by Balin » Fri Dec 04, 2020 11:09 pm
Stave II: I'm Never Going Back
As the bell tolled one, I sat upright, waiting for the appearance of the spirit promised by Marley.
It came as the ringing faded away - a small glow in the form of a young child.
“You are the first spirit that is to come?” Even as I said the sentence, I knew this must be it.
The glow nodded. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
“Past? What past?”
“Your past,” said the spirit, extending its hand. “Come, there is much to see.”
“But how am I to see the past? I cannot move beyond time.”
“A touch of my hand, and you shall fly.”
The spirit’s hand remained offered. I reached out a tentative hand of my own and took it.
Instantly, we soared. Out my chamber window, over London’s rooftops, and off to some distant horizon, we soared.
Staring out towards the horizon, I saw a distant light. “Spirit, what is that? It cannot be dawn.”
“It is the past,” said the spirit, as we flew into it.
The light dazzled my eyes and I clamped them shut, feeling only the blast of the wind as we passed into the shining rays. When I opened my eyes, I found myself no longer among the streets of London, but on the door of an old schoolhouse.
“This is my old boarding school,” I said. “It’s as if it hasn’t aged a day!”
“This is your past,” said the spirit, guiding me through the door.
I stepped inside. Indeed, the schoolroom was as I remembered it as a boy, its oaken desks and chairs, its ashen shelves of tomes, all kept in precise condition.
There, at a desk in the front of the classroom, sat a properly-attired boy, head buried in some old volume.
“Is that… me?”
“It is.” The spirit turned me back toward the open door. “Do you remember these others?”
As it spoke, a group of youths bustled through the entry. “Come on, Ebenezer!” one said. “It’s Christmas!”
“Who cares about silly old Christmas?” said the boy, turning only briefly in his retort before returning to the book on the desk in front of him. The rest of the children continued to speak excitedly, gathering whatever belongings they might have.
“I remember these boys!” I said, turning quickly to the spirit. “That’s Ali! That’s… what’s his name, we called him Cludiero, but I can’t recall. And that’s… hello, Percy! Hosea! Hello, boys! Boys?”
“These are only shadows of things that have been. They can neither see nor hear us,” it answered.
I turned back to the boys, who had nearly finished getting their belongings together. Lucas and Carlo were first to the door, hurrying the rest of the gang to the entry. I watched as Alec and Joseph practically shoved D’Andre and Taylor through the door, shoving it closed behind, leaving me alone with the spirit… and with my younger self.
“What joy they must be having,” I muttered.
“It is Christmas. They are together,” the spirit answered. “They had many Christmases like this. As did you.”
“I never had much use for Christmas,” I said, looking at the boy still poring over his reading. “The holidays were time to get extra work done, nothing more.
As I watched, the boy stood up, but suddenly older.
“Many Christmases like this,” I repeated, as the scene from before repeated, but with new casts. I saw Marc chase his sisters Debra and Zoe from the stoop; Ruben and Reegen sprint through the doorway at the first mention of dismissal; Pip and Aiden walk out and meet two girls, Bronwyn and Clare, at the foot of the stairs to the entry, each couple throwing decorum to the wind and embracing with all spirit I had seen in so many pairs during the season.
Meanwhile, I sat - or rather, my younger self sat - always at the same desk, always working.
“There was one more here,” said the spirit, as the boy at the desk stood up, now a young man. This time, two other students stood alongside him, facing the headmaster at the front of the room.
“Theo and Andy,” I remarked. “They were studious pupils as well.”
My comment was cut off by the headmaster. “Young men,” he said. “You have shown yourself as men who will do well in the field of business.”
I smiled. “Old Oliver never wasted a word.”
Of course the headmaster, a shadow as the spirit said, did not hear me. “Upon the New Year, you will take up work at the firm of Mr. Fezziwig.”
“Fezziwig!” I shouted. “Dear old Fezziwig. He taught me the trade of business."
“I know,” said the spirit.
In an instant, the scene around me changed. I now stood inside Fezziwig’s firm, but not on a day of business. Instead, the crowd was in a merry mood as they celebrated the holiday.
“Fezziwig loved Christmas as much as he loved his work,” I said. “I never understood the extra day off.”
“No, Ebenezer,” the spirit said. “He loved it more.”
There was a brief commotion near the door as Fezziwig’s wife Bertha and daughter Lina entered. He swept them both up in his arms.
“I’d forgotten how much he enjoyed Christmas,” I said. “Every year, he made sure his family and friends were happy.”
“You, too, were happy once,” said the spirit, turning me again.
There I was, a young man, smiling and talking with a young woman.
“Belle.” I turned to the ghost beside me. “Please, spirit. I do not wish to relive the other Christmas with her.”
“You must.” As the spirit spoke, the scene changed to a small glade. “What has ended has ended. You must embrace it or leave it behind; you cannot do neither. Do you understand these words?”
I do not need to repeat the words spoken by the shadows in that glade. Let it only be said that my shadow and I both left it in a mood of melancholy.
“Come, there is more to see.” The spirit led me forward, one step taking us into the London streets.
“Spirit, where are we?”
“Seven years in the past,” it said.
“But where in London? I do not know this house.”
The spirit touched my hand and we moved inside. She was older, but I recognized Belle. I did not know the man or the children around her, but I could guess.
“Spirit, why have you brought me here?” I demanded. “Why compound my torment?”
The spirit did not answer, but a ringing doorbell brought Belle to the entrance. Sounds of cheer and embrace came, as she returned with another family trailing her.
“Welcome!” she told her companion. “This is my husband, Tom, and my children: Jonah, Brina, Brida, Tali, and Meryl.”
“A pleasure,” her companion said, before addressing the family. “I am Soli, a friend of Belle’s. This is my husband Herod, and our children: Remani, Matt, Sanji, Derali, Sasha, and Suti.”
Greetings were exchanged.
“Won’t you join us?” Belle asked. “We were just about to begin our meal.”
“Certainly!” Soli said. As the families moved, Soli tapped Belle’s shoulder, beckoning her stay behind for a short time. She only spoke again when the two were alone.
“The reason I came,” she said, pronouncing each word with care, “was to bring news. Jacob Marley has died.”
“Marley…” The voice that came was not Belle’s, but mine. “I had forgotten he died on a Christmas Eve. It was just another business day to me, a setback to our firm.”
“Listen,” commanded the spirit, gesturing I turn to the conversation.
“...but I knew his partner, Mr. Scrooge,” Belle was saying. “Marley’s death may have abated your family’s financial trouble, but Mr. Scrooge is the greediest man I know. And the loneliest.”
The two women sat in silence. I turned to the spirit.
“Is this why you brought me here?” I cried. “To stretch my agony? To make me long for what I do not have?”
The spirit shook its head. “Have you yet seen? These events from your past telegraphed your future. Only now, watching them again, do you see. But you may still change. You may leave the cell in which you have lived, the cloister of your own unhappiness.”
“Begone, spirit!” I cried. “Let me see no more!”
I lunged for the spirit, intending to blot out its light with my own hands.
Instead, I grasped a blanket.
I was once again in my own chamber.