Home is Where the Heart is
The air is crisp and cold as it should be. I shove my hands into my pockets, ignoring the wind as best as I can. Not too far away, a little girl squeals in delight at the night's sky. There are no clouds and I know the stars must be shining bright. I don't look up. I don't care. Around me, people are quickening their pace. Children are laughing and chasing each other to the sound of their mothers' call. I wish I could tell them to never ignore their mother's call. But I can't and I don't. I watch them all, these happy families, as one by one, they enter the church. I don't follow.
I wait.
In silence. In the shadows.
Will they come? Will I see them? A part of me wishes they wouldn't, wishes that they would stay away, while another part of me is begging for them to show up. I don't pray. Not even on this night. I learned a long time ago that no one was listening. Unfortunately, not even this knowledge keeps me from hoping.
There are fewer people now, only a few remaining stragglers dare brave the cold to run some last minute errands. I take out my watch, an old thing that doesn't fit my wrist anymore, and see that mass should start any moment. My eyes search the area one last time, my heart heavy with regret, when I see four cars pulling up in the church's parking lot one after the other.
I light up instantly and even take a step forward to get a better look at the late comers, only to retreat hastily in the shadows. They are here! They came! For a few blissful seconds, I don't feel anything as I gaze hungrily at each of their faces. The pain, I know, will soon follow, but for a moment, just a moment, I am content.
Until I see her.
My heart gives a painful pang as I recognize her in the familiar crowd. For a second, I forget how old I am and wish I could fling myself into her arms.
Mom.
She seems so much smaller than I remember. Her hair, however, is just as red, although shorter. Even from the distance, I can see how kind and warm her smile is as she talks to the blond child at her side I know to be Megan's son. My nephew. Still just a toddler.
Am I just imagining the fleeing sadness in my mother's face as the boy holds out his arms for my sister to pick him up? Guilt and shame flood my heart. Just a few steps, one word, just one word from my lips and the world would be right again.
But I can't.
Not now. Not ever.
So I hold my peace and watch my family disappear in the church. The doors close behind them and the night suddenly seems eerily still. I can feel the cold now and yet, I can't will myself to move. To leave. Not even when I sense their presence behind me.
"Are you done?" asks the first, smaller man, with his usual impatience. "Not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?
– Harry, give him a break, will you? Besides, he knows better, don't you Kevin?"
I sigh but do not bother answering.
"Come on kid, let's go home", adds the other man on a much gentler tone.
No matter the kindness behind those words, they scorch me.
Home.
You don't even know the meaning of the word, Marv, I though bitterly. I know better than to voice these thoughts. I had long since learned the hard way to hold my tongue.
As the hymns from the church dimly fill the air, the pain suddenly hits. I grit my teeth to keep my tears from escaping as I follow the two men in silence. Just before disappearing once more into the night, I take one last look at the small church.
God, I hate Christmas.