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.