Christmas Story
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of the many machines in the room cut through the darkened silence like a scalpel. The only light visible was over the head of bed, reflecting off of the pale, dry skin of the face below. Twisted around the light cord was a length of gold Christmas tinsel, providing a discordant counterpoint to the business like starkness that was the rest of the room. It fluttered in the heat generated by the bulb and caused a shadow to cross the face of the man sitting with his head resting on his hands, next to the bed. The small movement caused him to lift his head to check from whence the movement came.
His head turned to the illuminated face hoping that the movement came from there. Realising that it hadn't, the hope that had sprung to life, flickered briefly and disappeared.
The door behind him opened and someone stepped quietly into the room.
"How is he?" Jesse asked.
"Still the same Jess," Mark replied without taking his eyes from his sons face.
Moving forward, Jesse began to check for himself, the condition of his patient. BP. Pulse. Heart-rate. After methodically recording them all on the chart, he began to examine the wound on Steve's head.
'It looks clean Mark," he said, " We managed to get the bullet out cleanly, but until Steve comes round we won't know if there been any damage."
"I still can't believe this is happening Jesse. We were only talking this morning about what we were going to do on Christmas Day. You know, the usual trip to the shelter in the morning and then back to the house for breakfast and presents," Marks voice took on an angry tone as he continued, "Why does something like this always happen during a holiday season? I am getting so fed up with it all."
Laying a gentle hand on Mark's shoulder Jesse said, "Why don't you go and have a decent rest? You have hardly left Steve's side for the last seventy two hours, since Steve was brought down from surgery. I'm off duty now, so I'll sit with him."
Looking at his young friends' face, Mark realised that he was not going to take no for an answer and he decided to give in gracefully. "Okay," he said, getting up, "I'll have a shower, change my clothes and be back in about an hour."
"Add a couple of hours sleep into that," Jesse responded, holding out his hand,"and you have a deal."
Realising that he was beaten, Mark took Jesse's hand, shook it and agreed.
xxxxxxxx
The corridors were darkened as Mark walked through them on the way to his office. He looked around him in surprise for he had not realised that it was night-time. In fact, since he had seen Steve wheeled into the ER with a paramedic straddling his chest performing CPR, time had ceased to have any meaning.
The Christmas decorations that adorned the walls and ceilings of CG fluttered in the breeze caused by Marks' passage, but he ignored them. Christmas, with all its attendant jollities and distractions, held no meaning for him. In the distance he heard the sound of voices singing carols and realised that it was Christmas Eve, for it was then that the staff travelled around the floors of Community General cheering up those patients who were not able to be at home.
Entering his office, Mark undid his tie, shrugged himself out of his shirt and walked into the tiny bathroom. Emerging, a while later, his hair slightly damp and with a towel wrapped around his neck, Mark moved across to the large, welcoming sofa. Pulling his shirt on, he sat down on the soft, beautifully upholstered seat and leant against the cushions. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to wander.
xxxxxxxxxx
72 hours earlier
Steve trod lightly up the stairs taking him from his downstairs unit to his dad's area, his nose twitching appreciatively at the smell which greeted him.
"That smells terrific dad," he said on entering the kitchen, "What's cooking?"
"The first of many batches of cinnamon cookies," Mark replied, "It's my contribution to the shelters' Christmas breakfast this year."
"I'm glad that I managed to get the day off this year," Steve replied, reaching out to deftly snatch a warm cookie from where a pile lay, cooling, on a wire tray, "I really missed that last year. Do you remember? I was in the middle of that undercover operation and couldn't get away."
"I remember," Marks tone showed that he remembered all too clearly, for Steve had missed not only Christmas but New Year as well and had turned up halfway through January, dishevelled and looking in serious need of sustenance.
"So," continued Steve, in an attempt to take his father's mind in another direction, "Are Amanda, the boys and Jesse joining us this year?"
"Yes, they are," Mark smiled, "They both have the day off and Amanda wants to introduce the boys to the concept of helping others."
Perching on a nearby stool, munching on the cookie he had snaffled, Steve said, "How did we first become involved with the shelter dad?"
"You know how," Mark replied.
"I know dad," Steve responded, "but tell me again."
Mark smiled for, despite his adult years, there was still something of the child in his son that he wanted to re-hear old stories.
"It was the year your mom died," he began, "and none of us felt much like celebrating Christmas."
Steve nodded. Even after all these years, the memory still had the power to hurt.
"Well, we all sat down and discussed what we could do." Mark continued, "You and Carol had had an assembly at school about a local shelter for the homeless. They were running short of money and were threatened with closure just before Christmas. Both of you came home incensed that something like that could happen and before I knew it we were organising all sorts of fundraising activities. Everything snowballed and enough money was raised to keep the shelter open. You also insisted, if you remember, that we put all the money we were going to have spent on presents into the fund as well."
"I do remember dad," Steve smiled, "and then on Christmas morning you decided that Carol and I ought to see who our money was going to help."
"Yes and our family have been helping there on Christmas Day ever since, with the odd exception."
Shifting a little to face his father Steve spoke, "When everything else around me seemed to be falling apart the reality of life at the shelter kept me going."
Mark reached out and squeezed Steve's shoulder. Words seemed superfluous.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The click of his office door opening woke Mark sometime later. He sat up, rubbing his face and pushing his hair away from his eyes. It took a little while to focus his vision and when he did he saw Jesse standing in the doorway.
"What's the matter Jess?" he asked anxiously, "Is it Steve, is he okay?"
"Still the same Mark," Jesse replied, "It's just that you have been much longer than you said you would be and I wanted to check on you."
"I fell asleep," Mark began to get up as he spoke.
"Good," Jesses reply was succinct and Mark smiled, his first genuine smile in days.
xxxxxxxxx Much later Mark was again sat by Steve's bedside. He looked down at his unconscious son and wondered if he would, ever again, be able to talk to him. He began, as most fathers would in a similar situation, to mentally berate himself for all the things that he had never said to Steve, all the angry words he had ever uttered to him. However, just as he was beginning to sink into a black despair he remembered the final words that Steve had uttered to him before he left the house 3 days earlier.
"You know dad," he had said, turning to stand in the kitchen doorway to look at his father, "I know we don't always see eye to eye on things and we have had our rough patches in the past, but I wouldn't swap you for any other father on the planet. I love you dad."
His eyes filling with tears Mark whispered, "I love you too, son."
In the time that Mark had been away from the ICU Jesse had been busy, for in the corner of the room away from all the paraphernalia he had had a cot put up for Mark to lay down on. Even though he had had a couple of hours sleep earlier on that evening, the tension of the last three days was catching up with him and Mark decided that he would be far more use to Steve when he regained consciousness, if he was as rested as he could possibly be. So, moving across to it, Mark lay down and before he finally succumbed to the sleep that was slowly creeping over him, he prayed. He prayed that his son would be restored to him. He prayed that Steve would be whole, but that if that wasn't to be then he, Mark, would still love him - no matter what.
Unnoticed by Mark, the seconds, minutes and then the hours slowly ticked by until the hands of the clock up on the wall, above the door, were both pointing at the number twelve. The door to Steve's ICU room opened slowly and, illuminated in a light that seemed to come from within stood a tall, bearded man dressed all in white. For a few seconds the stranger stood there, looking at the scene in front of him. Slowly he walked over to the bed where Steve lay, so pale and still. He laid one hand gently on Steve's forehead and spoke some words which, even had Mark been awake, he would not have understood. For a moment Steve's breathing seemed to falter but just as the machine that was monitoring it began to react, he took a deep juddering lungful of air and began to breathe again. The stranger smiled, turned and then left the room.
xxxxxxxxxx
Something in the air woke Mark, although he could have said what it was. Leaping up as best he could from the cot he moved swiftly over to Steve's side. What he saw had him reaching blindly for the alarm button above Steve's head. Seconds later the door was flung open and Jesse rushed in his hair tousled and his white coat only half on.
"What is it Mark? What's happened?" he cried.
"He's asleep Jess!" Mark exclaimed, "I don't know how, but he is in a natural sleep."
"I need to check him out," responded Jesse steeping around his sleepy, but thrilled friend.
Stepping back to allow his friend to work Mark looked around him and he saw the elevator doors shutting. Through the gap in the doors he caught a glimpse of the figure in white and just before they closed completely the man raised his hand in greeting. Mark later described the feeling of complete peace and certainty that Steve was going to be alright that came over him at that moment.
"Mark?" Jesses voice cut into his brain.
Mark turned and moved to stand next to Jesse asking, "Well?"
"You are right Mark, he is asleep." Jesse responded, "I don't know how, but he is going to be okay. I can't even begin to explain how it happened so quickly."
Thinking back to the figure in the lift Mark said simply, "A miracle Jess, a Christmas miracle."
The sound of movement from behind them caused both Mark and Jesse to turn on their heels to face the bed. Steve had turned his head and opened his eyes. Mark took the remaining distance between where he stood and his son in a single stride.
"Steve!"
Steve's voice, when he spoke, was very weak as he asked, "What day is it?"
Looking up at the clock and realising that the minute hand had passed the twelve Mark laid his hand on his sons and said, "Christmas Day. Welcome back son."
Fighting to keep his eyes open, Steve looked up at his father and said, "Guess you'll have to do the shelter breakfast without me again this year."
"That's okay son," Mark replied, tears in his voice as well as his eyes, "At least you are still here for me to come back to."
"Merry Christmas dad," Steve mumbled, finally succumbing to sleep and so didn't hear his father's reply.
"Merry Christmas son. I love you."
THE END
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound of the many machines in the room cut through the darkened silence like a scalpel. The only light visible was over the head of bed, reflecting off of the pale, dry skin of the face below. Twisted around the light cord was a length of gold Christmas tinsel, providing a discordant counterpoint to the business like starkness that was the rest of the room. It fluttered in the heat generated by the bulb and caused a shadow to cross the face of the man sitting with his head resting on his hands, next to the bed. The small movement caused him to lift his head to check from whence the movement came.
His head turned to the illuminated face hoping that the movement came from there. Realising that it hadn't, the hope that had sprung to life, flickered briefly and disappeared.
The door behind him opened and someone stepped quietly into the room.
"How is he?" Jesse asked.
"Still the same Jess," Mark replied without taking his eyes from his sons face.
Moving forward, Jesse began to check for himself, the condition of his patient. BP. Pulse. Heart-rate. After methodically recording them all on the chart, he began to examine the wound on Steve's head.
'It looks clean Mark," he said, " We managed to get the bullet out cleanly, but until Steve comes round we won't know if there been any damage."
"I still can't believe this is happening Jesse. We were only talking this morning about what we were going to do on Christmas Day. You know, the usual trip to the shelter in the morning and then back to the house for breakfast and presents," Marks voice took on an angry tone as he continued, "Why does something like this always happen during a holiday season? I am getting so fed up with it all."
Laying a gentle hand on Mark's shoulder Jesse said, "Why don't you go and have a decent rest? You have hardly left Steve's side for the last seventy two hours, since Steve was brought down from surgery. I'm off duty now, so I'll sit with him."
Looking at his young friends' face, Mark realised that he was not going to take no for an answer and he decided to give in gracefully. "Okay," he said, getting up, "I'll have a shower, change my clothes and be back in about an hour."
"Add a couple of hours sleep into that," Jesse responded, holding out his hand,"and you have a deal."
Realising that he was beaten, Mark took Jesse's hand, shook it and agreed.
xxxxxxxx
The corridors were darkened as Mark walked through them on the way to his office. He looked around him in surprise for he had not realised that it was night-time. In fact, since he had seen Steve wheeled into the ER with a paramedic straddling his chest performing CPR, time had ceased to have any meaning.
The Christmas decorations that adorned the walls and ceilings of CG fluttered in the breeze caused by Marks' passage, but he ignored them. Christmas, with all its attendant jollities and distractions, held no meaning for him. In the distance he heard the sound of voices singing carols and realised that it was Christmas Eve, for it was then that the staff travelled around the floors of Community General cheering up those patients who were not able to be at home.
Entering his office, Mark undid his tie, shrugged himself out of his shirt and walked into the tiny bathroom. Emerging, a while later, his hair slightly damp and with a towel wrapped around his neck, Mark moved across to the large, welcoming sofa. Pulling his shirt on, he sat down on the soft, beautifully upholstered seat and leant against the cushions. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to wander.
xxxxxxxxxx
72 hours earlier
Steve trod lightly up the stairs taking him from his downstairs unit to his dad's area, his nose twitching appreciatively at the smell which greeted him.
"That smells terrific dad," he said on entering the kitchen, "What's cooking?"
"The first of many batches of cinnamon cookies," Mark replied, "It's my contribution to the shelters' Christmas breakfast this year."
"I'm glad that I managed to get the day off this year," Steve replied, reaching out to deftly snatch a warm cookie from where a pile lay, cooling, on a wire tray, "I really missed that last year. Do you remember? I was in the middle of that undercover operation and couldn't get away."
"I remember," Marks tone showed that he remembered all too clearly, for Steve had missed not only Christmas but New Year as well and had turned up halfway through January, dishevelled and looking in serious need of sustenance.
"So," continued Steve, in an attempt to take his father's mind in another direction, "Are Amanda, the boys and Jesse joining us this year?"
"Yes, they are," Mark smiled, "They both have the day off and Amanda wants to introduce the boys to the concept of helping others."
Perching on a nearby stool, munching on the cookie he had snaffled, Steve said, "How did we first become involved with the shelter dad?"
"You know how," Mark replied.
"I know dad," Steve responded, "but tell me again."
Mark smiled for, despite his adult years, there was still something of the child in his son that he wanted to re-hear old stories.
"It was the year your mom died," he began, "and none of us felt much like celebrating Christmas."
Steve nodded. Even after all these years, the memory still had the power to hurt.
"Well, we all sat down and discussed what we could do." Mark continued, "You and Carol had had an assembly at school about a local shelter for the homeless. They were running short of money and were threatened with closure just before Christmas. Both of you came home incensed that something like that could happen and before I knew it we were organising all sorts of fundraising activities. Everything snowballed and enough money was raised to keep the shelter open. You also insisted, if you remember, that we put all the money we were going to have spent on presents into the fund as well."
"I do remember dad," Steve smiled, "and then on Christmas morning you decided that Carol and I ought to see who our money was going to help."
"Yes and our family have been helping there on Christmas Day ever since, with the odd exception."
Shifting a little to face his father Steve spoke, "When everything else around me seemed to be falling apart the reality of life at the shelter kept me going."
Mark reached out and squeezed Steve's shoulder. Words seemed superfluous.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The click of his office door opening woke Mark sometime later. He sat up, rubbing his face and pushing his hair away from his eyes. It took a little while to focus his vision and when he did he saw Jesse standing in the doorway.
"What's the matter Jess?" he asked anxiously, "Is it Steve, is he okay?"
"Still the same Mark," Jesse replied, "It's just that you have been much longer than you said you would be and I wanted to check on you."
"I fell asleep," Mark began to get up as he spoke.
"Good," Jesses reply was succinct and Mark smiled, his first genuine smile in days.
xxxxxxxxx Much later Mark was again sat by Steve's bedside. He looked down at his unconscious son and wondered if he would, ever again, be able to talk to him. He began, as most fathers would in a similar situation, to mentally berate himself for all the things that he had never said to Steve, all the angry words he had ever uttered to him. However, just as he was beginning to sink into a black despair he remembered the final words that Steve had uttered to him before he left the house 3 days earlier.
"You know dad," he had said, turning to stand in the kitchen doorway to look at his father, "I know we don't always see eye to eye on things and we have had our rough patches in the past, but I wouldn't swap you for any other father on the planet. I love you dad."
His eyes filling with tears Mark whispered, "I love you too, son."
In the time that Mark had been away from the ICU Jesse had been busy, for in the corner of the room away from all the paraphernalia he had had a cot put up for Mark to lay down on. Even though he had had a couple of hours sleep earlier on that evening, the tension of the last three days was catching up with him and Mark decided that he would be far more use to Steve when he regained consciousness, if he was as rested as he could possibly be. So, moving across to it, Mark lay down and before he finally succumbed to the sleep that was slowly creeping over him, he prayed. He prayed that his son would be restored to him. He prayed that Steve would be whole, but that if that wasn't to be then he, Mark, would still love him - no matter what.
Unnoticed by Mark, the seconds, minutes and then the hours slowly ticked by until the hands of the clock up on the wall, above the door, were both pointing at the number twelve. The door to Steve's ICU room opened slowly and, illuminated in a light that seemed to come from within stood a tall, bearded man dressed all in white. For a few seconds the stranger stood there, looking at the scene in front of him. Slowly he walked over to the bed where Steve lay, so pale and still. He laid one hand gently on Steve's forehead and spoke some words which, even had Mark been awake, he would not have understood. For a moment Steve's breathing seemed to falter but just as the machine that was monitoring it began to react, he took a deep juddering lungful of air and began to breathe again. The stranger smiled, turned and then left the room.
xxxxxxxxxx
Something in the air woke Mark, although he could have said what it was. Leaping up as best he could from the cot he moved swiftly over to Steve's side. What he saw had him reaching blindly for the alarm button above Steve's head. Seconds later the door was flung open and Jesse rushed in his hair tousled and his white coat only half on.
"What is it Mark? What's happened?" he cried.
"He's asleep Jess!" Mark exclaimed, "I don't know how, but he is in a natural sleep."
"I need to check him out," responded Jesse steeping around his sleepy, but thrilled friend.
Stepping back to allow his friend to work Mark looked around him and he saw the elevator doors shutting. Through the gap in the doors he caught a glimpse of the figure in white and just before they closed completely the man raised his hand in greeting. Mark later described the feeling of complete peace and certainty that Steve was going to be alright that came over him at that moment.
"Mark?" Jesses voice cut into his brain.
Mark turned and moved to stand next to Jesse asking, "Well?"
"You are right Mark, he is asleep." Jesse responded, "I don't know how, but he is going to be okay. I can't even begin to explain how it happened so quickly."
Thinking back to the figure in the lift Mark said simply, "A miracle Jess, a Christmas miracle."
The sound of movement from behind them caused both Mark and Jesse to turn on their heels to face the bed. Steve had turned his head and opened his eyes. Mark took the remaining distance between where he stood and his son in a single stride.
"Steve!"
Steve's voice, when he spoke, was very weak as he asked, "What day is it?"
Looking up at the clock and realising that the minute hand had passed the twelve Mark laid his hand on his sons and said, "Christmas Day. Welcome back son."
Fighting to keep his eyes open, Steve looked up at his father and said, "Guess you'll have to do the shelter breakfast without me again this year."
"That's okay son," Mark replied, tears in his voice as well as his eyes, "At least you are still here for me to come back to."
"Merry Christmas dad," Steve mumbled, finally succumbing to sleep and so didn't hear his father's reply.
"Merry Christmas son. I love you."
THE END