Led by the Light of a Star

(Chapter Three)

Funny, the way the human mind works sometimes.  Though it had been his intention to get as far away as possible from everything he knew, something…something deep inside his subconscious, made him take all of the turns it took to get him back into the Village, and in front of their building.  Her building.  Their life.

He stood on the frozen curb, staring up at the light that emanated from the apartment window.  Warm, golden, inviting, were the words that used to come to his head, when he would walk up to the building, on his way home from work.  His mind would fill with visions of Monica; with the sweet scents of whatever she was cooking for dinner that night; with the love that shone in her eyes, when he walked through the door.

Lately though, he would look up at the light, and wonder what kind of mood Monica would be in; how mad she would be at the slightest detail going awry, sending the entire wedding, and thus, Monica's entire life, off course.  He would wonder if she bothered to cook anything, or if she would tell him to make himself a sandwich, and leave her alone.  Not that he was totally incapable of cooking…but Monica didn't like him to be in the kitchen without her supervision, and the last thing he wanted to do was set her off these days.

This night, however, he just wanted to see her face; to tell her he was sorry, and that he wanted to spend his life with her.

But he couldn't.  He couldn't because his pride got in the way; because he knew that nothing would change; because she never listened, and he was exhausted.

Sighing heavily, he entered the building, stopping only briefly on their floor.  He peered quickly at their closed apartment door, and then ascended the stairs to the roof.

It was a clear night, and bitterly cold.  He exhaled, his eyes following the white mist that danced from his dry lips. 

"Bahh!" Chandler jumped back, when he saw the old man from the church standing on the other end of the roof.

"How—How the hell did you get up here?" Chandler yelled, "And who are you?"

"My name's Charlie; and I flew up here."

"You-you flew?" Chandler asked incredulously.

"Yes," Charlie said matter-of-factly, and crossed the roof toward Chandler.

Chandler backed up. "Okay, uh, I gotta go…" he said, and turned to leave.

"Where are you going to go, Chandler?" Charlie called out, stopping Chandler in his tracks.

Chandler turned slowly, "How did you know my name?" he whispered.

"I know everything about you," Charlie smiled, "Chandler Muriel Bing.  You work for Lipson Enterprises. You are an only child.  Your parents divorced when you were 8, because your father was sleeping with the houseboy.  Your first serious relationship was with a woman that has, quite possibly, the most annoying voice in the Universe.  You…"

"Okay!  So, we've established that you know me.  Why are you here?  Are you stalking me?  And if so, why?  Do I owe you money?  Are you—"

"Chandler, calm down.  I'm not stalking you.  I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Chandler's brow furrowed.

"Yes.  Help you find your way home."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but I live in this very building."

"I know.  I meant it figuratively."

"What?"

"I'm an angel, Chandler."

"Oh, okay," Chandler laughed, and shook his head.

"No, I am.  I—"

"Okay, how about we go inside, and get you some coffee?" Chandler said slowly.

"Fine, you want proof, here's proof," Charlie snapped his fingers, and Chandler suddenly found himself standing in his parent's old house, in the living room, in front of a towering Christmas Tree.

"What the—" Chandler looked around, and saw his father, or a much younger version of him, sitting in his favorite reading chair.

"Dad?" Chandler whispered.

"He can't hear you," Charlie said quietly.  They were silent for a moment, and suddenly Chandler heard the faint sound of his mother, singing softly in the other room.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;

It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Christ was born!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!

Chandler smiled nostalgically, as the memories of his childhood came flooding back.  Then, just when Chandler thought it just couldn't get any stranger, a tiny, five-year-old version of himself came running into the living room, arms outstretched to resemble wings, and a sound that vaguely resembled and airplane engine coming out of his mouth.

"Chandler, no running in the house," Charles barked, without looking up from his morning paper.

Little Chandler dropped his arms heavily, and looked dejectedly toward the ground.  He looked up at the tree, and his eyes lit up again, when he caught sight of the vast amount of gifts under the tree.  He bolted toward the tree, and plopped himself at the edge of the avalanche of gifts.

"Are these for me?" Chandler asked, wide-eyed.

"All yours, sport, open up," Charles said.

Chandler grinned, and began to rip apart gifts, until he was practically buried in paper, boxes and toys.

The adult Chandler watched silently, a sad smile played upon his lips.

"I remember this Christmas," Chandler whispered softly, "I finished opening my gifts, and I looked around the room, and I was completely surrounded.  I looked toward my father's chair, but he wasn't there.  My mom was gone too.  Later, they'd told me they had some Christmas luncheon to go to.  But at the time, I was totally alone, and I had no idea why.  I spent the entire day looking for them, all through the house.  I'd totally forgotten about the gifts at that point," Chandler sighed, as he watched his younger self's face, looking completely euphoric.  The adult version mourned the shattering of the moment that loomed.

"Was this Christmas the exception or the rule for you?" Charlie asked softly.

Chandler looked at his feet, then up at the young Chandler—the one who'd just realized that he was alone in the room.

"The rule," Chandler whispered, his words muffled by the lump that had formed in his throat.

"And so you grew up thinking that you should always be this miserable during the holidays?" Charlie inquired.

"I…I don't know," Chandler sighed sadly.

"Because this year, you can have a wonderful Christmas…the best you've ever had.  But you need to let go, and…go home."

"Well, I was home, but then you brought me into Mind-trip-ville," Chandler said.

"No, not home," Charlie pointed out the window, "Home," he said slowly, as he pointed to Chandler's heart.  He watched, as Chandler's eyes and mind registered the words.  "You are on the verge of having something unbelievable…and your instincts to kick away from the commitment will ruin it.  This isn't about weddings, or ex-lovers, or misunderstandings that lead to words you'll regret.  It's about your fear to cross over into the one thing that will change your life.  Her. 

You have the opportunity to fill your life with a dozen much better Christmas'.  Look at the younger you," Charlie pointed to the young Chandler, who was now wading through his spent packages, to find his absent parents, "You have the chance to see that look again.  To see that pure and utter joy that lights up a room, and fills your heart.  You can give that to your children—that one gift that your parents never gave you…"

"I—" Chandler stumbled over his thoughts, as his eyes searched the floor blankly.  He blinked, and suddenly, he was back on his roof, looking into the diamond-studded night sky.