[Fiction] Christmas in Memory Gardens

[Velvet]

December 25th, 2016. 1:15am.

I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

As midnight mass ended, the sound of bells echoed through the frigid Chicago night, their distant peals more mournful in the still, crisp silence than the joy of the season might warrant. Somewhere in the city, the faithful were filing out of a church, chatting happily with each other about the coming year and hastening home to their families and loved ones. For once, the sky was clear, and the stars were almost painful in their clarity and brilliance against the perfect darkness of the night sky. A thick carpet of white blanketed the world as the city slept, and even the infamous winds lay still, as if in reverence.

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Through that postcard wonderland hurried a tall, slim figure armored in a long coat of bright crimson wool, black boots, and a thick black chenille scarf wound tightly about her face and throat. It wasn't a long trek for the stripper-turned-entrepreneur, at least not as far as physical distance was concerned, but the annual journey was somehow never any easier no matter how many times she'd made it before.

What a beautiful night, she marveled, though the cold was sharp enough to make her violet eyes sting. Just ahead, a low stone wall and rusted iron gate emerged from the mounds of glittering white powder, and her pace slowed. "Memory Gardens" the place was called, and indeed, memories were all that flourished here. The unlocked gate creaked in annoyance as she

nudged it open wide enough to slip through. She knew precisely where she was going, and yet as always, she took the scenic route past weather-worn marble angels and eroding obelisks, through the rows of the slumbering dead.

Do they still dream of sugarplums? she wondered idly, one gloved hand shoved deep into her pocket while her other arm cradled a small array of bright orange flowers. Is that really all there is? Just sleep, and one more dream that never ends?

Till ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

It took her nearly an hour to find the headstone, and when she did, she knelt to clear away the snow from the pale stone marker.

"Merry Christmas, Eden," she murmured, arranging the tiger lilies in front of the wide marble slab. They were almost garish in the intensity of their color against the monochromatic hues of frost and death, but she smiled nonetheless. "It's been a hell of a year, hasn't it?"

And so, she talked. She conversed with her former lover about all that had transpired- her friendship with Revenant, her almost-relationship with Procyon, the Pow-Wow, the opening of the club and anything else that came to mind. Her hopes, her fears, and all her regrets spilled forth from cold-numbed lips.

"What if it's not enough?" Violet asked finally. "I know," she began, choking back the painful lump that swelled in her throat. "I know that I should've loved you, and I'm so sorry. If I had, then maybe... Maybe I could've saved both of us, maybe I could've felt something when you were gone, but I didn't. God, I was so selfish then, and so stupid, and I'm trying to change that now. I'm sorry that I can't be a better person for you, baby, but is it enough that I want to be a better person because of you? Does that count for anything?" She sat back on her heels, wincing as the tears frozen on her cheeks tugged at her skin.

"I've got Babylon, something I've always wanted, something of my own, and maybe that way I can help at least one person, make them happy for a little while. It's at least something real, you know? Not just the, the empty hope that seems to be all these fabulous powers of mine allow. I mean, honestly. I can tinker with thoughts and emotions, create illusions, but it's all so goddamned transparent and short-lived! Look at what the others can do... They could literally change the world, good and bad, but all we novas seem to do is sit around and make foundations or donate to charity from Swiss bank accounts that endorsement deals earn for us. Is it too much to ask that for once, for one night, on the holy day of holy days, we make the world into the dream of peace that every school kid sings about? How many of us actually do anything?"

And in despair I bowed my head

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

For a long moment she was quiet, sitting there in the snow and silence. Bits of newscasts flickered through her mind, replaying snippets of footage from war-torn countries and violence even among the so-called "enlightened" race of which she was a part, and her heart sank. She brushed the thick stems of the lilies with her gloved fingertips, and as she did, a memory bloomed in those stone gardens.

A vase of bright fuschia flowers sitting on her kitchen counter, a gift from Warren the night of Club Babylon's opening. She smiled; he'd gone from being a brutal antagonist to her best friend in a matter of months. From there, another thought blossomed: the look of triumph on Sean McCline's face when he'd finally overcome the horrific experience that had left him bereft of intimacy.

One by one, she began to recall even the small details of the past year and beyond, remembering the relieved laughter, the soul-lightening tears, and the brilliant smiles she'd won by virtue of tenacity, empathy, and occasional pure bull-headedness. Slowly, tentatively, she began to understand.

She didn't have the power to change the world, to make everyone stop fighting and rejoice in the pleasures that life had to offer even for one blessed night. She couldn't save everyone, no matter how badly she wanted to, and maybe that meant she couldn't save herself, either. Maybe, though, she could "save" a few, change a few small "worlds" in her own way and, in so doing, honor the spirit of the one lost soul she truly regretted being unable to help.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss against the icy stone before she rose to take her leave. "If that was you, Eden, thank you, and if not, thank you anyway for helping me remember."

In the distance, a bell tolled the hour as a tall, slim figure swathed in bright red wool made her way once more into the land of the living and the last days of the year.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Author's Note: The lyrics are by Longfellow, the song "I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day."