The room was dark and Isabelle sat quietly in front of her Christmas tree to gaze at the lacing multi-colored lights. Faith Hill’s melodic voice lingered in the background singing Where are You Christmas? She poured herself another glass of merlot from the half-empty bottle beside her and hummed along with the music, her eyes drifting out the window where large fluffy snowflakes quickly piled on the sill.
But the house, this year, felt so empty because something was missing. A lone tear rolled down her cheek; the void was him. Connor and Isabelle broke up just before Thanksgiving. He said things moved too fast, and that their relationship was too intense and often too volatile for him. They often argued. And she had to agree to the split. Both their pasts left them with scars and some open wounds they would rather forget.
But they were very passionate, sensitive people. They clicked so easily, in the beginning, on that day, at the crowded bookstore, falling into effortless conversation near a stack of mythology books, coddling two cups of cold coffee for hours. It was only after the sun set in the late spring sky-the clouds moved above, releasing a beautiful sun shower-that they prepared to leave. He stood looking into her eyes for a moment, and she melted. He took her in his strong arms and leaned down to kiss her. His soft lips hesitantly touched hers, at first, to set off a spark of electricity, until they slowly dissolved into each other’s embrace. Her body responded instantly to him, not as a stranger, but as a longtime lover. Her short, full frame fit perfectly into his tall, broad grasp. She felt his body pushing into her, and she responded in kind. They moved to pull apart but drew into each other, once again. Isabelle shivered as his teeth nipped gently at her lip; his tongue moved deeper in her mouth. When they separated, both were shaking and aching for more.
They fell into each other’s lives effortlessly. Two wounded souls finally able to rest. Those initial “I love you’s”, spoken hesitantly, seemed to seal their path together. Perhaps they were naïve, or perhaps they just chose not to see how hurt they really were by others before, but it soon surfaced: he wasn’t there enough, she was demanding, he was selfish, she was bitchy. Old fears and pains invaded their tranquil world, and neither faced what that would mean. In the end, they parted unhappily, new hurts added to the many garnered before.
In the weeks that followed, Isabelle tried to move on, but something in her heart just would not let go. She kept an open ear for tidbits of information passed on by her mutual friends; she found out that he did the same. He seemed to relish his time alone, and she was genuinely pleased to know he was happy. She spent most of her time with her girlfriends, finding solace in the girl chat and shopping sprees. He was always in the back of her mind, though, always in her heart.
But tonight, as she sat in front of the sparkling tree, he was there with her, and the tears flowed freely. She set her emptied wine glass aside and moved to the floor to push away the presents mounded high for family and friends. Suddenly, she found it-the small, gold-wrapped package tied with a thin, red ribbon. Holding it close to her heart, she sobbed a bit more. Inside was a small pewter dragon coiled to form a nest with its body. It was meant to hold a separate piece: a small tiger cub, which, for some reason, did not arrived in time to be wrapped with the dragon. It was fitting, in a way: he, the lone dragon, she, the lost cub.
When she first saw the dragon’s picture in the Christmas catalog, it screamed Connor’s name. She wanted to buy and give it to him right away, but instead, she waited. Then, as she wrapped the remaining gifts, it only seemed right to carefully include the perfect gift among the other presents as well. She meant to tuck it back away, but it seemed to need to be under the tree with piles of other brightly-wrapped gifts. But to her, it was another reminder of what was lost.
She placed the little dragon gift back under the tree, switched off tree lights, and made her way to the bedroom. Stripping off her jeans and sweater, moving quickly to the warmth of the bed, she rolled on her side. A bit dizzy from wine, perhaps, she imagined him in the corner of her eye-his sparkling eyes, his broad chest, his smile. She almost gasped, but he had become so familiar, seeing him there, remembering him. She lay staring out the black window watching the white snow fall faster, and as she closed her eyes, she whispered to no one.
“Santa, whoever you are, all I want for Christmas, this year, is another chance.”
She let out a soft sigh, and drifted into a dreamy sleep.
The morning sun crept along Isabelle’s face as the rude alarm clock sounded. She opened her pale green eyes to the brightness of Christmas Eve morn. Her throbbing head loathed to move from the warm comfort of her nuzzling pillow. Stretching her naked body under the heavy covers, she dreaded the lonely day before her.
She really wanted to return to bed to sleep only to reawake after New Year. Rushing her shower, she donned a pair of slacks and a sweater, then braced herself for the winter cold. Working only a half day at the gallery, she would later meet her girlfriends at the mall for lunch and a last bit of insanity shopping. But she still dreaded this day; the Christmas spirit eluded her this year. Although she managed through the pre-holiday hoopla, parties, and intimate gatherings, it was a time that to be shared with Connor.
Just a few more days, she reminded herself slipping her little Volkswagen into a parking spot at the mall. Inside, Tricia and Kaity, Isabelle’s anchors through this emotional storm, waited by the fountain with cheery, holiday smiles. Isabelle’s face brightened, and for that precious moment, her longing was set back in her mind.
They rushed through the shops gathering last minute gifts settling, finally, wearily, in the food court for a quick bite. After their meal, they wound their way through the throngs of last-minute shoppers to pass by the requisite Santa, servicing a queue of children to have their latent wishes heard and their pictures taken. Tricia suggested a pause for photographs with St. Nick. Stressed from the holiday rush, the trio agreed it would provide a well-deserved tension breaker.
They chatted in line. The excitement of the anxious children was infectious. Looking at the happy couples with their kids made Isabelle think about the family plans she made with Connor. So many nights in bed, together, Conner talked with her about a wistful future, of dreamy thoughts, and tomorrow’s hopes. Tricia and Kaity each took their turn with Santa, to be silly, and to have their photos taken kissing him on his rosy cheek. When it was Isabelle’s turn, she was hesitant to go up, but she sat herself in Santa’s lap, and he jolly-laughed at her embarrassment.
“Have you been good girl this year?” he asked, smilingly.
“Yes, Santa, I tried,” Isabelle said assuredly.
“So what is it you hope Santa will leave you under the tree?” he asked.
Isabelle thought for a moment. “Really, Santa, nothing this year for me, thank you,” she said, slowly rising from his lap to let the waiting, wide-eyed children have their turn.
But he gently grabbed her palm before she stepped away and spoke in a quiet, clear voice. “Never give up believing in miracles. Quite often, they take a little longer then we hope. Often, we are not ready for them when we ask for them, but they do happen. Keep your faith, Isabelle; Sometimes your faith is more important to others then it is to you.”
