Charlie was down to the last four or five boxes to unpack. These were some books, CDs, and things like drink coasters to put on tables in the living room. Oh, yes, here's an ash tray.
I haven't smoked in at least 20 years. Ralph did, that's what caused his death. I don't have a patio or balcony in this apartment. I don't need an ashtray any more.
He heard his door bell ring. `Now who could that be?' he thought. He didn't know anyone here, and all his friends were far away. He put the latest box down on the coffee table and went to the door. Opening it, he looked down on the jolliest, fattest little woman. With a big smile, she handed him a foil covered paper plate, and said
"You must be Mr. Evans. I'm Rose. I live down the hall, up front, towards the street. We're having an open house tonight at 7 p.m. You'll meet some of your neighbors and have some refreshments. There'll be singing, and it will be a pleasant way to spend Christmas Eve. Oh, yes, bring along something to share, like half of the cookies you're holding. See you at 7."
She was gone before Charlie managed to say he wasn't ready to go out, or he had more unpacking to do. He took the plate of cookies into the kitchen, put them on the table, and peeled back the foil. "Um. Chocolate chip. My favorite. I guess I can try one since I've been losing weight.' He bit into one, and breathed a happy sound. It had been years since Ralph had been able to make his great chocolate cookies. The first cookie was gone, devoured before he knew it, and had bitten into the second one. He shoved the plate of cookies into a deep corner of the kitchen counter, and returned to unpacking his boxes.
Charlie had emptied the last box, put everything away, even dismantled the moving box and put it with the others to go into storage, then sat down. Even though the front door was closed, he could hear a piano and singing from down the hall. He looked at his watch, it was already a couple of minutes after 7 p.m.
He remembered how Ralph would play the piano and friends would sing at Christmas time. There wasn't room for a piano in his apartment, and he couldn't play anyway, so he had sold Ralph's piano.
`Deck the Halls!' he heard from clear down the hall at the other end. There were men and women's voices, followed by some laughter at the end of the carol. Charlie felt so all alone that the voices were a magnet, drawing him out of his apartment, with the cookies, to Rose's apartment.
He was met at the door by a woman who stood at least six feet tall in her high heels, towering over Charlie's 5'6". "Welcome," she greeted him, "my name is Yolanda, and I'm one of your hostesses. My partner, Rose, is at the piano, but, then, you've met Rose. Thank you for the cookies," as she gracefully took the cookies and called out to the room full of people, "this is Mr. Evans, who lives down the hall."
"Charlie. I'm Charlie Evans," he called out before the next carol began, and Yolanda swept him into the kitchen to choose what kind of drink he wanted. They had some doctored punch, soft drinks, and beer. "I'll just have a glass of water, please." Yolanda handed it to him, then drew him back into the living room, to a seat on the couch, and said
"This is Charlie, Harry and Robert. Charlie, have a seat." Looking at Charlie, she said, "Remember the dinner here tomorrow starts at 2 p.m. Bring some sort of finger food to share." Then she swept away, like some ebbing tide. Charlie gratefully sat down, shaking the hands of Harry and Robert. They were seated very close together. `Are they a pair?' he wondered.
The next carol started, Rose belting it out on the piano, the room full of men and women singing to `Deck the Halls.' Charlie liked to sing, though he hadn't done much singing since Ralph became ill, and felt very rusty. After several more carols, Rose took a break from the piano, and somebody started passing cookies, various kinds. They all seemed to come on the same picture paper plate that Rose brought to Charlie.
Singing took up again, and continued through a succession of carols and popular songs, ending with "White Christmas." Charlie thought back how Ralph always ended the Christmas Eve sing along with it. He barely had time to feel sad before Henry, a gray-haired man about his age asked him if he was going to go to the midnight mass at the local Episcopal church. Charlie didn't even know there was a local Episcopal church. He remembered the many Christmas Eves he and Ralph had gone together. He had expected this to be his first Christmas Eve without attending.
"The service starts at 11 p.m., but the caroling starts at 10:30. Would you like to go?" Henry asked. Charlie thought a brief moment, then nodded he would like to go. "Bundle up warm. It may snow tonight while we're in church. It's only three blocks, so there's no sense driving a car and hoping to find a parking place any closer. I'll collect you at 10 p.m. I know it's early, but we want to have a good seat in a pew close up. The children will be doing a pageant, and they are always spectacular. The director of the Sunday School must start rehearsals a month before Thanksgiving."
Charlie nodded his head in agreement, and went home. It was just 10p.m. on the dot when Charlie's door bell rang. Charlie slipped on his heaviest jacket, grabbed his gloves and knitted cap with the ear protectors, and met Henry at the door. It was a short walk to church. No, the snow had not begun to fall, but it was sure cold. He was glad he had warm clothes on.
They were early enough to get a seat in the fourth pew, but the church was filling up rapidly. Many of the men and women who had attended the sing along in Rose and Yolanda's apartment were there. Charlie didn't feel so out of place that way. The church was a beautiful old church, probably early 20th century, with stained glass windows that were sort of modern, lots of light, and was quite big. By 10:15 p.m., it seemed every pew was filled with worshipers. 10:30 p.m. the carols began. The singing was quite good, even without the choir.
The children acted out the prophecy to the Virgin Mary, the angel having a decidedly lopsided halo. Mary and her cousin met in a small room, exchanging good news. Shortly, Mary walked onto the scene clutching a baby doll by one arm, and not too firmly. She took her place, and the stable filledl with the wise men and the shepherds and their sheep, which were dogs of various sizes wearing wooly paper blankets and signs saying `sheep."
The procession entered, crucifer, thurifer, acolytes, and the choir, carefully spaced back far enough from the swinging thurible pouring out its heavy incense, finally the clergy. At the end of the procession was the Rector, wearing the heavy poncho-like chasuble in blazing white, illuminated by gold symbols. The lights caught the symbols, and reflected them along the passage to the altar.
Charlie was surprised what a good sermon the Rector preached. It was about daily living, and discovering the new and the good everywhere we go, even in people who didn't appear to be good or worth knowing.
The communion chants were properly chanted by the congregation, bringing Charlie back to those years when he and Ralph would sing in the choir, and later, when they just sang with the congregation. Before he knew it, the service was over, the church bell was tolling the new day, and they were moving out of the church.
The Rector greeted Henry by name, who introduced Charlie. The Rector invited Charlie to the church parish hall for some refreshments. Henry begged off, saying it was late, and they would needed to get home because the snow was just starting to fall, but he'd bring Charlie to mass on Sunday.
Henry and Charlie walked home. Charlie told Henry how he'd enjoyed the service, and would like to go on Sunday. They made it home before the heavy snow began. Henry bade Charlie "Merry Christmas," which Charlie returned, and they each went to their own apartments...alone.
Charlie didn't feel lonesome. He felt good. Good for the first time in several months, since he had kissed Ralph good night that last night. Charlie slept well that night.
TO THE READERS:
NIFTY IS A NON-PROFIT ORGANIZATION WHICH NEEDS YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS TO STAY ON LINE.
AUTHORS ARE NOT PAID, BUT APPRECIATE YOUR AFFIRMATIVE COMMENTS. dastardlyd3@aol.com