With a dazed glance, I found myself in the comforts of my speeding car on the night
before Christmas. The murky skies awaited the waking dawn as I drove further under the moonlight. With the lamps as my guiding light, I took a moment to wander
my gaze atop the festive decorations on the warm homes around me. A joyous
emotion resonated off these lovely lights. As I faded into my consciousness,
the stereo embraced me with my favorite indie rock song. I pondered about my
destination for the night and it came to me as a weak knock on the door.
Finding myself at a dimly lit doorstep. My face barely visibly under the
hanging star, giving off emanations as a late guest to this old couple’s cozy
living. Grunts and grizzles were heard as a man, frail in movement, made his
way indifferently to answer the door at 04:00 in the morning. It was an hour
early to his usual rise, yet I was hours away from home.
We don’t
talk much, the old man and I. The feelings we share for one another outweigh
any clock or night. Perhaps we’re both too stubborn to express, maybe we’re
simply too distant in our own cases. The door creaks open as the first few
words I hear as signs of an acting disgruntlement. I lay gaze onto the man
emerging out of the darkness to meet me under the same dimly lit star. Our
faces shined with a red hue, flavoring the moment with the Christmas theme. I
was no early Santa. For him, being unable to recognize my countenance was
smoothly understood. This marked me with angst, trying to recall when my last
visit was. Neither of us could quantify it. His memory has been losing the
fight against his age and my facial attributes has struggled the battles of
puberty.
My
fingertips grazed against the torn envelope I have in my chilly grasp. A man
from the bygone era where postcards flourished, in all his eighty plus years of
life has never missed to send Christmas greetings ever since my birth. With a
swift gesture, my palm rose to reveal the postcard to him. Following the smile
that curled onto the edges of his lips, I uttered my first few words that have
been long awaited by the old man. “Merry Christmas, Grandpa.” I noticed his
brown orbs lazily shut as he took in his moment of reunion, one that we both
awaited years for. I yearned to be his present on the night before Christmas as
the man of the past opened his arms to my sides for an embrace. We shed no
tears of joy but our hearts felt one another in a soft gesture of endearment. I
froze in time as we momentarily became a single entity of unconditional love.
After sharing
a few seconds to help us memorize that moment, he took his time to pivot and
welcome me to our hall. I slipped the postcard into my jacket and rummaged
through it to safeguard my gift I have brought for the loving old couple. I
felt the first glimmer of light sneak through the open doorway with the dawn of
Christmas blues. Taking the first steps into my home, I left the door wide for
the morning breeze to accompany us.
