different? Let's visit the future."
"I don't have a future," Diane said glumly.
"Oh, pish tosh. Everyone has a future. And they're all interconnected. Your memories are the beginnings of someone else's future."
Despite Malcolm's uncanny knowledge of her innermost thoughts, Diane was still uncertain of his heavenly status. "You've got nothing to lose," Malcolm said, just as the same thought formed in Diane's head.
Mildly surprised at his intuitive skills, Diane made a hand gesture as if to say, "He's got a point." So she looked at Malcolm and said, somewhat skeptically, "Lead on."
Getting up from the pew, Malcolm said, "Let's walk down to the Church basement."
"My future's in the basement? Well that figures," Diane groused.
"Come on. Don't be a sourpuss. It's so not you," Malcolm said. "Come!" And he led her out to the vestibule, where stairs connected to the basement. At the door to the lower room, Malcolm gently placed his hand on the small of Diane's back as he ushered her through...and Diane was instantly mesmerized by what she saw!
3.
Diane gawked. She, and Malcolm, were in the midst of some sort of futuristic looking lab. Ever the teacher, Diane followed scientific developments avidly, but never had she beheld anything like this. "We're...we're not in the Church basement, are we?"
"Very perceptive, Einstein," Malcolm joked. He followed as Diane numbly walked through the facility.
No one was around, other than a solitary figure in the center of the huge room. The young man wore a strange outfit. Long purple flowing robe, with yellow trim. High boots. Diane turned to the angel and whispered, "Is this a science lab, or part of clown college?"
One thing that was familiar, was that the room was festooned with signs of the season. Pictures of Santa and an angel, and a tree were prominently displayed.
Diane observed the figure working deliberately in the center of the room. He was oblivious to their presence. "He can't see us?" Diane asked.
"Of course he can. He's just preoccupied at this pivotal moment."
"I thought when angels do these sorts of things, we can't be seen."
Malcolm smiled. "Don't go all Hollywood on me. Though I confess it could be a useful plot device."
Diane sauntered over to the windows. As she looked out, she saw many people strolling on the pavement, all wearing garb similarly garish to that of the scientist in the lab. "What is this?" she asked.
Malcolm said, "This is the future. Christmas Eve, only it's three generations ahead of your time."
"Fifty years in the future?" she wondered.
"Close. Sixty."
Diane walked back toward the lone scientist. When she was close she said, "Excuse me."
"Shh!" he hissed. "I'm busy!"
Diane turned to Malcolm who whispered, "He's busy." She didn't know what to make of this. Suddenly the weirdly garbed figure called out, "Get me a beaker!"
Diane looked to Malcolm, who shrugged and said, "Get him a beaker."
She grabbed the first glass instrument she saw and handed it to the young man. "I said a beaker, not a test tube! Where do they get these people!" he cried out in exasperation. Diane quickly spotted the requisite beaker and handed it over. That mollified the scientist, who again busied himself in his task.
"Listen..." Diane started to say, but the man's voice rose, "Quiet!"
"Quiet!" Malcolm repeated.
Diane turned and said to the empty space more for comedic effect, "Quiet!"
Then there was silence. She was aware of Malcolm's presence very near to her, though she was absorbed in the scientist's maneuverings. Everything he did was so exacting and precise.
Finally he dropped something into the beaker, ran it through some sort of analyzer and shouted, "Yes! YES! It works!" He turned and gave Diane and Malcolm exuberant hugs. Then he began jumping up and down, all the while looking at them wild eyed. Afterward, he began to cry, grabbing copious amounts of paper towels to wipe at his eyes and nose.
When at last the man settled down, he happily told his 'guests', "We did it!"
"Congratulations!" Malcolm beamed.
"Uh, yeah, way to go," Diane said hesitantly. "Uh, what exactly is it we...you...have done?"
The man looked at her like she had three heads. "What do you think we've been doing here all these months? Ah, but at last all the work's paid off. Frazid!"
"Frazid?" Diane said.
Malcolm leaned into her ear and said that it was a slang word from the future. "Sort of like 'Cool' or 'Dope' or even 'Eureka'."
"Okay, frazid," Diane agreed. "But what exactly are we fraziding about?"
"Don't you know?" the scientist said. Diane caught the first and last name on his tag, but it meant nothing to her. His eyes grew wide yet again as he exclaimed, "We've just discovered the cure for cancer!"
Diane staggered back and was forced to lean on a nearby table for support.
"Wow!" she said.
"What is...wow?" the man asked.
Malcolm told him, "Kind of like an old time way of saying frazid."
"Is this for real?" Diane asked as she pulled the angel aside.
"It will be," he answered.
The young nun wrinkled her brow. "Does this mean...that I can take the cure...and live?"
Malcolm shook his head. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. Remember, we're 60 years into your future. The cure does not exist in your time. There are rules we angels must obey, one of them being we cannot bend the time line. I did not bring you here to tantalize you with the cure; I brought you here to show you the impact you made--and will continue to do so in the future."
Diane held up her hand, palm facing outward. "Wait a minute! Are you telling me I had a hand in this...this discovery?" Malcolm shook his head yes. Diane's face grew puzzled. "But how? Especially if I'm not alive 60 years from where we were?"
Malcolm looked at her lovingly. This is your voyage of self discovery. Reflect on it and you will come to understand. At least I hope you will."
Diane's eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. "I got it! They studied my body after I...died...will die...you know what I mean...and that led to this breakthrough."
"No," Malcolm told her. "That's not it. Your particular case, health wise, had nothing to do with this."
Diane looked around the strange ultra-modern facility. Then she again snapped her fingers.
"Either you got rhythm, or another idea," Malcolm quipped.
"I got it," she smiled brightly. "One of my students grew up and made a break through discovery that led to this moment."
"Uh, that would be a no," the angel said. "Your students did love you, and you did have a positive impact on their lives. They'll all grieve when you pass. However none of your students was involved in this wiping out of cancer."
Diane looked at Malcolm levelly. "Let me think on it. But this moment you've shown me...it really is the end of cancer?"
"Yes. No more suffering, at least in this form. No more anguish for the loved ones left behind. Humanity's life span will grow markedly as a result of this moment."
Diane was pensive a moment. "And I had a hand in this?"
"Most assuredly."
"Cool. Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for letting me see this. The end of cancer...I can live with that...or not, I guess." And she offered a wan smile.
"There is more we must see," Malcolm spoke again. He extended his hand. "Come." And he led the way outside. From the window, Diane had noticed all sorts of strange and wondrous things. People in apparel beyond weird, hovercraft, even floating stations of some sort. She was appreciative of the glimpse of the future the angel had provided, and could hardly wait to see more. With that, they stepped through the door and were outside.
Diane did a double take. "This...is not the same place," she said. "This is...not the future!" she exhaled. "What are you trying to pull?"
4.
Malcolm smiled. "Ah, but it is the future. Just not the one we were in most recently. This is six years from when we first left the Church."
"I know this place," Diane said. "It's the field adjoining my church and school complex." She looked around. "Nothing's changed. Except the sign for that dance school across the street isn't there."
"The dance studio closed up shop three years ago...or three years after your time, depending on your point of view," the angel explained.
They heard a shout and a whistle then and Diane turned back to the field. A pair of teams was playing soccer. One in red jerseys, the other in white. The red team was coached by a thirtyish woman, though from this distance it was hard to tell for sure. "We're here to watch a youth soccer game? Malcolm, I'm dying. I don't think have the time to waste with this."
"Shh!" he commanded. Diane knew her Bible, but she didn't think she had it in her to wrestle an angel, so she gave in and watched the game. The red team was by far superior. In the short span Malcolm and his guest were in attendance, red had already scored twice. "Superior coaching," Malcolm commented.
"Mm-hmm," Diane agreed, noting, "Something else. Look how all the players swarm that coach after each good play. They love her."
"Yes, they do," the angel agreed.
The game soon ended and Malcolm led Diane as they followed along in the coach's day, the scene dissolved to the next stop, back at St. Anthony's, where the mysterious woman (mysterious that is to Diane; Malcolm was fully cognizant of her identity) unbundled her children and husband and a sack of goodies from their minivan, and headed off.
"It's the Church Christmas Eve social," Diane realized. "I'm surprised. I used to coordinate that for the parish."
"Did you think life would stop once yours did?" Malcolm said.
Diane didn't bother to answer. She was watching the woman raptly. Something looked familiar, but Malcolm was keeping them at a distance, so Diane couldn't get close enough to pin it down. Diane saw the woman lift each of her children high in the air and twirl them around. The giggles were unmistakable, even at a distance. Then the woman went off to one of the booths, where she pitched in, helping at the Church-sponsored activity. It was pure Americana, the sort of scene Norman Rockwell could have painted. Diane breathed in deeply, reveling in the wholesomeness of it all.
"I feel...so alive, but Malcolm...is there supposed to be a theme to what you're showing me? This seems so unrelated to the last place...I mean time...we visited."
"There is a theme," the angel said. "Your integral role in it."
Because Diane sensed some familiarity about the woman who was central to this visit, she retuned to careful watching. After a while, the woman's turn at manning the volunteer station was up and she returned to her family. This time she approached her husband, at least the man Diane took to be her husband, based on their interaction. The woman easily fell into her husband's arms, and even from a distance the sheer joy they felt in that embrace was obvious. The man gave the woman an affectionate pat on the butt, and she laughed, looked about, and pushed his hand away, all in good nature.
"This is all very ordinary," Diane observed.
"In some respects, yes," Malcolm agreed. "On further reflection however, it is most extraordinary. You are a lover of Dickens, as we've established." Diane nodded. The angel continued. "We are seeing a woman who lives the spirit of Christmas each and every day. She cherishes life, makes the most of it, extends herself to all. In short, just as our prior friend made a lasting contribution to humanity by his unique medical breakthrough, this woman contributes to the betterment of humanity by her generosity of spirit.
"I can certainly appreciate that..." Diane began, but Malcolm interrupted.
"You should. Your heart is equally gentle; dare I say, Christlike?"
Diane wrinkled her forehead. "Yes, it's refreshing to see this...wholesomeness, and yes, I understand your point. So, are you implying that I should take solace from similarly enriching the lives of those I came in contact with?"
Malcolm smiled benevolently. "That, and much more. You see, you are the direct cause of this woman's good will toward men."
Diane was utterly confused. "How?"
With a large sweep of his hand, Malcolm said, "Observe."
They then turned back toward the woman, who was now walking to the parking lot where the angel and the nun stood. As she got closer and Diane could at last make out her features, Diane exclaimed, "I know her! That's...Abby Windsor!" Malcolm nodded politely. "She's...so....positively happy!" Diane said with a wide smile. "But how?"
The angel asked, "How did you come to meet her?"
Diane said, "I was hiking in the woods near Bear Mountain one day and I came across a young woman, it turned out to be Abby, she was sitting alone crying uncontrollably. She...her life was in tatters. She'd lost her job, her boyfriend was abusive, and she'd just learned he was also unfaithful, her mother had just died, and..."
"And she was preparing to take her own life," Malcolm finished.
"Yes," Diane spoke ever so softly.
"What changed, Diane, is you. You sat with her and talked and talked and talked. Abby was overcome by your kindness, and by your message. You so inspired her, she decided not to go through with it. She came to see that life has its ebbs and flows and, as you people would say, you have to go with the flow. She did, and emerged stronger than ever. She found true love, in part because she came to radiate true love. Having come so close to the ultimate desecration of life, she now treasures each moment! All because a simple hiker took the time."
"Wow!" was all Diane could say, the sentiment markedly profound in its expression. "Thank you, Malcolm. I had no idea!" Seized with inspiration, Diane started forward. "I have to see her!"
The angel held out a restraining hand. "You can't. Rules. Diane, in Abby's time just now, you've been deceased six years. For you to visit her would upset the heavenly ordained order."
"But you're here with me?"
Malcolm nodded. "That was heavenly ordained. Come. There is more to show you."
Diane took a long lingering look back at Abby as the young woman got into her car with her family and pulled away. When Diane turned back to the angel, she said, "I get it about Abby, but I still don't see how the cancer cure thing involves me?" She thought a moment, looking back in the direction Abby had gone, then asked Malcolm, "Did that young scientist we saw who came up with the cure...did I in some way cross his path, like I did with Abby, to help effect the cure?"
Malcolm announced, "Give this girl a kewpie doll."
"But I'm sure I didn't know him. If it was 60 years in the future, I clearly never met him. And I saw his name tag. I don't know anyone by that surname. You sure you're not mistaken?" Malcolm just gave her a look. Diane paused and said, "Let me think about this a while."
"Not now," Malcolm advised. "We have to go elsewhere. You can think on it another time."
"Time is one thing I don't have," she replied.
"Time is one thing all people only have a limited amount of. The key is to make the most of what they have. Sadly, most people fritter so much of this precious commodity away. For which they will eventually have to answer to their Maker...Come!"
He led the way back in the direction of the soccer field. "Another game?" Diane quipped. "By the way, and don't take this the wrong way, because I very much appreciate your showing me these things. But, is everything you're going to show me all peaches and cream? Like everything I've touched is going to come up unicorns and rainbows?"
"No," he said as he led Diane gently by the hand onto the field. Except...as soon as they stepped onto the field, Diane beheld a scene that was as far removed from domestic tranquility as she could ever have imagined.
5.
"This is horrible!" Diane cried out. "It feels like we're in hell!" She looked to the angel for some reassurance. Everywhere about her were scenes of utter devastation. "It's not the same soccer field?" she said, but in a questioning way.
"No," Malcolm answered. "We're not on the soccer field and this isn't six years into your future. We are now 25 years ahead in time."
"What's happened? Some kind of war?" Diane asked, but before the angel could reply, their attention was diverted by a shriek. A man, bloodied (head wounds are notorious for being especially bloody) was in a daze and calling for help. "My wife! Please! I can't get to her!" He looked directly at the two new visitors.
"Come on!" Diane exhorted. "We have to help!" She ran to the helpless man. As she got there, she saw his wife, trapped beneath a huge pile of rubble. Only the woman's foot was visible.
"Please!" the man pleaded. "Get her out!"
Diane tore at the pile with a frenzy. As she did, she called out to Malcolm, "Come on!" He obligingly appeared by her side and also began tunneling through the rubbish. Working together, with the man, who in his weakened and delirious condition had very little strength but nevertheless did what he could, they carved out enough of the gunk to reach the woman. Together, Diane and Malcolm gently pulled her free.
Diane was greatly relieved to see she was still breathing, though it was labored. She also noticed when she and Malcolm had moved the woman out of the rubble, how she groaned in pain. Doing a quick exam, Diane could see the leg was broken. She looked to the angel.
"Medical help won't be here for a while," he said.
"But she needs this set if she's to walk without a limp the rest of her life. Can't you fix this?" Diane was almost pleading. "You know, with your...powers?" She winked as she said this last.
"Is there something in your eye?" Malcolm asked.
"Oh Lord!" Diane uttered with some exasperation as she quietly stroked the injured woman's cheek. She tossed Malcolm another look.
"There's no need for my, shall we say, otherworldly, intervention. You're here," he said.
"You really are not fully capable, are you?" she said to the angel as she cast about looking for something. Diane quickly spotted a piece of wood that had been blown apart. Sizing it up, she saw it would do the trick. With Malcolm and the husband's help steadying the woman against the momentary burst of pain, Diane straightened the injured limb, and splinted it. She found a tree branch that would do for the time being as a make shift crutch. The woman revived and she and her husband were volubly grateful to Diane and Malcolm.
As soon as she had finished and taken her leave of the pair, Diane saw many others buried in the rubble. She set about digging them out with her hands, at least the ones she could get to, Malcolm rolling up his sleeves to pitch in. Sadly, a large number were gone; but the pair had been able to rescue other more fortunate souls.
When Diane thought she had covered as much ground in the immediate vicinity as she could, she stood and looked about for the first time. To her horror she saw that fires had broken out, dotting the landscape. It was hard to tell the time of day because of the smoke billowing and fouling the atmosphere.
"Are we in hell?" she again asked.
"No. This place would be nirvana relatively speaking, because hell is that bad," the angel replied. "We're in South Dakota, near Rapid City."
"WHAT!" Diane was incredulous. She had been to the Black Hills area on a family vacation to Mount Rushmore and environs as a child. "What's happened to South Dakota in 25 years? This devastation is as far as I can see. Has there been a war?"
"No," Malcolm spoke quietly. "There's a volcano underneath Yellowstone. A part of it erupted, causing untold catastrophe to this small section of the mountain states."
"Will they recover?" Diane asked plaintively.
"It will take years, but yes. Though in the short run it will hurt the entire country, ushering in a mild recession, along with the ongoing health crisis to those immediately affected survivors. Think about it. The country, as you saw, was robust 60 years from your time, so you can intuit that recovery did occur," the angel explained.
"Thank God for that," Diane uttered a quick prayer.
Malcolm agreed. "Thank God for that and for all good things."
"In the meantime, we have to help these people. And at Christmas time."
Diane had observed a number of victims wearing seasonal brooches or sweaters, so she knew that she was again in a Christmas future. She and Malcolm started walking. After several miles, they came upon other victims in need of serious and immediate medical attention. The two did whatever they could. They had earlier crossed a stream and Diane had filled a gourd she had found, so that she could now cleanse wounds and offer sips to those who were absolutely parched. Everyone was so grateful for even the tiny bit of surcease.
"Malcolm, did you bring me here so I could administer first aid and prove some self worth?"
"No, certainly not. Though your goodness of heart leading you to feel such empathy for these poor people and your unquestioned willingness to help is no surprise to me. You see, I've watched you so long, I know what's in your heart. No, you are here for a very different, and very important, reason."
"Are you speaking in riddles?" Diane asked.
"Not at all. Look. The help I said would be on the way shortly is arriving."
Sure enough, Diane saw in the distance a commotion of vehicles, a massive convoy of some sort, heading their way at rapid speed. The vehicles were travelling at speeds unheard of in Diane's experience. "Progress," Malcolm offered even before she could ask.
When the convoy halted, a stone's throw from the angel and the young nun, Diane stared at a man who hopped off, surveyed the scene and began barking orders. His commands were shouted for organizational purposes; it was apparent there was no meanness in his tone. The entire collection of rescue vehicles bore an insignia of some sort and the letters, UCF. The vehicles had a futuristic look. That wasn't what attracted Diane's notice. Rather, something about the man. He was not someone she could immediately place, but there was something oddly familiar.
Diane looked to Malcolm questioningly. He explained. "That man," pointing at the clear leader of this pack, "has worked a miracle of sorts. You see, in all natural disasters in the past, the relief organizations often tripped over their own feet. Health care supplies, food, water, ended up rotting away in some deserted warehouse or dock, or got stolen by a local warlord. So the donations people worldwide have made would often go to waste. This man's genius was to get all relief organizations to work in concert. That insignia, the UCF abbreviation, stands for United Charitable Federation. The Red Cross, Catholic Relief, United Way, all of them, now work under one banner. The result has been that in countless disasters like the present one, much needed relief arrives promptly and efficiently."
"That is quite an achievement," Diane acknowledged.
"I'll say. That man who brought this about has been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. Not that he's done any of this for awards or personal recognition."
"I am impressed. Something about him seems familiar, but I can't put my finger on it," Diane said. "I have to assume, from our earlier episodes, that this ties to me somehow."
"You assume correctly," Malcolm told her. "You remember Jeffrey Maxwell?"
"Jeffrey?" Diane said with some amazement. "What does little Jeffrey have to do with this? He was quite a character in my class. A real disciplinary problem."
Malcolm cocked an eyebrow. "Not always," he said.
As she thought, Diane shook her head. "True. Not always. There was one time, little Jeffrey had come into the classroom earlier, before the other students. Come to think of it, he was there before I had even arrived. When I got there (Diane grinned at the remembrance) the little stinker had tied the rope from the venetian blinds to a flower pot I kept on the window sill, and he was swinging it in a huge arc the entire length of the classroom. 'Stop it, Jeffrey,' I said, 'You're going to cause a problem.'
"'No I won't,' he said, 'This is working great.'"
"No sooner did he say that then while at the top of the arc, the pot came loose of the simple tie he had made, crashing down onto the floor. Bits of flower, lots of water and shards of terra cotta were strewn about. I set to picking the sharp pieces of the flower pot, lest he or any of the children get hurt. 'Get paper towels' I told Jeffrey and I guess my tone of voice indicated to him he had best comply. When he did, he began to mop up the water as I finished cleaning up dirt and clay. The students were all arriving by then and a number of them cried out, "What happened?"
"'Jeffrey had an accident," I said, which caused a lot of laughter, presumably because his classmates thought Jeff had had trouble holding in his bladder, seeing him mopping up water, which was on his pants as well. When he was done, I quietly told Jeffrey to go to the bathroom to wash his hands and dry off before returning. Funny, after that, he behaved much better."
Malcolm was grinning broadly. "That man," he indicated the head of the relief operation, "is Jeffrey."
Diane stared. "What?" She couldn't believe it.
"You see," the angel explained, "You didn't hit Jeffrey. You didn't scream at him. You didn't call his parents or give him detention. You treated that little nine-year old with dignity. It made quite an impression on the child, one he never forgot. As a matter of fact, he resolved that he wanted to be a person like you." As Diane looked ever more closely, she could now detect the resemblance between this grown man and the child she once knew. Malcolm continued. "He's the man who revolutionized charitable relief efforts. Countless victims of natural disasters have been, and will be, saved because of him. Because of you."
"Wow!" Diane blew out some air. "I guess I can't go tell him now how proud I am of him?"
"No, but you don't have to. I think he knows."
"He never said anything to me."
"Diane, when you die, Jeffrey will be only 11. But he will remember. As a matter of fact, on the tenth anniversary of your death, he visited and left a huge floral bouquet at your grave."
The nun was weeping. Malcolm led her to a large rock, where they both sat, while she enjoyed her good cry, and then composed herself. "Thank you, Malcolm. I'm glad you're my guardian angel. You've done a good job. I feel better about...about dying. I guess because I now see I had some impact on at least a few people."
"On a lot of people," Malcolm corrected. "I'm only showing you a few snippets."
"I guess. Still, it seems so, I don't know, indirect. Like I only did a little. Could have done so much more, given the chance. Hey, is it weird talking about myself in the past tense?"
"No stranger than you traipsing around the future with an angel."
"Good point," Diane said. "And I still can't for the life of me (she snorted at the ironic use of that expression) figure out how I crossed paths with the cancer doctor."
The angel caressed her back and suggested they go, offering Diane his hand. They walked over a short rise, away from the relief trucks and workers. As soon as they were over the hillock, Diane gasped.
7.
"I know this place!" she said. She was sure to keep her voice low, because the place they sat in was holy ground. "It's the chapel at Good Samaritan Hospital," she said, to which Malcolm nodded. From a wall calendar, Diane observed, "We're back in the present."
"No," Malcolm told her. "We're in the same year we originally left from, and yes, it's Christmas Eve. However, it's the evening now. About eight o'clock."
"That's four hours from now, I mean, from when we first met," Diane said.
"That's right. This time we're four hours into the future."
Diane was puzzled. As she looked about, she saw there was a man in the front row, weeping. "Oh God, why!" he cried out. "Please don't take her!" Diane looked at the angel questioningly. Malcolm put his finger to his lips.
The bereft man in front looked to his side and started. There was an object there he hadn't noticed before. Diane could see it was a tape recorder. Out of curiosity, the man pressed a button. Diane was stunned to hear...herself? She, her voice, was singing O Holy Night. Before she could ask, Malcolm whispered, "It was so magnificent, I took the liberty of recording it. I placed it here because this man needs it."
"But you were with me the whole time," Diane pointed out. When did you..."
Malcolm called for quiet and whispered that there were things angels could do that humans would have trouble comprehending. In any event, the man numbly retook his seat, transfixed by Diane's lovely voice. Though as Malcolm noted, calling it "lovely" was inadequate. It was that sublime. When the tape finished, the man sobbed deeply. "Thank you, God!" he whispered, barely audible enough for Diane to hear.
"He thinks it's a sign," Malcolm told her when the man left. In his fragile emotional state, the man didn't notice the nun and the angel.
"Malcolm! You can't do that to him! That's setting him up for disappointment, whatever his problem is!"
"Not if it really is a sign," Malcolm gently protested. "And what if that simple recording brings him the solace he needs?"
"Why is he so upset in the first place?" Diane wondered.
"Look," Malcolm said, and with a sweep of his arm they were transported into one of Good Sam's rooms. Diane again saw the man, standing before a bed, his hand resting on a woman's shoulder, presumably his wife. She in turn sat on the edge of a bed, where a little girl lay, covered in tubes, and clearly comatose. The parents were so fixated on their daughter, and used to doctors and nurses coming and going they paid no heed to the slight brief disturbance the nun and the angel had made. Still, Malcolm led Diane into the hallway so he could explain.
"The little girl, she's four, has a severely damaged heart. The only hope is a transplant, but they've just been told no donors are available."
Diane's fist flew to her mouth. "So, she'll...die?"
Malcolm nodded. "Unless a donor emerges very soon."
"Oh my God!" Diane sobbed. "She's only a child! I have to talk to them!"
"This time you can. You're still alive in this time, after all."
So Diane walked back inside. She approached the parents. "I'm Sister Diane, from St. Anthony's, Nanuet. I know how hard this is."
"Do you?" the mother asked, the anguish evident in her tone and her misty eyes.
"Yes, I have faced death," Diane said. Something in her sad expression touched the mother, who stood and flung her arms around Diane's neck. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be cross! I just can't bear to see her go!"
Diane didn't say anything, because truly, there were no words. She just held the woman, hugging her fiercely but tenderly. Tears were now streaming down Diane's cheeks as well. "Th...thank you!" the woman gasped.
The father, the man Diane had seen in the chapel, also clasped Diane's hand and thanked her. "Sister," he broke down, sobbing as he struggled to get the words out, "Please pray for our precious Lily!" Diane nodded. Then she walked into the hallway.
She buried her face in her hands and wept. "I feel so selfish. Here I was down about my own demise, and this precious child has been given so little time. And what it will do to her family!" Malcolm hugged her, as tenderly as she had just done with the grieving parents. "Of all the Christmas Eves you've show me, even the natural disaster one, this is the most depressing. Please don't end it on this note!" Diane pleaded.
"Very well," Malcolm smiled as he again held out his hand. "Come!"
Diane found herself in another place she knew so well, the choir loft of St. Anthony's. She knew it to be Christmas time, the church being decorated with the seasonal poinsettias, manger, trees upon the altar and side altars she had always cherished. "Another Christmas Eve?" she asked the angel.
"Yes, this one 19 years into your future." The pews were filled. A service of some sort was about to start, when Diane heard the strains of the Wedding March begin.
"A wedding?" she whispered to Malcolm. "On Christmas Eve?"
"Yes," the angel said. "It is a day that has special import to the bride. She received life changing news on a Christmas Eve years ago."
"How nice," Diane said, pleased by the sentimentality. "This bride," she thought, "would be a person I'd love to have met. A woman after my own heart."
After the bridal party had processed to the main altar, the guests all stood for the bride's entrance. Diane smiled at how radiant the young woman looked, and at how evident was the love this soon-to-be newlywed couple shared. Their looks told it all.
"How do I fit into this?" Diane asked, but Malcolm shushed her. The priest was about to start the nuptial Mass. So Diane quieted and watched, enthralled by the beauty of the wedding service and the feeling of love that permeated the entire Church.
During communion, the hymn that played was nothing traditional as far as weddings were concerned. At least not in Diane's time. What Diane heard stunned her. It was a recording...of Diane singing O Holy Night!
"Malcolm!" she exclaimed, albeit in a whisper.
The angel looked at her fondly. "That father you saw in the hospital nineteen years ago. He was in the entertainment field. A record producer. He remained so transfixed by what he had heard, and it had special meaning at that...fragile...time of his and his wife's lives, he determined to pursue the voice he'd heard. When he learned you had passed away, he took the recording and made it public. My dear, dear Diane. Your version of that Christmas hymn has become one of the biggest selling recordings of all time."
Diane's tears this time were of joy. "And 19 years later it's still being played," she whispered, unbelieving that something of her carried on.
"It will be, for hundreds of years," Malcolm said. "There is something else you should know. The royalties from your recording will be used by your religious order to fund a PR campaign."
"Yes, I left everything to the nunnery in my will when I took vows," Diane said.
"Well," Malcolm said, "That campaign, coupled with a spiritual awakening as many people turn away from materialism, will result in a reinvigoration of the order. Your convent will thrive as new blood comes in."
Diane again put her face in her hands, praying thanks this time. When she looked up at the statue of Mary off to the side she had a sudden thought. "Malcolm!" she kept her voice low. "There's something I need to tell you!" The angel nodded and stood to go.
Diane turned back for one last look at the loving couple. When she did, she caught a brief glimpse of someone she hadn't seen before, in the last pew. Two young women sitting next to each other, one of whom appeared to be crying. Though candidly, there was a lot of crying at this wedding. The first woman who had caught Diane's attention looked a lot like...her! She was about to do a double take and peer at the stranger more closely when Malcolm tugged at her sleeve insistently. "We have to leave, now!"
In a second they were back--in the same Church! Except now it was quiet, just as it had been when they had first begun. And that is where, and when, Diane learned the final lesson.
7.
"You were rather anxious to talk to me," Malcolm said. "You figured out the first part, about the cancer cure?"
"No, that's not what I had to tell you," she said.
"You didn't figure it out?" Malcolm was surprised.
"I did," Diane spoke quickly. "My path crossed that scientist's ancestor somewhere along the line, and it set in motion events leading up to his discovery of the cure for cancer, right?"
Malcolm nodded. "You remember Jeanne Connolly?"
Diane's eyes widened. "You mean...?"
The angel again nodded. "Jeanne was pregnant and single, with little resources, a boyfriend who fled upon learning of her pregnancy, and a family that disowned her. She came to see you."
"Yes," Diane recalled. "She didn't want to talk to a man about matters like this, even if he was a priest, but she felt the need for spiritual guidance. So she sought me out, me being the only young nun at the time. I was a postulant then. She was planning on having an abortion."
"You talked her out of it," Malcolm said. "Actually, it was not just your words, but your purity of heart that reached out and touched her and convinced her to go through with the birth. She did, and shortly thereafter her life took a turn for the better. She married a wonderful man, who raised that child as if it was his own. That child grew and married, and had offspring, one of whom, also married. You see Diane, that last child is the man who grew up to become a scientific researcher and who ended cancer for all time."
Diane just stared at the angel. Malcolm went on. "There are so many accomplishments mankind has forfeited because of abortion. One child, had she been born, would have discovered the secret of Middle East peace. Another, a force field that would render war meaningless. Oh, so many, many others," and the angel for the first time since Diane had met him, looked pained.
Malcolm broke off his reverie. "Anyway, there was something important you had to say to me?"
"Yes," Diane said excitedly. "I'm going to die, very soon. So why not donate my heart to that precious little girl? In dying I can give life! Oh, Malcolm, it would be so wonderful! I see that my life, though disappointingly shortened, has had quite an impact." And yes, my music is lasting. But this...in this way I can really make a difference. Directly. Right now!"
The angel furrowed his brow. "There is a slight problem," he said. "I'm not supposed to divulge details, but the doctors in your case are wrong. You are going to die, but not in four months. Sooner. A few weeks."
Diane's smile of excitement faded but she recovered and said, "What's a matter of a few weeks? That's okay, Malcolm. So, what's wrong with donating my heart? Is it in some way diseased, and won't be of use to that girl?"
"No," Malcolm answered, "Your heart is excellent. It's been used so much for good, it's actually very, very strong. Anyone would love to have a heart like yours, Diane."
"So, what's the problem?"
Malcolm looked grave. "The child, Lily, doesn't have weeks. She'll be gone by next week if nothing is done."
Diane bit her lip and was momentarily pensive as she looked at the votive candle before the main altar tabernacle. She turned to Malcolm. "You know, our religious beliefs preclude my taking my own life, even if the object of the exercise is to do good, like making my organ available sooner to Lily."
"I do know that," the angel said.
"Yes," Diane added, "And we both know you can't give life. But you did say you angels can shorten life. Malcolm, why not take me sooner, so I can give life to Lily?"
The angel looked at her as carefully as he did lovingly. "You're sure?"
"Without a doubt."
Malcolm shook his head. "I can call in the Angel of Death, I think I said he was a rather ghastly fellow, but yes, we can do that."
Diane jumped up and hugged him excitedly. "Oh thank you Malcolm! Thank you! You've restored my faith!"
"And through the years, you've enriched mine," Malcolm spoke fondly.
The two beamed at each other. "Malcolm, there is one thing I don't understand."
"I know," Malcolm said. "About the wedding. The girl you are about to save, Lily, yes, she was the bride."
Diane slapped her forehead. "But I thought the things you showed me from the future were things that would definitively happen."
"That is true," Malcolm said.
Diane's eyes grew wide as saucers. "But that means..." Then she smacked Malcolm on the shoulder. "You knew I was going to do this!"
The angel looked sheepish. "I inferred," he said quietly.
"Why you little devil!" Diane was smiling.
Malcolm held his hands up in mock horror. "I've never been called that, but I'll take it in the complimentary spirit it was intended."
"Malcolm, I don't know if I've ever been happier. I feel so...fulfilled. Is that crazy, that I'm going to die and I'm happy?"
"There's nothing crazy about it. You're on the first step to heaven."
Diane was brought up short. "There's steps?"
"Very short ones. Relax. I meant that you'd be in paradise in no time at all."
"Okay," she said, "But hadn't we better get going to share the good news with Lily and her family?"
"I'm all about the good news," Malcolm quipped, because to him, spreading the gospel was an eternal mission.
For the first time, it was as if Diane had read the angel's thoughts. "It is eternal," she said. "Love. I'd always read and heard the words, but now I really understand, 'Greater love hath no man...no person, than he or she be willing to lay down their life for another.'"
"And that's why you are a nanosecond from heaven," Malcolm told her. "By the way, you'll be interested to know that this Christmas Eve, when we let Lily's family know there is a donor, will be the most remarkable day in all their lives. One they will cherish more than anyone else cherishes Christmas. And that is why some day, Lily will choose to be married on this day."
"I like that," Diane said. Then she took a last look at the Church she loved.
"It's not the last time, Diane. You'll be back here."
Diane held out her hand. "Come!" and together she and Malcolm fairly skipped out of the Church, like something out of the Wizard of Oz, to finish her earthly mission and to begin her heavenly journey.8.
Christmas Eve, 19 years in the future. A young, lonely woman sat in a pew at St. Anthony's. It was odd she being so alone, because the place was filled.
Tears streamed from her eyes as she clasped and unclasped her hands countless times. "Please God! Help me!" she prayed silently. None of the many in the congregation thought it odd that this woman was crying. Many people were. It was a wedding, after all, though hers were not tears of joy.
The woman was not here for the matrimonial service however. With no place else to turn, she was in need of guidance. So she had entered the Church and remained, despite the ceremony taking place. She bowed her head, still sobbing, as she began to pray.
Suddenly, the woman jumped at the sound of another person. Though she had not heard anyone else enter her pew (she was in the very last row so as to be as unobtrusive as possible), the rustling of clothes told her someone was indeed there. The sad woman turned and saw a beautiful young nun. The distraught woman had seen nuns before, but this one was radiant, positively otherworldly. The nun looked up to the choir loft ever so briefly, the woman following her line of sight. For an instant she saw two people, what appeared to be a man, with a woman, who while out of habit, looked identical to the one sitting next to her. The woman did a double take, but when she did, there was no longer anyone in the loft.
The woman resumed praying. She had no desire to leave, because interestingly she felt inexplicably calm in the presence of the strange nun by her side. The nun watched the marriage service intently, a look of pure joy caressing her features. When the wedding was over, and the bride and groom were coming up the aisle, the bride caught a glimpse of the nun. She unthinkingly touched her heart, and tried to hold up, but the bride was carried along by her new love and the bridesmaids right behind. Lily had seen photographs, but thought it couldn't be. She intended to return and talk to the strange nun when they went back inside for the post-wedding photographs.
Diane would not be there however. When all had recessed out, Diane turned to the sad woman and sad, "Michelle, don't be sad any more. This is a joyous day. My name is Diane, and I'm your guardian angel." Michelle looked startled for sure, but Diane calmly smiled and said, "Take my hand. Come!" And with that, they were off on another errand of mercy on the part of the heavenly host.
The End
