by Ron Savarese
“But then,” Albert continued, “a pair of hands grabbed me under my arms. A pair of strong and gentle hands Joe, just like yours. Remember your dream? It was you who pulled me out of that black pool. And I was here in this place and the healing began, and I will become a child again. A little child whole and healthy.”
Three symbols float between us: a circle with a solid dot in the center, a cross, and a triangle.
These are the three symbols Ava gave me. And now it all begins to make sense. The little boy knows about the symbols. He knew all along.
He lifts the symbols from the air and shapes them into one—a beautiful design that looks like a snowflake: just like the one he made in the cave. Then he holds the symbol over his heart. He holds it there for a moment then he pulls it into himself.
“You might have been able to help me, Joe,” he says.
“With the symbols?” I ask.
“If you had listened to Ava you’d have understood what she was trying to do for you. You could have stayed in an awakened state. You were there for awhile. You might have helped me and others. Things might have been different. My life might have been changed. But you didn’t trust it. You didn’t open your heart.”
Or maybe I did, I think. Maybe we all do what we must do. To a point. Maybe it’s just that we miss the signs, because we let our desires get in the way. “Is that why I’m here?” I ask Albert.
“Yes,” he says. “I called you here. I need you to be here, to awaken, and to tell me the story. Then my healing will be complete—and our rebirth.”
“What story?”
“The story of our lives.”
“But that could take days. I thought you said there’s not much time.”
He smiles. “With the angels anything is possible. With the angels it can happen in an instant. With the angels there is no time.”
We’re in front of the fireplace again. Have we been here all along? The dog is still sitting at our feet. I look at Albert— the little boy. “So that’s why I’m here. It’s for you, isn’t it?”
Albert nods. “It’s for both of us,” he says. “I’m sorry Joe. I know it’s a lot to ask. But it’s the only way. It’s up to you now, Joe. It’s your choice.”
“But why me?”
“Because you were the one who loved me the most.”
Then, like seeing a car in the distance on a hot summer day when the heat is rising from the road, I watch the image of Albert as he becomes younger and younger. When he speaks again he’s a child. His golden hair shines. And close to his heart, the symbol: a crystalline snowflake, encompassed in an emerald flame, the essence of his existence. I know he is about to leave. But too much is left unsaid. Too much is unexplained. “Albert, wait! Don’t go yet. I have to know.”
“Our time is over now,” he says.
“What about the fourth symbol? Where is it?”
The child moves his hands to his chest, and covers his heart. Then he raises his hand. A signal that what’s done is done. There will be no more. He opens the door and it’s morning and the snow has stopped and the sun is shining and everything glistens in white. He points to a cottage in the forest across the bridge.
“Over there,” he whispers. “Remember, with the angels anything is possible.”
He taps my hand. I kneel in front of him so I can look in his eyes. He kisses my cheek. I reach to hug him. But before I can, he disappears.
THE CELEBRATION
I’m floating over hills and valleys. I see my reflection in a rainbow. The wind whispers my name. Echoes and voices surround me. I’m falling through a field of snowflakes that look like blossoms blown in the springtime breeze: pink snowflakes like cherry blossoms, white like dogwood blossoms, yellow like jasmine.
A voice.
A light.
Welcome home Joe.
I know that voice. Danny? Eagle Eyes is that you? Is it really you?
“It’s me, Joe. It’s really me. And I have new eyes. I can see you. Come to the light.”
Am I dying?
“Don’t be afraid, Joe.”
Scenes from my childhood, from my adult life, spread out before me. Is life a dream? A memory?
I hear another voice: “Fall into my arms.”
Mom?
And another voice: “Come this way, you’re almost home.”
Dad?
Oh, the light!
I float into a room full of tables covered in white linen. Rows of tables set with fine bone china, and gold-lined silver goblets.
A shiny blue floor, deep, deep, indigo blue, almost black, punctuated with streaks of golden light, stretches to where the tables end. And beyond that, the light stretches forever, beyond the edges of the universe, beyond the edges of time, until a billion stars shine in the midnight sky.
A bell. A woman in white. She rings the bell. “It has begun!”
A cheer!
And then quiet. My mother and father and my three brothers stand before me, in front of the first row of tables.
My father wears a black tuxedo with a white bow tie. His thick, dark hair is perfectly groomed, neat and wavy. He’s in his mid-twenties and looks like he does in the old wedding picture that hangs in the hallway of my home.
My mother holds a bouquet of red roses against her white wedding gown. Her ruby lips part ever so slightly in a smile. She, too, is in her mid-twenties and looks like the woman in the wedding picture.
My brothers are dressed in dinner jackets and black bow ties. Each as they would have looked had they lived. Each the age they were at the time of the fire. As if they had been waiting for me.
Jake, the oldest, still tall and slender, still the athlete, stands before me, smiling. He brushes his fine, light brown hair from where it falls, just above his eyebrows that accentuate his gleaming blue eyes.
James stands next to him. He’s shorter than Jake. He lifts both arms and beckons to me, just like he did when I was a little boy.
And my brother Michael with his curly auburn hair and round nose is the shortest. He’s squat and muscular. He smiles that big toothy smile of his—the one that always made my heart light up.
In an instant, I see what was, what is, and what might have been.
Michael steps forward and takes my hand. “Come with me,” he says.
It’s summertime and I’m running along the beach at North Shore Park trailing behind Michael and my two older brothers. A warm breeze blows and waves crash into the shoreline. The sun is a bright orange ball just about to drop into the water. Above the horizon, over the lake, the sky is colored golden-peach. I’m five years old. Michael is eight. James is ten. Jake is thirteen.
James has the kite and he’s running up a sand dune. Michael and John are running with him. I’m running as fast as I can but I can’t keep up.
“Come on Joe,” Jake yells.
But I can’t run as fast as my brothers. They run up and over the sand dune and I can’t see them anymore. I fall down and scrape my knee on a rock that had been covered by the sand. I lie in the sand and cry. I see the kite’s tail dancing in the wind, but then it disappears. No one else is around. They’ve left me. It’s getting dark and I don’t know how to get back home. I’m scared. I lie in the sand and cry.
Then I see Jake. He’s running toward me. He reaches me and kneels down. “Hey little buddy, what happened? Did you fall and hurt your knee?”
I’m crying. “I couldn’t keep up. I thought you left me.”
“Oh, I would never leave you,” Jake says. “It’s okay. You’re a big boy now. You can keep up with us. You just fell and hurt your knee. I’ve fallen down plenty of times. But when I fall I try to get back up right away. That’s what you have to do. Everybody falls down some time. The bad guys stay down, but the good guys get back up as soon as they can. You’re a good guy, right?”
I nod my head, yes. I smile and stop crying. James and Michael are with us now and they’re helping me up. Jake lifts me onto his shoulders and carries me. James and
Michael cheer and clap. And I feel so much love. The kind of love I had forgotten.
Then I’m back in the room looking at my family. I hear the other people in the room talking and laughing but I can’t see them. All I see is my family.
If I have breath, I cannot breathe. If I have a heart, it does not beat. If I have eyes, they do not see. My joy overflows. I have longed for this moment. Dreamed of it. Wished for it. I’ve missed them so much and now they’re here.
James steps forward. He touches my arm.
It’s a week or so before the fire at our house. I’m twelve. James is seventeen. It’s Saturday night and James is going out on date with a girl. I’m in James’s bedroom watching him get ready to go out.
“Are you going to make out with her at the movie?” I ask.
James makes a fist like he’s going to punch me. Then he laughs. “What do you know about that? I see you’ve been hanging around with that girl Maria a lot these days,” he says. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, she’s just my friend,” I say.
Mother opens the door and peeks in. “You better hurry James or you’ll be late.”
James looks in the mirror and combs his hair.
“Hey James,” I say. “Are we still going fishing on Friday?”
“Sure—as soon as I get back from Dad’s office. He’s going to show me how to work that new X-ray machine. I’m going to go to school to be a doctor just like him.”
I see James as a man in his early thirties. He’s a doctor in our small town. He has a wife and two kids. I see his whole life stretched out before me. He sees it too. This is what I took away from him when I caused the fire.
“I’m so sorry James. I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident.”
James smiles at me and then we’re back in the crowded room. And I hear the people talking again.
I see aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, relatives far too many to count. Grandmothers, grandfathers, great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers, and on and on from a stream of infinite lifetimes: all who have gone before, and those yet to come, spread out before me: ripples in an endless stream.
A man with thick, dark red hair holds a bottle in his hand. It’s old Uncle Lou, but he’s young and vibrant now, in his late twenties. Yes, I remember this: his broad muscular shoulders, rugged face with high cheekbones, and a barely perceptible dimple in the center of his chin.
With one quick tug, he pulls the cork from the bottle with a loud pop. Bubbles spill out and float through the room. Another loud cheer, then laughter.
Uncle Lou makes an announcement, “Tonight someone has come home. Let us welcome him, everyone.” Uncle Lou raises his glass and looks at me, “I propose a toast to Christmas Eve—the Feast of Light, and to Joe St. John, who is home at last.”
Glasses clang. The sound vibrates throughout the room: a gentle hum that builds to a crescendo, with yet another volley of cheers.
I recognize people I have not seen in years: a cousin who died when I was just a child, a distant cousin killed in the Vietnam War, an uncle I hardly knew, but I remember him here and I know his life like I have known him forever. I know everyone in the room, all of these people returned to the youth that was, or might have been.
A young woman with curly black hair raises her glass and calls out, “Isn’t this a wonderful party?”
Waiters in white tuxedos balance silver trays of food and drinks. Musicians with saxophones, trombones, and trumpets play songs from America’s big-band era. The music wails in the background as people talk, dance, eat, or stroll from table to table.
Uncle Lou stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the family scene. Then he raises a hand high above his head, palm facing out, and says, “Hey Joe, not bad for a bunch of poor folks, huh?” Not bad for a bunch of poor folks. He’d always said that—at Christmas, at Easter, the Fourth of July, at any celebration where the tables were groaning with food, and we were sure we had all there was of the good life.
The room is quiet. My father steps forward and takes my hand. I’m seven years old. It’s the day after one of my scary dreams.
My dad and I are outside in the fresh fallen snow. We’re walking through the woods behind our house. The sun is shining and the sky is blue and the fresh fallen snow is pure white.
Daddy and I built a bunny rabbit trap a few weeks before, after I saw the bunny and told him I wanted to catch it. The trap looks more like a cage than a trap. We made it out of some wood scraps and wire mesh, with a little trap door. Daddy let me pound the nails into the wood with his hammer. We’re walking to check the trap to see if we caught the bunny. This is the fourth time we’ve checked but we haven’t seen any sign of it yet.
“Are you sure you saw a bunny out here?” Daddy asks as we walk through the snow.
“I saw it Daddy,” I say. “It was right over there by that tree.”
I point to an opening in the snow beneath an old oak tree. Daddy is playing along. I know he doesn’t expect to catch the bunny, but he pretends. But as we approach the trap we see something small and brown and quivering inside.
I pull at my daddy’s arm. “Look! There’s something in the trap.”
“Well, how about that. I think there is,” he says. He scratches his head underneath his old earmuff hat.
“I told you! I told you! Look, there it is—just like I said. The trap worked. We caught him!”
Daddy is surprised. I run to the trap and Daddy walks close behind me. When we get there, he bends down and looks inside. “Well Joey, it looks like you caught a bunny.” He sits on his haunches next to the trap and gently runs his hand across the wire mesh. I squat next to him.
“Can we take him home?”
Daddy looks at the bunny. It twitches, and its brown eyes blink. The bunny is trapped and I know it’s afraid.
Daddy puts his hand on my shoulder. “Is that what you want to do?”
I look at the bunny. I get real close and look at its brown fur and fluffy tail. It looks so helpless and scared. But he’s so cute and furry. I could talk to him, and feed him carrots. Maybe he would even let me hold him after awhile. I look straight into Daddy’s face. “Yes,” I say. “I want to take him home and keep him for a pet.”
Daddy doesn’t say anything right away, like he’s thinking about something. “Okay then, let’s take him home.” Daddy picks up the cage and we head back through the snow. But after we walk a little ways, Daddy stops. He sets the trap on the ground. He looks at me then he looks at the bunny. “You know Joey,” he says. “I think this is a baby bunny and it might be part of a family.” Daddy touches the little trap door. “That means he might have brothers and sisters and a mommy and daddy. What do you think his family will do if he doesn’t come home?”
I look at the bunny, my face close to the cage. The bunny flinches and curls up into a ball in one corner of the trap. It’s shaking now—rapid, jerky little shakes.
“They’ll be sad,” I say. “They’ll wonder what happened to him.” The bunny buries his head under his front paws as if he’s trying to hide. “They might try to find him.” I say.
“Yes, I think they will.”
“And the bunny will be sad because he won’t be with his family anymore?”
“I think so.”
I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking real hard and Daddy puts his hands in his pockets.
“You don’t have to take the bunny home,” he says. “You can open the cage. He’ll go back to his family.”
I look at the bunny and then at Daddy. I think about it for a while. I’m torn. I want the bunny for a pet, but now I’m sad. I don’t want the bunny to be without his family. I don’t want the bunny to be lonely.
Daddy looks at the bunny. Then he looks at me. “It’s up to you Joey,” he says.
I kind of want to cry. I really do want that bunny. “I don’t know Daddy, what do you think I should do?”
Daddy kneels on the ground and takes my hand. “Joey, sometimes it’s hard t
o let go of the things we think we want. But sometimes we have to do that to do what’s best for others and make room for something better for ourselves.
I know you really wanted to catch this bunny. So, I’m going to let you decide. It’s up to you.”
Daddy doesn’t say another word. I wait for him to tell me what he thinks I should do but he doesn’t. He just looks at me and waits. I look at the bunny and he looks back at me—blinking slowly now and still shaking—resigned to its fate. And in that moment it seems as if I’m trapped inside that cage with the bunny and tears well up in my eyes and I look at Daddy and I say, “I think we should let him go.”
Daddy smiles and asks me if I want to open the cage and I do and I swear that bunny looks at me and smiles. He hops out of the cage and bounces his way back to the hole in the snow, and a week later, just before Christmas, Daddy brings home the new puppy I name Paddy.
Then I’m back at the celebration again.
THE CHOICE
My father lets go of my hand. And I see his life stretched out before me—the life that would have been had he lived. I see him receiving honors and awards. I see the good work he does for our small town and the community. I see him as a grandfather playing with my children.
I know now what I lost out on by not having him around. Not having him around to talk to when I needed advice. His wisdom. His mentoring. I lost out on the man who would have been my best friend.
I look at him standing there next to my mother and my brothers. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry for disobeying you. I didn’t mean to leave the lantern on the table. I didn’t mean to cause the fire.”
I’ve fallen to my knees on the floor and I’m crying. My mother kneels and wraps her arms around me. “What do you mean, Joey? What lantern are you talking about?” she asks.
My head is on her shoulder and tears flow down my cheeks. “Daddy’s lantern in the basement—the one I left burning before I left for Albert’s birthday party. The one the dog knocked over. The one that caused the fire.”
Mother cradles my face in her hands and looks deeply into my eyes. “Who told you it was you who caused the fire,” she asks.
