In A Perfect Holiday World

The roar of the fire picks up as another log cracks and splits, shifting the pile and sending up a brief fireworks display. No one rises to tend to the fire just now. They are too content snuggling under crazy quilts in bright Christmas colors. Each is unique, marked by the imperfections one finds in such pieces which have been made lovingly by an arthritic hand. In an instant, one can locate the seamstress. She is huddled by the fire, gently stroking a quilt more fragile and faded than the rest as she watches the flames. Her bluish hair has been piled into a loose bun atop her head. Slender fingers trace the pattern of the quilt on her lap. Her dark eyes probably see the quilt before them as she gazes into the flames.

Those dark eyes that seem to burn richer than the flames look up for a moment to survey the room and then dart back to the fire. One can almost see the beauty of youth pouring out of those eyes. Surely, she could not be so old. She gazes at the fire some more as if waiting for something. For a moment her face is empty, devoid of all life and all emotion.

She lacks nothing in this room, however. The rich scents of holiday cookies, ham, candy canes, and pine fill the air, attesting to the holiday meal and spirit that has brought so many to relax peacefully in this large room. The vaulted ceiling is held up by huge wooden beams that span the length of the room. More quilts and streamers in holiday colors have been flung from them, floating in the air overhead. The floor is made of more gleaming wood with each board falling into place perfectly to meet the one beside it. Holiday music seems to trickle through the room in waves, moving from peaceful traditional tunes that bring memories and tears to comical renditions that melt even the hardest face into a smile or soft laugh.

Then there are the occupants of the room--the true treasure of any holiday gathering. The fireplace can not fill the room with as much warmth as the love these people obviously have for each other. They snuggle close without suggesting anything that would bring a preacher or prude to cover offended eyes in shame. Some of them even talk softly under the music, adding another current to the harmony of the room.

The old woman's eyelids slowly fall closed and she tilts her head as if listening to the breathing all around her. Though the room is peaceful enough to dream, she does not sleep. One can tell that she is ever ready to burst back into motion if given just cause. A cause always comes for one to awake.

One of the small children who had been quietly entertaining herself by eating the popcorn off the tree accidentally knocks one of the glittering bulbs onto the plush red tree skirt. The ball proceeds to roll onto the hardwood floor, tinkling softly as the delicate glass shatters. Tears leap instantly into pale blue eyes as the cherubic face melts. Golden curls fall across her rosy cheeks as she sinks to her knees, trying to pick up the shattered shards of the ornament.

The old woman is the first to reach the child though she is the furthest away. She places a slender hand on the girls shoulder as she speaks softly, "Quadrangel, put it down my darling. I don't want you to get hurt."

"But, Bella, I broke your bulb," the girl replies through sniffles and tears.

"That's why it is good to be a superhero," the woman replies.

She whispers something imperceptible. The slivers of delicate glass leap from the little girl's hand, pulling themselves back into a perfect sphere. Then the bulb twists in the air, catching the light oddly for a second as the shattered pieces melt back into a whole. It spins one more time around before falling into Quadrangel's outstretched hands. She cups the ball gently, looking up into Bellabooo's dark eyes.

"Now put it back on the tree, baby girl," Bellabooo says.

"Thank you, Bella, for fixing it."

She laughs a little as she puts the bulb back on the tree. Then she is turning around to toss herself into Bellabooo's open arms.

"You're not mad at me?" She asks in a trembling voice.

"Oh, darling, a broken bulb is nothing."

"Even if you couldn't fix it?"

"Even if I couldn't fix it, honey, there are more important things that can never be broken."

Bellabooo smiles down into Quadrangel's inquiring face. Sitting with a grace of a much younger woman, she pulls the girl into her lap. Every face in the room has turned to watch them with sleepy eyes.

"Important things like loving each other and being true to each other. As you know, that is the true meaning of Christmas..."

As Bellabooo relates the story of Christmas, calm settles over the room. All the listeners feel a certain peace come over them. It is like being lost in a beautiful dream and seeing the Nativity unfold before them. And Bellabooo finds a strange thought traveling through her mind as she finishes:

'And if in that moment, I have peace, would you blame me for wanting to dream forever?'

It seems such an odd thing to have reverberating through one's head, but Bellabooo nods as if she understands completely. Her loosely pulled up hair wavers a little as if it will fall down, cascading in ringlets about her withered shoulders. Just then Quandrangel reaches up with sleepy arms to embrace her.

"Merry Christmas," she whispers.

"Merry Christmas to you darling. Now off to bed so you can wake up in the morning and unwrap your presents. And Merry Christmas to you as well," she says turning to look at the generations of lords and ladies that fill the room.