“I’m still not sure how I feel about the Christmas season,” I said. “I mean, on the one hand, it’s a time of year where one singular religion is promoted smack in the faces of thousands of people who don’t celebrate it.”
I looked around at the families lining up on the street, pressed into mittens and big jackets, children with rosy cheeks and smiles, and I imagined that glorious moment when all of downtown would become aglow with Christmas lights and Santa Claus would appear on the balcony of O’Malley’s pub.
“But on the other hand,” I finished, “it’s just so pretty.”
Jack chuckled and squeezed my gloved fingers. “Glad I can give you something new this year.”
I’d been living in Alderville for two Christmases now, but it would be my first time witnessing their Festival of Lights. It consisted of a parade marching up Main to the top of the square where Santa would flip the switch and turn on all the colorful lights at once. Afterward there would be caroling, but Jack was taking me to see A Christmas Carol at the dinner theater, so we wouldn’t be able to stay for the whole thing.
That was fine with me; I just wanted to see the town I loved so much light up the night with holiday cheer.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m such a kid, aren’t I? I just love this time of year.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I shivered and pulled my hat further down over my ears. “It’s so cold,” I looked up at the empty winter sky, “You think it’ll snow tonight?”
He followed my gaze. “I doubt it.”
I grunted. It had been a futile hope each Christmas for the past several years; last time I’d had a proper winter I was about twelve years old. Now I felt lucky if I got slush.
Maybe that was why I was so looking forward to the lights—it would probably be the only time it truly felt like Christmas this year. When I was a kid, each moment felt like magic the instant December arrived. Deep down the memories of that feeling remained, but I had never gotten to fully experience it since I became an adult. And maybe that was how it was meant to be, but I’d never been one to follow social standards.
I wanted to feel the magic again.
I glanced at my watch. “Are we going to make it? They start serving dinner in half an hour.”
He was silent a moment, considering. Then he said, “We’ll stay here as long as we can, okay?” and placed a hand on my shoulder.
He must have known how much this meant to me. But we had both been looking forward to A Christmas Carol; it would all depend on whether or not time was on my side.
It wasn’t.
For whatever reason the parade started later than they’d announced.
And as the minutes ticked closer to six thirty the marchers and the floats only became more elaborate and I realized that it was not going to finish in time for Santa to light the lights before we had to hurry off.
I looked over at Jack and tapped my watch. “Let’s just go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s okay. We don’t want to be late, and I’m getting hungry.”
I took his hand and we began walking up the hill to the theater. The night air was crisp and I could see my breath forming little clouds of fog that disappeared into the sky.
There was still no sign of snow.
Dinner with Jack was always something to look forward to; he was very good at conversing. And even when we found ourselves sitting in silence it was never awkward—it always felt right.
And I tended to sit in silence a lot—especially in a theater; especially in this theater. The Cabaret had a giant, sparkling chandelier stretching out from the middle of the ceiling and rows of red carpet and polished wood railings that separated one set of tables from the next. Plus this particular set was amazing to behold: the twisted iron innards of what looked to be a clock tower. I especially liked the cogs of various shapes and sizes surrounding the top of the stage.
I ordered tea, he ordered wine and we both ordered the steak. I told him I could cover my half of the check; he gave me the look that said, You should know by now.
I grinned and shrugged. “Fine, then.”
He smiled back at me and reached his hands across the table. As I took them he asked, “Are you really disappointed about the lights?”
I shrugged again. “A little bit, but I’ll live.”
He continued to stare at me in silence and I knew he wanted me to keep talking.
My thumbs rubbed absentmindedly across his knuckles. “Each year I feel like I lose a little more of the Christmas spirit, you know? Last year I just remember kind of wishing for it to be over with so I could get back to my life.”
“Scrooge,” he said, his crooked smile in place.
I couldn’t help grinning a little before my mouth fell back into a neutral line. “I remember when the days seemed to drag because I was so impatient for Christmas to arrive. I remember long nights when the sky looked pink because of the snowfall, and early mornings that were such a serene dark blue, as if the whole world was shielded by darkness.”
“For someone so anxious to see the lights you seem to really enjoy the dark.”
“Well, it’s only because of the darkness that the lights are so beautiful.”
He continued smiling, with the look that told me he’d never met anyone else who said things like I did.
Blushing a little, I finished, “Anyway, I guess I’d just hoped the lights would put me in a Christmas mood.”
“We can walk around downtown after the show; you can see them then.”
“I would like that very much.”
“But,” he said, “It’s not the same as being there when they’re all switched on, is it?”
He knew me so well. “No, it’s not. But like I said, I’ll live. I’m just being silly, that’s all.”
He released my hands and took a sip of wine, then offered the glass to me. “Sweetheart, if your sense of wonder and delight is ‘silly’, then everyone can stand to have a little more silliness in their lives.”
We drank to that.
“So, what did you think?”
“I liked it… I thought the Steam Punk twist they gave it was kind of cool.”
“Some of the acting, though…”
“Oh, good. I thought I was being too critical.”
“No, I thought a couple of them were kind of stiff.”
“Just a little. Not too bad.”
At the bottom of the steps I tried to straighten up my scarf. The night was still frigid and dry and the stars shone beyond the roof of the theater. Behind me sloped the hill that led down town; the buildings were too large to get a good view of the square but all the shops were definitely emanating a glow.
“Shall we go look at the lights?” I asked.
Jack observed me for a short moment. Then he said, “Come here.”
Gently he unwrapped the scarf from my neck.
“What are you—”
“Just bear with me.”
He lifted the fabric over my eyes and wound it twice before tying it at the back of my head. In my blindness I felt him draw close and then he lifted me into his arms.
“No peeking, now,” he said.
I smiled.
I felt a little foolish, being carried through the active streets of Alderville with a scarf around my face, but since all I could do was slide my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder I just relaxed and let myself enjoy it. Even as I heard different groups of people pass us on the way, no one snickered or questioned our motives; they all might have known what he was doing.
And eventually he stopped walking, and I felt my heart begin to speed up, though I didn’t really know why. They were only lights, after all—maybe they weren’t as spectacular as I’d imagined.
He set me down and I could feel the dry, frozen grass beneath my feet as I shifted.
“Are you ready?”
I swallowed once and nodded. His fingers brushed my hair back from my shoulders and curled under the layers of scarf.
And in one rapid movement my blindfold was clear and everything around me was alight with color.
He’d placed me right in the center of it all: right in front of the main buildings and the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the square and once my eyes were free it was like a whole new world had suddenly switched on. There were lights everywhere—curling around streetlamps, hanging icicle-fashion from roofs and shaping snowflakes and sleds with reindeer across the walls. There were bright blues and reds, greens and whites swirling around me as I caught myself spinning, wrapped up in the light, in the sounds of people laughing and “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” playing in O’Malley’s.
Only at the end of my reverie was I aware of Jack’s smile as he watched me bask in the glow.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
We reached for each other’s hands and stood by the tree in silence, gazing at the bright reflections in our eyes.
“It’s everything you hoped it would be?” he asked.
The lights blurred beyond him; only his face—his smile, his eyes, were clear. “Everything and more,” I said, “Here with you… This is the greatest moment.”
We kept smiling and holding each other’s hands.
The air was still dry and frigid, but beneath the lights it was warm.
And for one bright moment, it felt like snowfall.
— C.M.
