CHRISTMAS DREAMING
By T. W. Brazeau
Published by T. W. Brazeau
Copyright 2012 T. W. Brazeau
A DREARY TIME OF YEAR
I woke up disoriented and groggy. What is this place? Where am I? I looked around. My vision was a little bleary, but that’s nothing new. I didn’t recognize the room. I moved my arm. What’s this? It looked like there was a tube stuck in my arm. Yes, a tube, with a bag on the other end. Not good.
I’m in a hospital, I realized. And the last thing I remember was . . . what? Then it came to me. I had been shoveling snow.
Now I remembered clearly. I was shoveling my sidewalk, and the snow was still coming down. Another white Christmas. Big deal, I thought. Then I remembered I had felt dizzy, then faint. Oh-oh, I thought. Heart attack!
I thought about the snow shoveling. About the snow coming down, about Christmas. About the heart attack. About whether I cared about any of it. I decided I didn’t.
It’s been a long life, maybe too long—eighty-five years and counting, and it’s been a lonely life. An unsuccessful life, a life of odd-jobs, until Leah talked me into taking the night courses and I learned the basics of bookkeeping. I never liked the office work, but it was steadier and paid a little better and was easier on the back. Warmer, too, this time of year.
I looked out of the hospital window at the snow still filtering down. Another damned Christmas coming up. I hated Christmas. It’s a depressing time of year. Especially for me.
Before it happened, I guess I liked Christmas, like any kid, but when your parents are killed on their way to a Christmas party, it kind of spoils it for you.
It certainly spoiled it for them. They were barely forty when it happened. Far too young for their lives to end. Far too young for Leah and me to lose them.
The doctor came in, his stethoscope dangling around his neck. “You’ve had a bad one, old timer,” he began. So much for bedside manners. “I’m afraid you’ll be with us for a while. Shame it happened at Christmastime.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” I said. “I may as well be here as anywhere else on Christmas.”
He listened with his stethoscope, looked grim and said he’d be back.
I’m sure they had put something in that bag dripping into my arm. I started drifting off again.
BUT DREAMS CAN HELP
I was leaning with my hand on Lars. We were out on the North Pasture, standing in the snow, and getting colder.
“Cold enough, Lars?” I asked. He snorted and stomped. I took that as a yes and pulled myself up onto the saddle. I gave Lars his head and he took us across the field, around the Pond, and into the barn. I had already removed his saddle and was brushing him, when Leah came in, stomping snow.
“William,” she called, and then she saw me, walked over. “Mom and Dad are about to leave,” she said, “time to come in.”
She looked so young. This was a dream, of course, and a dream could be anything. In real life, Leah was all I had, all I’d ever had, since that day so long ago. Impulsively, I threw my arms around her and hugged her. “I love you, Leah,” I said.
She almost fell down in the snow. “I love you, too, William,” she said, “Billy.”
We came into the house, into the snow room, stomped the snow off our boots and hung up our heavy coats. We opened the door to the kitchen, to the warmth and light and the kitchen smells. The Christmas warmth, the Christmas smells. Then it hit me!
This was it! This was the year! I was fourteen and the best part of my life was about to end! Mom and Dad were about to die!
The train that hit their car had dragged it for two hundred yards before pushing it off the tracks, down the embankment and through the ice into the river. There’s a crossing warning there now, with flashing lights and barrier arms, but not then. Too late for them. Too late for Leah and too late for me.
Leah did the best she could. She raised me. She kept food on the table, but she couldn’t save the farm. She couldn’t put herself or me through school.
My stomach knotted up! “Don’t Go!” I sobbed. “Don’t go!”
How could I stop them? What could I say? They were just going to the Johnson’s for a simple Christmas party. How could a fourteen-year-old stop them?
“Why not?” Mom asked, putting on her suit jacket, the one with the little Christmas decorations on the lapel.
I’m . . . I’m sick,” I said. “I vomited blood!” I said. And then I did vomit! I vomited all over the kitchen floor. It wasn’t deliberate, but it was probably the best thing I could have done, messy as it was. No blood, though, I’d made that up.
“Call the Johnsons,” Mom told Dad, and looked at me with concern. “We’ll have to cancel. Maybe we can go later.”
“Yes, later,” I stammered. “Go later.”
Leah was watching me with her black eyes. Then and now, I’ve never known anyone else with such intelligent eyes, knowledgeable eyes.
“I’ll get the mop,” she said
Mom walked me up the stairs and tucked me into my bed like she used to, when I was a toddler. She sat with me for a time with a worried look on her face. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what happened. I feel better now.”
And I did. The train had already passed the crossing by now. It couldn’t hit them. They wouldn’t die. “Leah’s here. You go ahead to the Johnsons. Tell them Merry Christmas.”
AWAKE AGAIN
In the dream, I drifted off to sleep, and in real life I woke up. I was still in the hospital. Snow was still falling past the window. I turned my head and was surprised to see Leah sitting quietly in her wheelchair, examining me carefully with those black eyes.
Maybe that’s why she has always worn black, I thought, not for the first time, to match those eyes. She was always in black. Everything was black. Even her cat was black.
“Preasant dreams, Wirriam?” she asked. She smiled, but only with half her face. The stroke had frozen the other half and left her with problems saying ‘Ls’ and sometimes ‘Ts’, but her thoughts were as clear as always. If only she hadn’t been alone when she was stricken. If only the medics had been called sooner.
“Kind of scary, as a matter of fact,” I replied. “Mom and Dad were there. You were there. I was fourteen, so you would have been nineteen. It was Christmastime, just like now. In the dream I was afraid Mom and Dad were going to die. Dad and Mom did both die around Christmastime, and maybe I will, too, by the looks of things. Let’s see, Dad was 70 and when Mom died she was almost my age. They had a good life, I think.”
“She was eighty-three,” Leah said, “younger than you are.”
The door opened and the nurse came bustling in with some unpleasant looking material on a tray. There was a reddish thing that was either Jello or a tire patch, something green and mushy and some sort of small orange hockey puck. “Thanks,” I said. “Come on back later with some food, would you?”
She huffed a little, “I didn’t make it,” she claimed. I’ll bet she did, though.
She fluffed up my pillows, spoiling the comfortable slouch I had managed.
“Ten more minutes,” she said to Leah. “He’s still not very strong, you know.” I stuck out my tongue as she went out the door. I was strong enough for that.
After Leah had left, I went back to my reveries. What else can you do when you’re eighty-five years old and stuck in bed with a heart attack?
It hasn’t been a bad life, I guess, but it has been a lonely one. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for yourself!” I said aloud. “It’s your own damn fault!”
I still missed Gloria. I always would, although, under the circumstances, perhaps not for much longer.
If Only. The Man had that right. Those are th
e saddest words in the English language. In any language: ‘What might have been’.
We had met at the University. I had been in Pharmacy School and she was Agriculture major. A perfect combination for a couple with a farm and a drugstore. We married right out of college and Mom and Dad loved her. We built a cozy little house on the farm, but still took most of our meals all together in the big house.
We were decorating the second bedroom as a nursery when I destroyed everything.
Gloria wasn’t pregnant, but we hoped she soon would be. We were picking out names. Billy for a boy. I wanted Gloria for a girl, but she said she had never liked her name.
“Leah,” she said, “Leah, if it’s a girl.”
I was at the store, finishing up my paperwork. It was late afternoon when Daphne came in. She was a pharmaceutical rep, trying to sell me on a line of over-the-counter meds. She introduced herself. We talked about the meds, the weather, Christmas. I ordered some of the meds, left others.
“I’m hungry,” she said, “It’s late and it’s been a long day. Is that restaurant at the hotel any good? Will you join me? Treat’s on me!”
The restaurant was good, her hotel room was good, she was good.
She traveled the area and we shared her room from time to time.
Inevitably Gloria learned of the affair. We talked, wept, talked some more. Wept some more. Promises were made. By me. I never saw Daphne again. “I forgive you,” Gloria said. “I love you.”
But things were never the same. She lost interest in nurseries, baby’s names. After a few months she came to me and told me tearfully, “I love you, Bill. I love you, but I can’t live this way. The trust is gone.”
She left within the month, just before Christmas, and I never saw her again, never heard from her.
There’ve been other Daphnes over the years, of course, but never another Gloria. There aren’t any, anywhere. It’s been lonely.
The door opened and Doctor Glover came in. He looked at me and frowned. “Whatever you are doing, stop it. Tears are not good for your condition.” He poked and prodded me, as doctors like to do. “You’re a little better than yesterday. I’m encouraged,” he said. “But you need more rest. You’re not out of the woods yet.” He stuck me with a big needle. The kind they use on horses, I thought. Or elephants.
It didn’t take long for whatever he had in that needle to take effect. I was in dreamland before I knew it.
PERCHANCE TO DREAM
Since I had been brooding about my mistakes, it wasn’t surprising to revisit those times in a dream. In the dream, I was sitting behind the counter when Daphne came in and introduced herself one late winter afternoon.
She was trying to sell me on a line of over-the-counter meds. I ordered some of them, left others. “I’m hungry,” she said, “It’s been a long day. Is that restaurant at the hotel any good? Will you join me? Treat’s on me!”
We went to the restaurant, which, in fact, was good. After the meal, we had a coffee and a brandy. Daphne smiled and said, “come on up to my room for a nightcap. I have some more samples to show you.”
“Alright,” I agreed. Then I turned pale! My stomach knotted!
“No! No!” I said. “I can’t! I’m sorry, I can’t. I just remembered! I have to leave! Here, I’ll get the check!” I paid the waiter in a rush, left too big a tip and almost ran out of the restaurant into the snow.
I’m not sure how I got home. After all, it was a dream. But I got there fast. Gloria greeted me with a big smile and with paint samples in her hand. “I’ve got a pink and I’ve got a blue. What do you think?” she asked.
I burst into tears. I couldn’t tell her why, I thought. But, yes I could. They were tears of joy, and I told her that, because it was true.
It turned out to be blue. Billy was such a joy. And such a tragedy. I don’t know how we got through those days. By clinging together, I expect.
AWAKE WITH GLORIA
I don’t know what woke me, but Leah was sitting there again in her chair, dressed in black, as always. She was looking at me with those piercing black eyes. I love my sister, but something in those black eyes has always unnerved me.
“Doctor Grover says you’re some better,” she said, “but even so he says he’s concerned. He wants you to rest some more, sreep a lot.” She smiled her half smile. “I hope your dreams are good, Wirriam.”
The door swung open. Gloria came sweeping in, smiled at Leah, and kissed her cheek. “Doctor Glover says you’re better today, Bill. I’ve been so worried. No more snow shoveling for you! The shovels go to Goodwill!”
“Well, then we’ll all be falling down in the snow,” I said. “Can’t have that, either. Give the shovels to that Johnson boy. He can come by and do it—I hate shoveling anyway.”
Gloria sat on the edge of the bed and held my hand. That always made me feel better and it was better than any medicine.
It’s been a good life, I can’t complain—not that it helps, anyway. Gloria and I have been happy. The pharmacy was a good business in my day. Now that the chains are moving in, that will change, but it’s no longer my problem.
There have been regrets here and there, of course, but only the one big one. If only, if only little Billy were still with us. Of course he wouldn’t be little now, he’d be full grown and middle aged, but he’s still a little boy to me. He would always be six.
Leah was looking at me intently. “I’m going now,” she said, “would you get Betty for me, Groria?” Gloria stepped out and came back with Leah’s aide, Betty, a cheerful fiftyish lady. “Merry Christmas,” she said to me, “I hope you’re better for the holiday.”
“Me, too,” I answered, “Merry Christmas.”
“I’ll be going, too, Gloria said, “but I’ll be back later. Doctor Glover said not to stay too long.”
“Right,” I said, “I’m going to take a nap. He said to get lots of rest.”
. . . AND TO DREAM AGAIN
And, after a little while, the nap crept up on me. Again, as seems to be becoming a habit, I had a dream.
I was back on the farm. Why not? We had never left it. I came stomping into the snow room, shaking snow from every part of me. “I must look like a snowman,” I said to Gloria as she opened the door.
“You look exactly like a snowman,” she said, “especially that carrot-orange nose.”
“Where’s Billy?” she asked. “He went out there to find you.”
Something’s wrong, I felt. I looked at Gloria, I looked at the Christmas tree, at the decorations, at Billy’s new bicycle under the tree. He was six this year, and would need a bicycle. Six.
“My God!” I shouted, startling Gloria. She jumped back. I turned and ran out the door. I had never run so fast in my life, boots or no boots! I headed for the Pond in the North Pasture.
It was still snowing, but as I got closer I could see him! “Thank God!” I said, and ran even faster. I called out “Stop! Billy, Stop!”
He heard me and turned and waved. Then he disappeared! He had fallen through the thin ice, just as I had known he would!
I ran out on the ice without pausing. I knew it wouldn’t hold me and when I felt it giving way I threw myself down and slid toward the hole that had swallowed Billy.
The shock of the cold water was like a blow! I lost consciousness for a second, but I couldn’t let that happen! I groped around under the water for Billy’s parka. It would be full of water, holding him down like a rock.
I found it! I found Billy! I lifted him up onto the ice. I could barely touch bottom, but I jumped and pushed and got him up!
By this time Gloria was there, in her thin sweater and her house shoes. “Don’t walk on the ice,” I shouted, “it won’t hold you. Lie down and slide!”
She did that, but she did better. She pulled a snow covered half-sheet of plywood from the debris I should have hauled away last fall, but was damned glad I hadn’t.
She lay on her stomach and shimmied out as far as she could, pushing the plywo
od ahead of her, She got it close enough for me to roll Billy onto it. I pushed it as far as I could reach and she pulled it the rest of the way.
“What about you?” she cried.
“Never mind me. Push me that plywood and get some heat on that boy! Call Dad!”
I was getting so numb, I didn’t know if I could make it. The ice kept breaking, but it was firmer as I got away from the center of the Pond. I finally got up on the plywood and was trying to push with my sodden boots and mittens. My vision was dimming and there was a roaring in my ears. I felt the plywood moving and was able to make out a figure pulling me. Thanks, Dad, I tried to say.
BILLY AND THE KIDS
I must have lost consciousness in the dream, and when I woke I was still in the hospital room. The nurse was there again with a tray. Another gruesome gourmet delight, I thought glumly. The next time I have a heart attack, it’s going to be from eating steak, not from shoveling snow. They’ve taken my shovels away, anyhow. That, at least, was a happy thought.
“Just slide it under the bed, would you?” I suggested. “It’ll be handy there.” She sputtered at me a little, put the tray on the bedside table and bustled on out. Why do nurses always bustle? Do they have bustling classes at nursing school? Of course, bustling can be a plus, but I think cooking classes might be a better investment. Certainly from the patient’s point of view.
Betty came in, pushing Leah. The black eyes were even more unsettling than usual, for some reason. Leah smiled with the half of her face that worked. “Doctor Grover says you’ve improved considerabry, Wirriam. Says you could be home for Christmas.” She tilted her head a little and examined me closely. “That’s good news,” she said.
Gloria and Billy came in. “You’ll be home for Christmas, Dad,” Billy said, smiling, “Doc Glover wants to do a couple of tests and you’re good to go. Says tomorrow. Lily sends her best and so do Marvin and Brenda and the little ones. Here,” he put a piece of paper in my hand. “Brian drew you a get well Christmas card. Little Leah scribbled on the back.”