Nick
I should have brought the Canon. Twenty years behind the camera and I still haven’t learned that lesson.
Outside the library is a rose garden. The thorned bushes spiral around the center where a large fountain sits — spewing artful streams of water in arches, dimly lit by bulbs that need to be replaced.
The lights strung from its pinnacle haven’t come to life yet. It’s the first part of the show.
She keeps saying she doesn’t want to spoil it for us, but Gayle can’t stop dropping little hints about how the night is going to go. They pass out LED candles for each of us to hold. The town is nearly pitch black. Not even the street lights are on.
Someone announces the Old Crescent Baptist Choir, and three rows of red robes hustle into the small courtyard, quickly aligning themselves. One of them steps forward, wielding a cordless microphone bedazzled in holographic rhinestones that glitter inexplicably in the darkness.
Her voice is crisp as she begins the first verse of O Holy Night.
When I look down at Krystal, she’s enraptured — eyes misty and cheeks flushed as she listens to the choir. Their perfect synchronization anchors my attention once they get to that part right before the chorus.
“Fall on your knees,” she belts.
Then the rest of the choir. “Oh, hear the Angel voices!”
Something shifts in the crowd, a heaviness that blankets me.
I feel it coming before it hits every time, and I still can’t stop the grief-filled tears that flood my eyes.
I stare up at the sky, hoping it will stop.
I try not to let the memory surface — tubes piercing his skin and running up his little nostrils.
Chestnut skin gone cold. Tonal counts that should represent his heart beating.
Fading.
Fading.
Fading.
A hand clad in velvet slips into mine.
I remember where I am, the harmonious voice of the choir registering with the rhythm of my heart. I look down at Krystal, who swipes the stubborn tears away from my cheeks with her free hand, the fake candle tucked under her arm. I see my reflection in her glassy eyes and remember I’m alive.
I’m still alive, so I owe it to Juno to continue living.
I squeeze Krystal’s hand in mine, and a sense of relief floods my chest when she doesn’t pull away.
When the choir reaches its crescendo, the lights above us come to life.
Hushed gasps lift from the crowd, and I look around at all the tiny lights around us, realizing our original crowd tripled since we got here.
I should have brought the damn camera.
I was so caught up in Krystal that I forgot.
The crowd erupts in applause, and she lets my hand go to join in. Any annoyance I feel with myself subsides when I catch the delight in her expression. Maybe I was supposed to leave it behind tonight. Experience life instead of capturing it for once.
“That was so good,” she turns her head up to me, her eyes glowing.
I smile down at her, still a bit raw from the wave of grief that almost overwhelmed me. It was so easy for her to ground me, and I don’t think she has the slightest idea.
The crowd starts moving again. By this time, there are several trucks, their tailgates decked with cushioned seating for guests who don’t want to walk. I help her up into the back of one of them before deciding to take the trek.
As we meander down the dark street to the next thing, I stick my trembling hand into the pocket of my coat before falling behind the crowd.
My heartbeat is just starting to settle, but my mind continues to race.
Memories of Juno, of Marie, and our little family spiral in my head.
Then, my eyes catch on Krystal’s face. She’s laughing with the bright-eyed woman next to her.
I’m not sure if it’s guilt I feel, acknowledging that I’ve never felt this way about another woman before…
not even the mother of my dead son. Never felt this level of attraction, this curiosity, this need to know her the most — to become her favorite person on the planet.
At the end of this vacation, when we go our separate ways, will that be it?
Why do I keep feeling drawn to people I’m bound to lose in one way or the other?
We come to a slow stop just outside the town hall. There’s a duo up on the landing of the steps. A young man sits behind a keyboard, and a young woman stands behind another bedazzled microphone. The skin-tight sequined dress she wears shimmers like liquid metal against her deep, ebony skin.
When the crowd settles, the pianist plucks the first chords of Mary, Did You Know.
The pit in my stomach deepens. I’m transported to the chapel on the first floor of the Children’s Hospital. My hands shake as they did then, sitting in the back pews of the Church, asking God for a miracle that would never come.
The woman singing has an angelic voice, and she sings the same words that I heard that night, sitting back there, knowing my son was gone. I remember wondering what Juno’s destiny had in store for him, a destiny he would never get to know. Marie would never know. I would never know.
My steps falter as I retreat from the crowd.
The icy air I suck in on a sharp inhale burns my throat.
Everything spins, and I can’t stop the tears from coming.
They stream down my face in overflowing streams. I find a raised garden bed framed by thick brick, brush the snow off its surface, and sit with my face in my hands.
I let the sobs consume my body, not really caring who sees me.
I almost start wishing that it had been me instead, again, when I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder. My eyes widen when I see Jiraiya looking down at me.
“You alright?” He asks. It’s the kindest I’ve ever heard his voice sound, and the first time I’ve felt like my presence was not an inconvenience to him.
“This song,” I clear my throat. “It’s attached to…to.” I choke on the rest of the sentence and shake my head instead.
He brushes the snow next to me away and plops down beside me.
“You know, Gayle, when she lost her dad, she wasn’t able to grieve the way she should have,” he says.
I stare straight ahead, refusing to look another grown man in the eyes while I’m crying.
“When she first came here,” he continues, “even though it wasn’t the best circumstances, it was the first time she could just…
exist. Little things would get to her. Normal, everyday activities that wouldn’t affect her at all the day before, on some days, would completely stifle her.
She would spend hours in bed just crying.
I felt so helpless. Never felt like I was doing enough to help her.
One day it just dawned on me, that being there was all she needed.
To know she’s not alone and never will be again. ”
To know she’s not alone and never will be again.
It echoes and echoes in the emptiness that overwhelms me. Because I am alone. And the person I thought was going to be that for me, my reminder that I’m not, left. Someone I created a life with and built a life for, walked away and never looked back because my grief didn’t look like hers.
Jiraiya rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I look over at him, arrested by the sincerity behind his eyes. Tears spill down the sides of my face again, and this time, I don’t look away. I let this stranger hold space for me, share some of my pain.
He nods, slowly.
It’s as if my body needed the permission, because the floodgates open and my body shakes with tears I didn’t realize I still had to shed. My heart hurts, for my baby boy. He should be here.
He should be here and he’s not.
He’s not here, and it’s fucking Christmas.
I don’t expect Jiraiya to bring me in for a hug, but I take it. I squeeze this brother in an embrace that reminds me I’m still here, even if I’ve lost and lost and fucking lost, and he’s here too. He sees me, although he doesn’t know me. He sees me, and right now that’s enough.
I retrieve the handkerchief from my coat pocket, dabbing the wetness under my eyes and feeling so much lighter. I haven’t had a release like that since…since after the funeral.
When we both stand, I extend my hand for Jiraiya to shake. He places his firm grip in mine, and I cover it with my other hand in a silent thank you.
“There you are,” Gayle’s voice startles us both out of the moment.
The light that fills Jiraiya’s eyes when he sees his wife spreads over the rest of his face.
A similar warmth blooms in my chest when I see Krystal standing next to her, her brows furrowed with concern as she rakes her attention over my face.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, the worry in her voice cracking my heart a little.
I rest a hand on her lower back as I guide us back to the rest of the crowd.
The town hall is dripping with thin string lights.
It must have been a breathtaking scene watching them flicker on after the last performance.
We missed our chance to hop on the back of the truck, but I’m grateful for the walk…
need to feel the cold air against my skin.
“I just needed a moment,” I say, releasing a deep breath.
She nods, but doesn’t probe further. I can almost see the gears turning in the back of her mind trying to put it together. “I love the holidays,” I explain. “It still represents the hardest times of my life. I want to be here, and I want to celebrate. Doesn’t make it less painful.”
She scoffs. “Preaching to the choir, Santa.”
I’m surprised by the laughter that sputters out of me, and the smile that lingers after. I shouldn’t be, really; she has that power over me. I shake my head, watch my feet make indents in the snowy path.
“I admire you, you know? I didn’t go through shit compared to what you did, and you still believe in the magic of Christmas.” She wiggles her fingers, her somber expression contrasting with the chilling smile on her lips.
“And you don’t?” I deadpan, assuming I’m stating the obvious.