O Holy Night

Voices of carolers exuded a kind of warmth into the cold Christmas Eve atmosphere.  I buttoned up my winter fur coat and slipped my already gloved hands into my pockets. It was -17 degrees; this frigid temperature could not get any worse.  As I paced another candy-cane façade of the town, I couldn’t help but notice the number of lovers that passed me by. Linked arm and arm, I could see how elated they were. It seemed as if nothing in the world could take away that warm, fuzzy feeling bubbling inside them. Their faces seemed to glow, lighting up the streets with their incessant chatter. They were like pixies that left behind a trail of sparkle dust that scintillated under the Christmas illuminants in hopes that it would brighten up someone’s day. Had they found the one they were to spend the rest of their lives with? Only time will tell, I thought. Despite the Christmas decorations, the songs blasting from nearby shopping centers and the countless lovers that shuffled past with gifts in their hands, I simply just wasn’t in the mood for any of it. Perhaps it was because of the pain I had to put up with that caused me to lose my Christmas spirit all together.

I retrieved my hand phone from my right jeans pocket hoping to have received a miscall or at least a message. I stared at my Christmas themed wall paper only to find it staring back blankly at me as if to say, “What? Were you really expecting something from him?” My face fell, disappointment pressed onto every inch of it as I stuffed the phone back into my pocket.  I strolled past yet another group of carolers and finally stopped in my tracks, enthralled by the unison and the harmony of their voices as they broke into a song. I shut my eyes and took in a long deep breath of the chilled seasonal breeze, soaking in the familiar Christmas tune sung in 4 part harmony as if it would be of any comfort to the stinging pain in my heart. Surprisingly, it did, momentarily. My face became a picture of concentration as I tried my best to hang on to that feeling; that feeling of hope. Humming along to the chorus, I could feel the hurt magically peel away layer by layer, each line of the song conjuring up the past which I have yet to let go of. They jump up at me like snapshots, each click a painful memory.

A Thrill of Hope, The Weary Soul Rejoices. For Yonder Breaks, A New and Glorious Morn.

Click. Mom, dad and I, a happy family. Click. We’re decorating the Christmas tree. Mom and dad look at each other with so much love and joy in their eyes. Click. Mom and dad fight. Click. Dad comes home late. Click. He’s drunk again. I can tell from the way he’s unable to enunciate his words clearly. Click. Mom brings home a new guy she met at work. He has eyes, the green of the clear ocean, an aquiline nose, a set of straight teeth and not to mention his vast knowledge in the field of culinary arts. He is the paragon of Mr. Perfect, which woman in her right mind would choose to let him go? Click. Mom and dad sign the divorce papers and I never saw dad again after that. Although I am glad that mom is finally happy, I still long for us to be a family again. Black eyed peas, I second you, where on earth IS the love?

Fall on Your Knees, O Hear the Angel’s Voice. O Night, Divine, O Night, When Christ Was Born.

Click. I hear the booming sound of sirens. It’s coming from an ambulance. Click. It’s heading towards the hospital from my best friend, Lily’s place. Click. I rush to the hospital. Click. I see her parents. Their faces knitted with the worry that their daughter wouldn’t survive the asthma attack. Click. A doctor emerges from an operating room and heads towards her parents.  Their eyes are round circles of alarm and their cheeks are hollowed out with fear as the doctor delivers the life wrecking news to them. Click. The words “passed away” battered in our ears, pounded in our heads and drummed in our throats. Click. Her mom breaks down. The grey sullen sky outside seems to fit our dismal thoughts. Click. Hot tears blur my vision and trickle down my face as I reminisce the many good times we shared. Now all of it is but a distant memory. Why do the good die young?

O Night, Divine. O Night, O Night Divine.

Click. It’s Alex. Click. I watch him walk towards me from a distance. He completes the autumn sun set scenery that is displayed before me. Click. He’s got a mop of curly brown hair, deep maroon of mahogany eyes that dances when he talks, a cheeky smile that reveals his perfect teeth, soft lines at his jaw and a rugged physique. All in all, he has strong but striking features and an air of inquisitiveness he inherits from his father. Click. I welcome him with a loving embrace and he responds with a kiss that sends tingles down my spine. Click. He’s happy, I’m happy, we’re happy. Or so I thought. Click. I catch him flirting with another girl. Click. She gets into his car and they drive off into the night. Click. I call him up for the millionth time, but it goes straight to his voice mail. I sink into my couch and balled my eyes out to sleep. Splendid, just when I thought things were perfect. Click. I’m having breakfast at my favourite restaurant. I see him. Click. Our eyes meet. My body rigid with anger, my face full of rage and my eyes, on fire. Click. I pull out the ring he had given to me on our 1 year anniversary and slam it on the table. Click. I storm out. My complexion was now the colour of whey, my eyes, duller and troubled, every muscle and sinew tense by anger. Click. I cry again.

Just as the song comes to an end, the clock strikes 12 and fireworks shoot into the night sky to commemorate the birth of the little baby Jesus. They paint the dull sky with such fluorescent colours; I couldn’t help but stand amaze at the multi-coloured sky. I imagine each firework being one of my troubles. I imagine them being lifted into the sky and bursting to show their true colour. For the first time in a long time, I say a silent prayer and smile as the weight from my shoulders dissipate into thin air. Suddenly, my phone vibrates. I check the screen and feel a tear ooze out from the corner of my eye. “O holy night, indeed”, I manage to chuckle before I answer the call airily.

“Merry Christmas, dad! It’s about time you called…”

***

I'm helping my friend once again. She's quite the writer, don't you think. I'm really happy to help her out :) Give her your critisism and comments, please? She wants to improve and she can't do it without you. Thanks :D