Notes: this is unrelated to my previous story about Bobby. Although this is mostly set during 2020, Covid does not exist in this universe.


It was a Friday evening, December 11th, 1992, and Bobby sighed. His mom had told him that he had to finish the dishes before he could go out with his friends, and of course he'd forgotten about it until five minutes ago. He was scrubbing as fast as he could, but the faster he scrubbed the more bubbles appeared on the plates. He finally had to slow down when he nearly dropped one of the plates. He looked out the window and saw that the sun had nearly left the sky although it was only 5:30pm.

He heard slippered feet walking towards him. It was his mom. She started picking up the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. "Hurry, Bobby," she said. "It's getting dark."

"I can go?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, but dad's going to pick you guys up from Mazzio's after the movie. I don't want you guys walking home that late when it's so dark."

"I'm fourteen, mom," Bobby replied.

"I love you too," she said and smiled, then she waved at him. He pulled on his jacket, grateful to live in L.A., where it didn't get too cold. He scurried to the theater, where Luke, Alex, and Reggie were already waiting for Bobby by the side of the ticket booth. They had to keep letting people in the line go in front of them.

"Dude, it's about time you showed up!" Alex grabbed his shoulder. "Luke is not okay."

"How am I supposed to be okay when they've sold out all the tickets to Sharks in the Dark?"

"Well," Reggie said. "They haven't sold out of the other movies."

"What do you want to see?" Luke asked.

"How about, A Muppet Christmas Carol?" Reggie asked.

"Isn't that a kid's movie, like 'Sesame Street?'" Bobby asked.

"No, it's the Muppets, and it's supposed to be really funny," Reggie said.

"I'm fine with it," Alex said. "I like Christmas."

Bobby looked at his watch. "Yeah, let's pick that one. We don't have much time."

"Alright, guys," Luke said. "We'll go. But, if it's not any good, you're buying my next ticket, Reg."

"Whatever," Reggie said, smiling, as they waited for the next turn in line.

They went into the theater and sat down. The projector blinked to life and soon the movie was playing, it's reels spinning in the little window far behind the guys.

They watched as Ebenezer Scrooge refused to help charities and even refused to let his employees off for Christmas. Gonzo the Great and Rizzo the Rat narrated in such a comical fashion that Reggie had to hold in his laughter when Alex prodded him for laughing too much. But, the gist of the movie was this: Scrooge saw a vision of the ghosts of his old, greedy, business partners in chains, punished for their ambivalence toward the poor and the suffering they caused to the orphanage as they evicted toddlers in the middle of winter. These ghosts warned him that he would be visited by three spirits. These spirits reiterated how the past, present, and future of his life, and explained that if he did not change, he would die with no true friends and doomed to torment like his business partners. But Scrooge did change, he helped people, and in turn, he was forgiven and able to trust them again.

When the credits started Reggie looked over at Luke and saw him smiling.

"Okay, Reg. You were right on that one. Still, it would've been great to see a horror movie like Sharks in the Dark." Luke stood up and smoothed his clothes.

"What do you see in horror movies?" Bobby asked.

"Dude, grow up a little," Luke said. "We're fourteen!"

"So?"

Luke turned around as they walked out of the theater, walking backwards. "We're fourteen. So, we're old enough to watch PG-13 movies."

"I mean, I guess," Reggie said.

"Prove you're a man," Luke said, turning around just in time to avoid walking into the street when they neared the crosswalk. "Horror movies don't scare me."

"Then why do you want to watch them all the time?" Alex asked.

"Okay, maybe they scare me a little." Luke admitted.

"Dude, score!" Bobby blurted out and high-fived Alex. They hurried across the street before the light changed.

"Where're we going?" Reggie asked.

"Mazzio's Pizza," Bobby answered. "Apparently my dad is picking us up afterward."

"Cool," Reggie said. He wished his parents cared enough to pick him up after the movies. Well, it's not that they did not care, but that they were always busy or grumpy about something. They never had much fun together.

"Not cool. They worry all the time about me," Bobby said. "Grades, sleep, my room."

"I thought you kept your room pretty neat," Alex said.

"Because I have to be. I'm not allowed to leave any messes lying around." Bobby kicked a chip of pavement in frustration.

"It's just four more years, and we're free!" Luke leapt with emphasis. "We can be anything we want to be and go anywhere we want to go!"

"I don't think that's how it works," Reggie said.

"Oh, it's definitely how it works," Luke replied as they walked into Mazzio's.

"Okay, Luke, then, when you're eighteen, I'm going to come by and see how it's coming," Bobby said.

"C'mon… Don't be so cynical. It's Friday night and the stars are bright." Luke waltzed over to the counter and ordered pizzas and garlic breadsticks with French dip. He grabbed extra chili powder for the pizzas. "Time to set our tastebuds alight."

The others stared.

"What? I like to rhyme."

"We know," Reggie answered, and grinned.

They walked over to the table to wait for the food and sat down, metal chairs scratching the hard tile floor. Bobby turned his chair backwards and straddled it, leaning his chin and hands over the top of the chair back. "So, Luke, what are you going to do when you grow up?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what are you good at?" Alex asked.

"Well, I like to write, you know, little things." Luke shrugged.

"So, you've written stories?" Reggie asked. "Did you write one with me in it? Can I read it?"

"No, and no," Luke said. "C'mon, it's hard to… it's hard for me at least." Luke's face changed to a bemused grin, and he asked, "What about you, Reg.? What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure, I mean, my dad keeps telling me to go into insurance so I can join him in the business, but that sounds pretty boring. I think I'd like to have a ranch or travel, something interesting, different, you know?"

"I'd like to star in the movies," Bobby said. "Be famous. I want to walk into a room, and everyone says, 'That's Bobby Wilson, he's really cool.'"

Luke laughed hard and went to grab their food as the chef motioned to him that it was done.

"I think that would be weird," Alex said. "Paparazzi… crazed fans… How would you have a normal life?"

"There's no such thing as bad publicity," Bobby said, confidently.

"I don't know about that," Alex said.

"Yeah," Luke added. "Hollywood seems to be like some sort of club: you're either in or you're out."

"But we'll still be here for you after it all," Reggie said and took a big bite of pizza.

"Cool," Bobby's eyes twinkled. "Promise?"

Reggie, nodded, cheeks full of pizza.

Luke looked at Alex and Alex raised his eyebrows quizzically. Go on, Luke mouthed.

"Oh yeah," Alex said. "You know how I've been playing percussion for the school band? Well, my uncle bought me my own drum set. I've been practicing and it's pretty awesome. Maybe, when I'm older I can join a band. There are lots of singers, but they need backup, you know? And there are lots of places to perform in L.A."

"That's cool," Luke said. "I've been playing piano since I was eight, but I've finally convinced my parents to let me play the guitar. Maybe we can play together!"

"I'm not that good yet," Alex explained.

"Then we can learn together," Luke said.

The boys ate the pizza and after they had finished the last crust Bobby heard familiar footsteps. "Uh, my dad's here," he said. They got in the car and started to drive to drop off Reggie and Alex first, but Bobby asked, "Hey, dad, can the guys spend the night?"

"Yeah, that would be great!" Luke said enthusiastically from the backseat that he was sharing with Reggie and Bobby. Alex was in the front passenger seat, being the tallest of them, even at fourteen. Mr. Wilson glanced at Alex who seemed happy at Luke's suggestion.

"Well, I suppose," his dad said. "I'll drive home, and you guys can call and get permission from your families."

"Best dad ever," Reggie whispered to Bobby.

After getting permission, Bobby decided to take the guys out to the garage. The garage was separate from the house, and they mainly used it for storage for their camping supplies; they didn't have any cars in it. It was, in fact, the garage that Bobby would later sell to Ray and Rose Molina with the house after he became famous and rich. But it was not the same as now, for one thing, the only instruments it had were an old Yamaha keyboard and a basic acoustic guitar.

Bobby had come there to get the guitar. He tuned it and handed it to Luke. Luke sat on the edge of a chair and looked at the guitar. The neck was a little rounder than his at home and the body a little deeper. He paused a few seconds to get his bearings and began playing the first song he thought of: Happy Birthday.

"…Happy birthday to somebody, happy birthday to you!" He sang, strumming the chords. "Yeah, I learned this one first, so it's the easiest for me to play."

"What do you want to play?" Alex asked.

"Well, it would be pretty cool if I could play solos, like in 'Hotel California,' but it's fun playing chords too, and singing with them."

"You can do that with the piano, too," Reggie said.

"Yeah, but it just feels great to play the guitar. You can walk anywhere and play the guitar. You can play at the beach, at the park, and school. And, if I learned electric guitar, I could try all these neat effects," Luke explained.

"Maybe I could learn the guitar too," Reggie said.

"Then you should learn bass guitar," Alex added. "It would be easy for us to have our own band."

"Whoa, a band?" Bobby asked.

"Why not?" Alex asked. "You want to be famous, Reggie wants to travel, Luke likes to write, and I like the drums. It makes perfect sense when you think about it."

"Then, what do I play?" Bobby asked.

"You should learn the guitar and the keyboard. You already have the instruments. That way you and Luke can cover with keyboard parts or dual guitar parts. Like, if there's a lead guitarist and a rhythm guitarist."

It did make perfect sense and the others decided that they would meet three days a week after school to practice in Bobby's garage. They got tired and pulled out the sleeping bags and lay down in the garage: it was late, but a warm night, about 60 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Bobby?" Luke asked.

"Yeah?"

"Welcome to the band."

Bobby snorted. "You know, Luke, you kept saying you wanted to see a horror movie, and we did!"

"Huh?"

"A Christmas Carol is about ghosts!" Bobby said.

"Yeah, well, ghosts don't exist," Alex said. "You know that, right?"

"… Well, of course I know that!" Bobby interjected.

"The point of the movie is about sharing and compassion," Reggie added.

"I know, it's just that I keep thinking about it," Bobby said.

"Well, don't grow up to be a Scrooge, then," Alex said.

"But what if you were a Scrooge and did not know it?" Bobby asked. "Scrooge didn't become that way overnight."

"Then, I guess that's where the ghosts come in and haunt you," Luke teased, then sang the part from the movie, "We're Marley and Marley. Oooooh!"

Bobby sighed and looked at the ceiling and felt like something was missing.

Sunset Curve

It was December 24th, 2020, and Bobby woke with a start. He sighed and pulled out an old photo album. There was Sunset Curve, just as he remembered them, when everything was going fine and they were about to land a contract with a manager. Bobby laughed wistfully as he saw the band's dingy outfits – Luke's old jacket with no sleeves and Alex's pink Tide shirt ruined by an inattention to basic laundering rules. His and Reggie's love of black leather.

If only it could be as it was before the tragedy and the tears. Bobby still did not know what to think about the concert at the Orpheum that he and Carrie had gone to. He did not want to mention it to his therapist. The "holograms" had to be the guys, but how was it possible? Although Bobby still utilized meditation to try to calm down, his forays into talking with seers and psychics after his friends' deaths had only wasted his money.

Carrie had wanted to go on trip to Hawaii with her dance squad, and he'd paid for it, but he hadn't wanted to go himself. He needed time to think about what had happened and going to Hawaii would just be avoiding it. Besides, he'd been asked to play at a Christmas dinner for the mayor, and he did not want to refuse. Bobby did not book as many concerts as he used to, and he wanted to keep his name out in public. His bandmates and sound mixers had complained – they wanted Christmas off this year, but they needed to understand that this was part of the job. People needed entertainment for Christmas dinners just like hospitals needed nurses and doctors to work on every holiday of the year. Okay, maybe not quite like that but cancelling contracts would quickly put him in hot water with his agent and earn him a bad reputation.

He shook a little, seeing the photos they'd taken for their demo CD cover. They'd taken the moody photos and used those to look edgy on the cover, but there'd been quite a few photos of the 17-year-olds just smiling and laughing. He walked downstairs and went down to the basement, where he still had his red dual humbucker Gibson guitar he used in Sunset Curve. Of course, now he had guitars of better quality, but if his thoughts were in the past, it would be better that he grab the bull by the horns (or the guitar) and play it some to work through his emotions.

The guitar strings were somewhat corroded, and he could only play for a few minutes before it began to annoy him so much that he took it upstairs to grab some new ones from the desk. The desk was piled in letters from various charities asking for money. Unfortunately, a side-effect of his fame was that he received many more letters from charities than a regular person. He'd been meaning to go through the letters because he didn't want to shred fan mail by mistake. Besides, he had his own charity, "Trucks, Not Trunks" which had successfully started the food truck trend and advocated for the licensing and inspection of food trucks to protect diners from unsafe street food. It was not as if he had done nothing for the world. Besides, no matter how much money he gave, there would always be children starving in Sudan, enslaved girls to rescue and rehabilitate in Bangladesh, and food and clothing drives for the homeless shelters of L.A.

There, he'd gotten the strings, as he began to unwind the old ones, he prided himself that he changed his own strings on his guitar. It was too inconvenient to drive to the shop and pay $10 to get the strings changed there. As he twisted the tuners, he heard an unearthly squeal from his amplifier, followed by a spooky voice that said two words: Ebeneezer Scrooge!

I guess this guitar is not as shielded as I thought, Bobby mused. It must be picking up interference from a Christmas special on a local radio station. Ebeneezer would be a weird name for a rock band, although it would fit, as an ebeneezer is a stone of remembrance.

Shrugging, he tuned his guitar and searched for sheet music on the bookcase. He turned quickly, accidentally slapping the headstock of his guitar on a shelf, when, to his right, he thought he saw the picture of his first manager move!

For a split second, the eyes were a horrid fiery red, and the teeth glinted unsettlingly. Bobby stepped back. Was his old manager haunting him too? Hadn't Bobby been through enough already?

Apparently not, because, before Bobby's heart returned to its regular tempo, he saw a flicker in the fake fireplace. Suddenly, flames lit up the room as their light streamed out of the fireplace and Bobby squinted helplessly.

Blinded by the light, a great cacophony sounded around him and every amp in the house was squealing with the dreaded 60-cycle hum. He shielded his ears, but it did no good.

"Trevor Wilson," came a voice, and his manager, dressed to the nines in better times, but now covered in chains, he crawled out of the fireplace like a giant tarantula, tattered sleeves catching soot and spreading it in the carpet. He was more transparent than corporeal, and Bobby could see hints of the brickwork through his face. He had dark circles around his eyes and his skin was ashen.

"AAH!" Bobby shouted.

"I have come to give you an important message," the ghost said.

"I think I've already heard it," Bobby said, stepping back and holding his guitar like a shield in front of him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Bobby was afraid to answer.

"I was your manager, Bobby. Many years ago." He slid closer to Bobby, his chains dragging on the floor. Various records, CDs, microphones, and guitar cables were wrapped in and around the chains and scraped distractedly behind him. Bobby backed up nervously as the ghost creeped closer and the ghost, finally sensing Bobby's apprehension, asked. "May I sit?"

"You may," Bobby answered to get the ghost to back away, watching carefully. The ghost was so transparent that Bobby thought that he'd fall through the chair, but miraculously, he sat perched on the seat with ease. "Are you real?" Bobby asked.

"I am," the ghost replied. "Did you doubt it?"

"Yes, I think I'm hallucinating," Bobby said.

"I doubt that," the manager replied. "You never hallucinated when I knew you."

"It could be food poisoning," Bobby said, but the only problem with his stomach was the feeling of his sinking heart.

"Please," the ghost said. "You throw away food before it expires. You won't even eat sushi or Monterrey Jack cheese."

Bobby nodded. "If you're my friend, why are you here? Is this about Sunset Curve?"

"It is about you, and it is required for me, to roam the earth and witness what I could have changed to lead to happiness." He shook, and the chains rattled, and he put his face in his bone-white hands and moaned.

"What? What is it?" Bobby asked, coming closer.

"I am chained," the ghostly manager replied. "In life I forged each chain link by link, yard by yard. I put it on of my own free will. Does the pattern really look that strange to you?"

Bobby trembled.

"Or would you know, the weight of your own chain? Seven Christmases ago, it was as long and as heavy as mine, but now it is longer. You have worked on it since."

Bobby glanced over his shoulder, in search of the chain, but the only chain was the cable was that hanging from his guitar. Nervously, he turned the volume down on his guitar and unplugged it, the cable falling on his feet. He bit his lip, "Do you have any good news?"

"I bring none. I only warn you. Perhaps you will find other paths from others, but I am doomed to tread the same paths as in life, this time witnessing the effects of my cut-throat record business. You have no idea, how many days I have sat beside you, invisible, these last seven years."

Bobby shivered. To have a ghost watching his every move was, to say the least, uncomforting. He tried to salvage the awkwardness. "At least you were always my friend. Those early days were so tough on me and – "

"You will be haunted by three spirits, Trevor."

"Are you sure I have not already been?" Bobby asked, referring, of course, to his former bandmates.

A pained look spread over the manager's face. "Take my warning to heart, Trevor. I wish I had had your opportunity. Farewell!"

Suddenly, the chair was pulled over and the manager fell out of it. A growl came from the fireplace and a cranking occurred, pulling the chains. The manager fell to his stomach and was pulled feet first, back into the fireplace. "TREVOR!" he screamed once more.

And he was gone. Bobby picked up the chair and grabbed the vacuum cleaner to remove the ashes. His hallucinations were getting worse. He walked to his bedroom and set the guitar down on his bed beside him and lay down. With the guitar lying there, his bed did not look so empty. It had been too long since his wife had gotten that job in another city. He grabbed fistfuls of his blanket, shut his eyes, and began to take deep calming breaths. "Every day begins again, and watches don't stop ticking. Passionate without knowing why, I'm just afraid of not having the courage." He quoted lyrics to himself, from a strange show from Brazil that his daughter used to like.

But he was interrupted by the sound of his cell. 01:00am. He turned it off and a felt someone standing in his doorway. He sat up and turned on his lamp. It was Luke.

"Whatareyou?" Bobby asked quickly. He had meant to ask, "What are you doing?" but the words had tumbled out before he was completely coherent.

"My name is Luke," Luke said, looking a little annoyed.

"What are you doing?" Bobby asked.

"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past," Luke said, eyes twinkling. "And no, you're not hallucinating."

"But that's what I'd expect a hallucination to tell me!"

"Well, okay, I stand corrected. I'm not hallucinating. Maybe you are, but you're not hallucinating me because I am here. And I know I'm here."

"Why should I believe you?"

"We don't have time for this," Luke said, throwing open the window. "We need to get going."

"Where?"

"To the past, of course. Right now, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"Who's past?"

"Your past. Do I have to explain everything to you? You saw the movie with us." Luke crossed his arms and stood by the window.

"It's just so weird seeing you; you're a ghost!"

"Yeah, and you got old. Come on."

"Why are you even here, why do you need to show me the past?"

"To help you."

"I don't need your help."

"To save you, then. Save your soul. From these chains. Trust me, chains are only cool when you're in a heavy metal band." Luke shook his head, so his bangs were to the side. "Come on!"

"If I go out the window, I'll fall."

"Not tonight," Luke said and grabbed Bobby's shaking hand and placed it upon his heart. "As a Christmas Ghost I can fly and bring you with me."

"Either that or I'll fall and be admitted to a psychiatric ward," Bobby countered, but before he could protest further, Luke dragged him out of the window and into the cool, night air.

"When are you taking me to?"

"I don't know, this wasn't exactly my idea."

The ocean breeze reached them miraculously through the smog of L.A. and they landed outside Julie's house.

"Why are we at the Molinas'?" Bobby asked.

"No, the question is, when are we at the Molinas'." Luke looked around. The cars were old; it was definitely the 90's. Bobby shivered as Luke led him through a wall. "See, there you are, in your room."

"That is me," Bobby said, looking at his 17-year-old self.

Young Bobby was sitting at a desk in his room, laboriously checking his notes on a mock SAT exam.

The door opened and a woman walked in. "Mom," said the older Bobby, longingly. He wished he could see this version of his mom again in person and take her to do something fun, like bowling or skiing. She was much more energetic. Nowadays, she was often tired, and she never wanted to leave the house.

"Hey," young Bobby said.

"It's Rose, she's on the phone," his mom said, glancing over her shoulder toward the living room.

Young Bobby got up and walked into the living room and picked up the phone, twisting the cord around his fingers.

"Hey," he said. Luke and "Trevor" stood off to the side.

"Are you okay, Bobby?" Rose asked. "You said you were coming to the Christmas party."

"I did," Bobby admitted. "But look, some things came up."

"We miss you."

"Thanks, but I have a cold," Bobby lied. "I wouldn't want you guys to catch it."

"Oh, well, I'll see you next week, right?"

"Yeah." Bobby said. Rose ended the call and Bobby's parents looked at him sorrowfully as he walked up the stairs back to his room.

"Why's he lying to his friends?" Bobby's mom asked.

"Well, it's only been a month," his dad said. "I guess he isn't ready."

Sunset Curve

The scene changed and they were at a recording booth. Young Bobby was sitting on a stool looking at an older man.

"Hey, that's my first manager," "Trevor" said, then shivered, remembering how terrible the ghost of that manager had looked.

"Bobby," the manager said. "My name is Arthur Andrews. I've been working here for five years, securing record deals for all the up-and-coming artists. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thanks," Bobby said.

"I'd like to hear what you can do," Andrews said. "I've heard the Sunset Curve demo CD, so I know you're talented. But I'd like you to sing some songs of your own."

Bobby got up and took his guitar in his hands, he began to play the newest song he had written.

"This is 'Crying Shame,' it's a new song, that I wrote," Bobby explained.

You've got to understand,

I have no plan,

I'm lost without my band,

Kicking the can.

It's just me now,

I take this bow,

And promise to sing,

Your favorite thing.

Why don't the clouds fall from the sky?

'Cause I wish I could try,

To hide from the sun,

'Cause I'm so done.

"Wait, wait, wait," the manager interrupted.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"We're going to need something else. I mean, your tune is good, and you've got a good voice, but those words. It's too soon."

Bobby looked down.

"Look," the manager continued. "We both know why the other managers haven't taken you on. It's because they don't want to be associated with the Sunset Curve tragedy. Don't you have any other music?"

"Yeah, I do have some older stuff," Bobby replied. He sighed and started singing "Long Weekend."

The manager listened to the end. "That's great, Bobby. That's good. If you can just focus on that theme, that dynamic, we'll crush the market."

"Really?" Bobby asked.

"Really," the manager repeated. "Now, all you'll have to do is write more songs."

"I didn't write that song," Bobby said, blinking.

"Oh?"

"It was a Sunset Curve song. We'd had three whole albums planned, but we'd only finished one."

"Is it copyrighted?" The manager asked.

"No," Bobby said. "I guess we forgot about that."

"Then there's no reason why you can't use those songs now. You can copyright them yourself."

"I don't like that," Bobby replied.

"What you're doing, will be to preserve the songs. This is the only chance the world has now of remembering them."

"No, it's not," Luke grumbled, unheard, in the corner.

"But you can't give Sunset Curve credit," the manager said.

"What? Why not?" Bobby asked.

"Because then we have to deal with estates and get permission to use the songs. How well do you know the families of your bandmates?"

"Well, Luke's parents didn't want him in a band, and Alex's parents were always worried after he'd told them…" Bobby trailed off, he'd almost gotten a contract and he didn't want to say anything that might mess it up.

"Then they might not allow you to use the songs, Bobby. And even if they did, when you credit Sunset Curve, then some parents might think you're a drug addict and not let their kids buy CDs."

"How many times do I have to explain," Bobby complained. "We didn't do drugs. It was food poisoning."

"Probably a lot more times," the manager said. "But there is a way out."

"What?" Bobby asked.

"You change your name, and no one has to associate you with the Sunset Curve curse," the manager twisted his fingers together, cracking his knuckles. "We can find you a cool name too. We have a whole team of market analysts who can tell what will sell."

In the corner by Luke, Bobby shook his head, this was the day that he'd changed to become a different person. And just like that, the 17-year-old Bobby and his grief was gone, replaced by a new star, Trevor Wilson, who gained fame and fortune through denying the past.

Sunset Curve

Luke linked arms with Bobby, and they began flying back to his house. The sun and moved frantically through the sky with the changing years. They landed, carefully in Bobby's bedroom and neither said a word to each other because they did not know what to say. Seeing how manipulative the manager had been had surprised Luke, and, although he would still maintain that he deserved credit for the songs, he was no longer as angry. Bobby felt more like himself than he had felt in a long time. Truly, fame had manipulated him away from the simple pleasures of his youth. Music had become his escape, his fantasy world where he was no longer Bobby, but at the same time it had turned into something only about the money and not about the enjoyment.

Bobby turned, "Luke, I don't know how you are here, but thank you."

Luke nodded, gave a wane smile, and snapped his fingers, disappearing from Bobby's sight.

Bobby sat back on the bed and grabbed his guitar. He started playing "Ponto Final" on his unamplified electric guitar. The strings twanged quietly in the room. It seemed to fit the repose of the mind that he'd drifted into.

I know that time does not stop, but I swear, I will not forget.

It's in me, I hope it's in you.

All the things I can say, and I learned to feel every day.

To win, to lose, the important thing is to be alive.

And stopping is not an option for anyone.

The right time they always come, I close my eyes and listen to your voice.

Suddenly, I am not alone. Let's go!

I don't know if this is normal, but this is my life and my ponto final.

In my heart, I hear you play the song, invisibly telling me the direction.

Why should I hide it? To flee from the truth, to say that, "No, I feel fine."

Things that happened left their stories in me.

But this is far from the end, I close my eyes and listen to your voice.

Suddenly, I am not alone.

Now I see the lights on the horizon, and I know where I can go.

It's all worth it, and nothing can put out what I feel.

I don't know if this is normal, but this is my life and my ponto final.

In my heart, I hear you play the song, invisibly telling me the direction.

I don't know if this is normal, but this is my life and my ponto final.

In my heart, I hear you play the song, invisibly telling me the direction.

"Ahem," came a voice. Bobby looked up to see Reggie standing and staring at him.

"It's just a song I translated by the Insolitos," Bobby explained. "It sounds much better in the original."

"I see Luke has had all the fun scaring you," Reggie complained. "I can't even tease you about wearing sunglasses indoors," he said, looking at Bobby's unshaded eyes with a certain boredom.

"Let me guess, you're the Ghost of Christmas Present?"

"No, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Presents. Well, not really. See, I can't even introduce myself," Reggie said. "Oh, well, we are going to see Christmas celebrations for this year, because apparently, grown-up you has lost the joy of Christmas."

"I'm going to a Christmas party tomorrow," Bobby said.

"You mean, you're going to work at a Christmas party, where you know no one, because you want to make a few extra bucks."

"That's fair," Bobby said.

"No, it's not fair to equate work with…" Reggie said, then stopped, "Oh, yeah, you meant what I said was fair. Sorry, new decade, new lingo."

"So, where are we going?" Bobby asked, walking to the window.

"You'll see," Reggie said and smiled. Reggie took him by the shoulder, and they flew out of the house. The trees passed quickly below them and soon they landed softly in a backyard.

"Now I know what it feels like to be Santa," Bobby quipped.

"Shh," Reggie said, looking back over his shoulder at Bobby.

"Reggie," Bobby said, "No one can hear us."

"Right."

"Or see us," Bobby added.

"Yeah, well, I lost my manual on the way to your house," Reggie explained sheepishly. "I've never flown before, you see. I have this new power because right now I am a Christmas ghost. I practiced flying all over L.A. It's much more fun than teleporting and you never lose your shirt."

Bobby looked at him bizarrely, "You can teleport?"

"Yeah, all ghosts can," Reggie explained.

"Couldn't you just teleport me here?"

"Well, no, because we're also flying through time."

"I thought this was the present."

"It's the present but it's Christmas morning here and at your house it's only 2am." Reggie looked back at the house they were near.

"Is that?" Bobby asked.

"It's Luke's house, yeah," Reggie stepped to Bobby and grabbed both his shoulders, then the world disappeared as Bobby felt a tingle fall down his spine to his feet. A second later, Bobby saw himself staring at Reggie as they stood inside the Patterson's living room.

He looked down at his feet, "Reg, I'm barefoot."

"Wait for it," Reggie said, then clenched his eyes shut, thinking hard, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, Bobby's sandals reappeared on his feet. "See, that's why I don't like teleporting. Luke loves it, though."

"Alex?"

"He says it feels weird." Reggie walked into the dinning room and sat down in a chair. Bobby followed and saw Mrs. Patterson making a Christmas dinner. "She's actually a very good cook," Reggie added. "It's too bad we never patched things up with Luke's parents. I would have loved to try her food."

Reggie and Bobby watched her for some time, but just when they were about to make small talk with each other, Mrs. Patterson began to sing Christmas carols quietly to herself with the radio.

"I guess Luke got his singing voice from her," Bobby said he got up and walked around, looking at the pictures. There were many of Luke and it did not look like they'd changed any of the pictures in 25 years.

Mr. Patterson came out and helped set the table. "The Walters' said they'd be here in 30 minutes," he said.

"Good," Mrs. Patterson replied. "I was afraid the goose would get cold."

Soon, the Walters came inside and sat at the table. They prayed and began to eat. It was mostly a one-sided conversation with the Walters bragging about their four grown children. Bobby could see the longing in Mrs. Patterson's face. The pride in one's adult children could not be shared, and she had learned long ago that talking about her son, even if it was just about his talents, hobbies, or funny anecdotes made people uncomfortable. She loved to talk about her son and remember him, but it made other people uncomfortable, so she rarely spoke about him to anyone other than her husband.

"Does this happen every Christmas here?"

"Pretty much," Reggie said.

"Do you come here every Christmas?" Bobby asked.

"No, we were stuck in that black room until Julie freed us this Fall," Reggie replied.

"What?" Bobby asked, shocked.

"Yeah, we don't know why, but it didn't seem like we were there for more than a couple hours. Then Julie told us it had been 25 years, and I don't think I've ever seen Luke as mind-blown as he was in that moment."

"How do you know about the Christmases then? Are you omniscient?" Bobby asked curiously.

"No, but right now, I can see other Christmases if I think about it," Reggie explained.

"So, who gave you Christmas powers?" Bobby asked.

"This is about you, not me," Reggie said. He stood up and walked out of the house, dragging Bobby through the closed back door.

Sunset Curve

Bobby blinked and squinted at the brightness. He recognized the gleaming beach of Honolulu.

"We've flown to Hawaii?" He asked.

"Tell me about it," Reggie said, flopping down face first on the sand. "I think I'll just lay here and try to recharge."

"Why are we here?"

"Carrie's party," Reggie said, muffled by the sand.

"C'mon," Bobby said, picking Reggie up and dragging him after him.

"Hey, I've never been to Hawaii," Reggie said. "Can't I just try to take it in?"

"The last thing I need is to get lost in the spirit world in Hawaii."

"This isn't the spirit world, this is the time world," Reggie replied.

"Semantics."

Bobby and Reggie snuck into the limo where Carrie and her dancer friends were having a party. Despite his fascination with girls, Reggie collapsed in the seat and fell asleep.

"So, I told her," Reba with the blue hair said, "that unless you dance, and dance well, you can never hang out with Dirty Candy."

"Everyone wants to be us," Carrie said. "But if we're going to make it to the top, we can't make friends with untalented girls. If we're their friends, they'll want try to be in our dance group."

"I know, I know," Monica with the pink hair added. In reality, she did have friends, who weren't in Dirty Candy, but she hid it. Her friends weren't dancers, and they were no threat to Dirty Candy, so it did not matter.

Carrie dished the girls red and green slushies from the limo's freezer.

"I can't believe we're eating slushies in December!" Reba said.

"Yeah, thank my dad," Carrie said sarcastically.

"Your dad spoils you, and us so much," Monica said. "Our troupe would only be half as good without the fancy costumes and the choreographers."

"Yeah, then why is he obsessed with Julie Molina's phantoms?" Carrie asked.

"You're obsessed with us?" Reggie drawled in his stupor.

"Quiet, please," Bobby said.

"I'm sure he's fascinated by the holograms," Monica said. "Don't get me wrong, I love being live onstage, but those holograms are awesome."

"And I'm going to forget that you said that," Carrie countered, taking a deep drink from her slushie to forget via brain freeze.

"When did my daughter grow up to be so rude?" Bobby asked.

"Christmas 2017," Reggie whispered.

That was the Christmas Bobby and his wife had had their worst fight and she'd decided to work in New York. Carrie mostly stayed with Bobby to keep up with her dance training in L.A. and because Bobby was at home much more often than his wife was at her apartment in New York.

Bobby stood up, picked up Reggie and jumped out of the limo. He carried Reggie back to the beach, and they lay on the sand with the soft sand underneath them. Reggie seemed to be asleep for a number of hours and it was only at night-time that he opened his eyes.

"Where are we?" Reggie asked, blinking.

"You took us to Hawaii," Bobby said.

"Then, let's go home," Reggie said. He grabbed Bobby and closed his eyes. They flew a few feet and then crash-landed on the sand.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked.

"No, I guess not," Reggie answered, sitting back down.

This was not good.

"Maybe we can catch a flight back to L.A." Reggie said.

"With other ghosts?" Bobby asked.

"No, on a plane, of course. We just sneak onboard. We're invisible, so no one will see us."

So, that was what they did, and six hours later they were in L.A. When they got outside of the airport, Reggie abruptly vanished, and Bobby wondered if he would have to walk all the way back to his house. But then, he turned and saw Alex.

"Hey, Bobby," Alex said.

"I wish I were seeing you under better circumstances," Bobby said. "You look great."

"So, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Future right now," Alex said.

"Why are you the future?"

"Because I'm the empathetic one," Alex said, eyes darting downwards. "And what you are going to see is unpleasant." Alex touched him and they flew forwards in time. Bobby saw skyscrapers change and the city grow even larger, and soon, they landed at Trevor Wilson's house. The helicopter was gone, but there were a lot of cars parked outside. The two walked inside the house, an auctioneer was speaking quickly, selling off his possessions.

"Wait! Stop!" Bobby yelled, running towards the auctioneer, but he fell through him. Alex helped him to his feet. "What is this?"

"This is the future," Alex said.

"Then why are they selling my things?"

"These are the things that your family no longer wanted to keep."

"Because I'm… dead."

"The future you," Alex said, putting his arm over his shoulder. "You yourself are okay."

Bobby thought that he could not possibly be okay, after all, he was talking with a ghost, but instead he asked, "How far in the future are we?"

"It's better if you don't know," Alex replied.

"Are we going to the graveyard?"

"We have to, because it's tradition," Alex said.

"What kind of tradition is that?"

"A literary tradition, come on," Alex said, and Bobby fell to his knees when he reached the graveyard. "It's over there," Alex pointed.

"I don't want to look at it."

"We'll I don't want to look at it either," Alex retorted.

"It can't be that bad, seeing your own grave, could it?" Bobby said.

"I don't know, I haven't done it," Alex said.

"But you're going to make me?"

"Yes, it's the only way," Alex said. "The only thing that might change your life, and if your soul is saved from these chains, then maybe your daughter can be changed as well."

"How do you mean?"

"Right now, I can see the future. If Carrie keeps taking this path, in five years, you will not recognize your daughter," Alex explained.

"What do you mean, I'll always love my daughter."

"But that does not mean she'll love you," Alex said. "And as each link of your chains grows longer and longer, the bitterness will overcome you. You have almost ceased to care for others."

Bobby took a step forward.

"And you have not heard the cry of the needy," Alex said. "When was the last time you actually gave a donation anonymously."

"I started a charity," Bobby said.

"In your name, to show how great you were," Alex said.

"Yes, well, no one has to die of street dogs again," Bobby said.

"We never blamed you, Bobby," Alex said, looking up at the sky to hide the fact that he felt like crying.

Bobby, finally walked over to the grave. He looked down. It was a flat gravestone beside a fresh grave. Apparently, although they clearly had the money, his family did not want to buy him an upright one. It had both his names on it, but the thing that shocked him was the date. It was, much too soon. Even if he did change, how could it help his daughter? Would those few years be enough to make up for their drifting apart?

He felt as if the chains were already around his heart, and he nearly tripped on the gravestone behind him. He thought back to when his life had changed. No, it hadn't changed when his friends had died, it had changed when he decided to betray their memory. That had led him down any number of selfish decisions. He would change.

"Alex, I'm going to live in the past, present, and the future."

"How?"

"By being true to who I was, living in the present, and planning for the future. And I'm going to start by doing the right thing."

Bobby paused for dramatic emphasis, "I'm going to start by giving Sunset Curve credit for my early songs."

"You – you will?" Alex asked, shocked.

"Of course, that was where everything started to go wrong. And I'm going to volunteer. I'm going to see where the needs are so I can support the charities that help the most."

Alex smiled and then the graveyard disappeared.

Sunset Curve

Bobby woke up in his bed. Maybe, it was all a dream? But he almost did not want it to be a dream. He looked and found his red guitar still in the basement, but he also found ashes by the fake fireplace. But he was different. He called his team and told them that they did not need to come to help him set-up for the concert, that he would do it himself.

He arrived extra early at the mayor's house to set-up and when everything was ready, he addressed the small crowd.

"Hello, I'd like to thank you for coming this afternoon. The mayor hired me to play my classic Trevor Wilson songs today, but what I have not said before is that many of these songs are actually from my first band, Sunset Curve. And although, the songs have changed slightly over the years, they were first written by my teenage friend Luke Patterson. Credit is long past due. So, this afternoon, I want to sing them with gratitude and respect."

Bobby began to play, and soon he heard a trio of instruments and voices behind him. He hazarded a glance over his shoulder, but no one was there. Quickly, he switched back to that faithful chord pattern he'd practiced until his fingers went numb many years ago. He heard Luke take up his lead guitar parts, and they played all the songs that they'd rehearsed but never got to perform.

The next year he sold his house and moved into a regular one nearby. He sold his helicopter too. He decided to live an ordinary life, but he found that the more ordinary he tried to be, the less famous people wanted to hang out with him. But he was okay with that. The quality of the songs he wrote improved, and he spent more time teaching Carrie guitar, how to drive, and how to play tennis. He still splurged on her team to propel them into consideration of managers, but he also became more involved, encouraging them to sing what they wanted instead of the sassy, egoistic songs that seemed so popular these days. He didn't really understand girls, so he didn't know if Carrie and Julie would ever become friends again, but he did find, that the more time he spent with Carrie, the less she felt the need to garnish likes from the internet and attention from boys.

He volunteered at homeless shelters, soup kitchens, and nursing homes. When he wasn't serving food, he was playing songs. The elderly loved him, although very few of them knew who he was. The kindness they shared was real, because they were not just trying to impress him because he was Trevor Wilson. And, when he volunteered, he often told people to call him Bobby. He felt more himself with that name.

He never saw the ghost band again, although sometimes he almost thought that he heard Luke singing, softly, in the wind. He was better and he knew that he was making lives around him better too.


Endnotes: "Ponto Final" and "Mi Louco Mundo" are references to the original Brazilian JatP show, which is a great show and much longer than the Netflix one.

Thank you for reading.