Kris Miss
By Richard Douglas Shoupe
Smashwords Edition
Copyright: Richard Douglas Shoupe 2011
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Preface
December is a time of splendor and excitement for all Christians in this first year of the twenty-third century. Cities and towns celebrate the birthday of Christ with laser-powered Stars of Bethlehem. The retail centers outdo themselves with new festive holiday displays. Songs of the season are sung on street corners and doorsteps. Holographic holiday scenes ranging from whimsy to piety adorn the lawns of our neighborhoods. Dazzling light displays grace our houses and landscapes. Inside our homes, families are transforming their tasteful interiors into riotous color schemes of green and red and white. They are hanging ornaments on ever-green trees, making gift lists, and planning elaborate dinners. Did you know that it was not always so?
There was a time when Christmas nearly disappeared, dismissed as a useless relic of the past, unacknowledged year after year by most of the population. The few who continued to celebrate Christmas did so behind closed doors, fearful of social disapproval. There were no elaborate Christmas dinners, or gaily decorated homes, or gift exchanges, or laser-powered stars. There was work to be done! Frivolous archaic customs no longer had a place in society.
Now calm down everyone! Do not rush to judge. Our ancestors were no more cruel or heartless than us. They simply belonged to a culture of misplaced priorities, to a world that rejected the wisdom of the ages as irrelevant. Those times were not so long ago. The oldest among us were children then. Marissa Stevens Rivera was a child then. This story is about her, and about Christmas, and about change. Shall we begin?
Kris Miss
The year of 2100 was approaching fast, riding the tail of a vicious arctic storm. All air traffic throughout the Chicago-Detroit corridor was at a standstill and the roads were impassable to wheeled vehicles, but occasionally an air cushioned land-skimmer could be seen slicing through the wind and stinging snow.
Marissa Stevens stared forlornly at the scene from her second-story bedroom window. After two days of constant snow, she was beginning to wonder if it would ever stop. She felt trapped by the blizzard, but fascinated by it too. There were countless entertainment options in her modern home but none of them could draw her attention. She was lost in the hypnotic effect of the swirling storm and began to imagine a world covered in eternal snow. She blew a strand of hair from her rapidly glazing eyes and absently tapped her fingers on the window-pane. A sudden rap on the door broke her light trance.
"It's bedtime," her mother announced as she entered the room.
Marissa clasped her hands together pleadingly, "Can I please stay up just a few more minutes? I can tuck myself in tonight."
Her mother grudgingly consented and quietly closed the door behind her as she left. Alone again, Marissa returned to the window for one last long look at the storm. Finally tiring of her vigil, she ordered her computer to close the drapes and dim the lights. She crawled into bed and patiently waited for the sandman to arrive.
__________
Marissa awoke the next morning from a fitful night full of strange disjointed dreams. She seemed to glide in the air, guided over bleak winter landscapes to isolated homes awash in bright color and song. As the dreams faded from her mind, she slid out of bed and groggily stumbled to the window. The snow was slowing at last. Her neighborhood was a fluffy dreamland. No tracks or footprints marred the view. It was astounding! She wanted to burst outside and dive into the
nearest snowdrift, but class came first.
Her mother called from the hallway, "Breakfast is ready." Marissa turned from the window, threw on her blue jumper, and tromped downstairs. In the kitchen, the computer was showing visuals and announcing details of the storm. Marissa watched intently for a while but the adults blithely went about their usual routines.
Even back in those days, storms were only a small annoyance and most Detroiters ignored them. They sometimes disrupted the shipment of goods though, an option many homes relied upon. A few shoppers picked up their purchases at the LDC (local distribution center) to save on delivery charges, but most folks found that too bothersome. If deliveries were delayed for more than a couple of days though, an army of panicky consumers was sure to invade the center.
After breakfast, Marissa rushed upstairs to tidy her room before school. Most of her classes were held at home through a visual cyber-link connecting the teachers with their students. A messy room always drew derision from fellow classmates. Who needed that? The children worked until lunch break at eleven o'clock, and returned at eleven-thirty for two more hours of study. Some hands-on classes and activities were held late in the afternoons at the Education Complex (the children re-named it The Funhouse), which was closed that day due to the storm.
Marissa's parents, John and Laura, were in their offices when she peeked in on them after class. She knew not to bother them there, and went in search of her grand-mother. "Grangie" was usually easy to find. If not world traveling on the Virreal hook-up in the game room, she would be reading in the solarium. Marissa found her in the solarium lying on a couch with a large book in her lap (before the computer age, books were printed on paper and bound in durable covers). Jonny, her little brother, was sprawling on the floor nearby, playing with his holographic toys.
In the ten years of Marissa's life, she had never known anyone else to actually open and read a book. Most book owners used them as mere ornaments and quaint conversation pieces. Angela, her grandmother, still enjoyed reading them - aloud! Marissa would occasionally listen to her intently. It was pleasantly odd how her mind conjured images from the words issuing from her grandmother's mouth; they were often more interesting and colorful than those projected by her video books. Her grandmother often told Marissa, "There is nothing is more wondrous than the imagination, our own personal Virreal machines."
Marissa listened for a minute, and then interrupted. "May I go to the LDC, Grandma?"
She received the standard reply: "As long as you’re back in time for dinner."
Marissa bolted for the door, slipped into her boots, and threw on her coat as she bounded out into the sterile wilds of suburban Detroit, now buried by twenty-seven inches of white powder. The solitary tree in the park was a wondrous study in contrasts, white upon black. It seemed somehow softer and warmer while clothed in its mantle of snow. The entire landscape was softer and without corners or edges. Marissa passed her best friend Glenna's home and saw a choir of snow-angels in the front yard. She noted the irony of that, and sped up her pace; the wind was kicking up and she was beginning to feel the chill. She hurried past countless snowmen, dodged snowballs tossed by some boys near the LDC, and rushed into the building.
The local distribution center was enormous: four shining stories of glass and metal covering hundreds of acres. It was the only remaining large retail outlet in the area and it served the entire west side of Detroit. More than half a million customers relied on its services. Goods of every kind flowed in through its doors and filtered out to the shoppers. It was a magnet for the children, who never tired of wandering through the countless showrooms. Most adults preferred to scan the showrooms remotely from their home computers.
The children used the LDC as a central meetinghouse. There were game rooms, food shops, a gymnasium, swimming pools and skating rinks. There were media screens and live musicians too, but the strongest attraction was that few grown-ups were ever around during weekdays. On weekends, people of all ages visited the various dining and recreational facilities.
A crowd had gathered on that day in the main seating area at the meeting point of four great corridors in the center of the complex. Curious, Marissa headed straight for the crowd and climbed upon a bench to see better. At the center of the crowd sat a fat old man with a great white beard. She recognized him right away; several times before he had enchanted her with his rambling stories. She had never before met anyone so oddly captivating. The children knew him only as Chris. He was clad in the style of the day (dark slacks and shirt under a lightweight robe made from space-age materials), but his jovial nature set him apart from other adults.
He often spoke of the old days and many of his stories were about Christmas, which had become something of a minor affair in Marissa's time. The Fourth of July was the only official holiday in the United States then. On that holiday, families gathered in droves to visit the local carnivals and to see high-tech fireworks. Other holidays had all but vanished due to the demanding nature of contemporary life.
Chris was just beginning a story of a ten-year-old girl who had grown up in Detroit twenty-five years earlier. When he told the hushed crowd that her name was Laura, Marissa came to full attention. Laura was her mother’s name. "What a coincidence," she thought.
The old man said, "Laura was a most inquisitive girl who often wandered all over town. She was a little social butterfly, a rare thing to be in those days, and she would stop to chat with anyone who had time for her." Marissa pictured a butterfly with her mother's face flitting around and talking to people in a tiny voice. She giggled at the silly thought.
"Our little friend happened to love old nearly forgotten songs and her ear was always cocked for ones she'd never heard before." Chris paused, chuckled quietly to himself, and then went on. "One day as she was scooting through the park, Laura passed a woman who was sitting on a bench and humming a lovely tune. The little girl stopped to listen, hoping to pick up the melody. After a short while, the woman noticed her and fell silent. She smiled pleasantly and waved for Laura to come closer. Laura rushed up and began to gush of how beautiful the song was. She asked the woman to teach it to her. The woman looked down sweetly and mentioned that she knew other songs too. If Laura wanted, she could learn one song a day until she knew them all. Laura was delighted and quickly agreed to the plan. That first day in the park, she learned the melody easily but had trouble with the words. The woman patiently repeated the song until Laura finally knew it all. Its name is 'Silent Night.' Would you like to hear it?"
The children clapped enthusiastically and Chris began to sing in a low voice. When he ended the song, he told the children that it was their turn to sing. He nodded and began the song again. At first the children were shy and barely audible, but they soon gained confidence and the hall was filled with the voice of song. Some curious and amused adults stopped to watch, nudging and pointing, as a growing stream of young faces converged to swell the crowd.
Chris proceeded with his story. "The woman’s name was Carol and she once sang in a famous choir. She knew many lovely songs and she was happy to pass them on. Laura followed Carol to her home to learn the way, and they shared a plate of cookies as they got to know one another. Laura came back often until she learned every song that Carol knew. On her last visit, Carol gave Laura a small music box that played 'Silent Night' when the lid was opened. 'Take it so you never forget the tune,' Carol said. Laura thanked her and scooted home with it under her arm. She never saw Carol again." Chris lowered his voice to a whisper, "And that music box is still stashed away at her home in some forgotten place, waiting for her to remember it."
Chris slowly rose. The story was over. As he turned to wave good-bye, he subtly nodded and winked in Marissa's direction, or so she imagined. "What an odd little man," she thought as she prepared for the cold trip home.
__________
The song seemed haunting and familiar to Marissa. She was sure she had never heard it before, but it seemed to stick in her mind. She sometimes found herself humming the melody during idle moments. One morning, Marissa bounced downstairs for breakfast while humming her tune. Her father turned in his chair and began to tease her, "What a sweet little song for a sour little girl. Where did you pick that up?"
Marissa punched him in the arm and pretended to pout. "I'm not a sour little girl and a funny old man at the LDC taught it to us last week."
John tickled her until she broke away laughing and went to her chair. Laura was preparing breakfast, but set down her butter knife and turned her head when she recognized Marissa's tune. When her child stopped humming, she returned to her duties. Marissa noticed the odd look on her mother's face as she turned, but quickly forgot about it when her dad began his relentless assault on her ribs.
Laura peeked in on Marissa just before bedtime that night. Her usual nightly advice was, "Sleep tight, dear" as she closed the door, but this time she whispered, "Silent night, dear," and waited for a response.
Marissa's eyes widened and she cried out, "That’s the name of my song."
Her mother entered the room and sat on the side of the bed. "That’s an old, old song that no one sings anymore. Did you say some man taught it to you? How on earth did he know it?"
Marissa told her mother about the old storyteller at the LDC, and of how the tune returned to her at the oddest times. Laura looked down thoughtfully for a moment, and then suddenly arose. "I'll be right back, honey," she called while rushing out of the room.
Marissa was left alone to wonder where her mother had gone, and why. It was rare to get so much attention at bedtime but she was enjoying it immensely. Marissa impatiently waited for her mother to return. It seemed like an eternity to her before Laura finally came back carrying a small box. "I'm sorry I took so long, but I had trouble finding what I was looking for," she explained.
Marissa looked at her mother and shouted excitedly, "Mom, is that the music box?"
Laura was incredulous, "You know about my music box too? We need to have a long talk in the morning." She opened the box and it began to play. "Do you remember the words?"
"I forgot most of them." Her mother began to sing and Marissa drifted off to sleep.
__________
The new morning came, a bright and sunny Friday. Marissa went to the window and was immediately blinded by the sunlight reflecting on the snow. She commanded the shades to lower halfway as she flopped back into bed, and then she asked the computer for the weather report.
"It will be clear with a high of fifty degrees Fahrenheit in Detroit today."
"Thank you, Mr. Computer."
"You are welcome, Miss Marissa. Would you like to know anything else?"
Marissa thought for a moment while resisting the urge to say "Everything." Her computer nearly always froze when she said that, and she would need to restart the thing. She asked instead, "What’s the weather like in Melbourne today?"
"It will be sunny with a high of ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit in Melbourne today."
"Thank you, Mr. Computer. That will be all." Marissa was sure she detected a sigh of relief as her computer slipped into sleep mode.
Marissa looked around her room, her masterpiece. Her parents let her select the colors and the décor as a birthday present the year before. Ivory colored walls with borders of kelly-green were plastered with pictures of dogs of all shapes and sizes. Her dresser and chest were rounded and shaped to fit the corners of the room. They were painted a dull red with black markings. Her carpet was plush and green with tinges of milky white, while her drapes and bedspread displayed a swirling design of earth tones. The grown-ups usually shuddered upon entering the room.
Marissa suddenly jumped up again and went to the mirror over her dresser. She began to idly brush her hair; it was jet black like her mother's, but much shorter. She wore long bangs and, as a personal fashion statement, a strand of long hair dangled down to her left shoulder. Laura thought Marissa's hair looked ghastly and she often urged her to let it grow out. The two had the same emerald eyes and they shared an unhealthy addiction to sweets of all kinds.
The similarity ended there. Laura had been an adventurous and outgoing, but rather frail child. Marissa was like her father, strong and athletic, nearly inexhaustible. Laura was a demure but memorable Andalusian beauty. Marissa, on the other hand, had the appearance of a mischievous pixie with bangs: her face was square and boyish, with a button nose and wide-set eyes. Laura had eventually learned to restrain her reckless nature. Her child had learned no such thing.
Marissa was preparing to head downstairs after washing and dressing when she heard a tap on the door. Her mother entered the room, shook her head, shuddered, and then said, "Okay Miss Missy, are you ready to have that little chat now?"
Marissa had nearly forgotten about the night before. As her eyes fell on the music box, it all came back to her. "Oh yeah, wasn't that strange last night?"
"Yes, it was." They both sat at the edge of the bed and Laura stroked her child's arm as she asked her, "Why don’t you tell me more about that old storyteller. What did he look like and what was the story he told you?"
"Well, he's short and fat with a big round face. He has white hair and a long white beard. He wears his glasses on the tip of his nose, and he loves to laugh and tease us kids. That's why I like him so much. He's always laughing and he tells such crazy stories of the old days."
Laura prodded her girl, "Just what was his story this time?"
"It was funny, not in the usual way, but weird. It was about a girl named Laura who loved to learn songs from the old days. She met an old woman who knew a lot of them, and she learned all of the songs the old lady knew." Marissa took a quick breath and continued. "Then the lady gave her a music box and Laura took it home. Chris told us she still had the music box stashed away in her home somewhere. I thought, 'However did he know that?' Now I find out that you know the song and you have the music box too, just as he said. It is so weird! How do you think he knew that, Mom?"
Laura had turned very pale. Suddenly she was 10-years-old again, and on Carol's doorstep. She rang the bell as she stomped her feet to shake off the cold, and there he was. "Come in, come in young lady. Carol's in the kitchen waiting for you," he boomed as he puffed on his pipe. "My name is Chris. Carol and I are old friends, and she has been telling me all about her new friend Laura. How are you today?"
Laura found herself replying in a barely audible voice, "Fine." Then she snapped back to the present and the image was gone.
Marissa was watching closely. She could not make out what her mother said, so she repeated her question. "How did he know that, Mom?"
Scrambling to regain her composure, Laura managed to say at last, "I'm not quite sure, honey. I believe I met that same man. I'm surprised he’s still alive."
"Were you that little girl?"
"I, well - I don't see how, but I - I think so. This is all so very strange," muttered Laura.
"I know," Marissa said enthusiastically. "Tell me about Carol and Chris."
"Well, you seem to already know a lot. Let me see what I can remember. I was a silly little girl then. I used to wander everywhere on my electric scooter, there were no land-skimmers yet. If your grandma and grandpa had ever found out, they would have taken it away. One day, I was riding down the parkway and I heard a woman humming and singing. I found a park bench not far from hers, and I listened for a while. Carol's voice was beautiful, and I had never heard such a lovely song. She noticed me and called me over. She asked me what I thought of her song."
Marissa interrupted, "Was she pretty?"
"I thought so,” Laura said. “She had white hair. Her eyes were bright and kind, as blue as the sky. She wore her hair in a bun with a bright green stickpin shaped like a holly leaf. She was wearing a white ski-sweater and snow pants, brown boots, and furry pink mittens. Her scooter was leaning against the bench."
"She rode a scooter?" Marissa scrunched her nose.
"Yes, she did. I followed her to a charming little house not far from the parkway. My parents would have been furious if they knew I followed her home, but there was something about her. I just knew I could trust her. I was lucky and everything turned out fine, but following a stranger home is a stupid thing to do. A ten-year-old girl can easily be fooled by a seemingly friendly face. YOU, Miss Marissa Angela Stevens, are NEVER to go with someone you do not know. Do you understand?"
"I already know, Mom. Dad told me that a long time ago."
"Good, then I'll get back to the story. There was a large pine tree in front, the only one in the neighborhood. Inside, it was very neat and cozy. There was a piano in one room. There were many pictures of her friends over an old fireplace that still seemed to be used occasionally."
"Wait, what is a fireplace?"
"Well, Carol explained that it was something in old homes where people would burn wood to warm up the room. A chimney led up from a brick pit to allow smoke to escape through the roof. Carol said that in her day they were quite popular, a nostalgic link to the distant past. They loved the comforting glow they emitted and the scent of burning wood that filled the room."
"Barbaric," Marissa huffed.
"Hush, now comes the strange part. One afternoon when I came to visit, someone named Chris answered the door instead of Carol. We sat and talked for hours, or they did. I mostly listened. I was afraid of him. He was so different. He told old stories as if he had been there. I thought he was a very nice and very crazy old man. Carol seemed to like him though. He said they were old friends. Carol said the same when I asked her about him a couple of days later."
"Do you think it was my Chris?"
"That was twenty-five years ago. How could it be? Then again, how many men like him are there around? He was so unique. This whole thing is very confusing."
"Did you really learn all of Carol's songs?"
"I don’t know. She had so many. I think she taught me thirty or so. I only remember a couple of them."
"Will you sing one to me?"
"Give me just a second. Let me see if I can remember the one called 'Joy to the World.' I love that one." She found the words and began to sing to her girl. After a few moments, Marissa smiled brightly; the song and her mother's voice filled her mind with hope and promise.
Just then, her father peeked into the room. "I wondered where the two of you were."
"I'm sorry, John. I lost track of time. Marissa and I were having a little talk," Laura explained.
"Uh-oh, what did you do now Missy?" John managed to smile and grimace at the same time.
"Nothing," Marissa said coyly.
"I'll find out you know. I always do." He bent down and searched her eyes.
Laura intervened, "She's not in any trouble this time. The two of us were just chatting about that little song she was humming yesterday. I'll fill you in later."
"Oh, is that all? Well, breakfast is ready," John announced.
The two looked at one another in mock astonishment. John ignored them and pushed them out of the room. It was getting late and he could not afford to be late for work. He was not about to let a little sarcasm sidetrack him.
Most people worked at home then, as we do, but their workday was much more demanding than ours. Those unable to keep up lost the privilege of working unsupervised. They found themselves back in the company hive, local headquarters. Some workers liked the social aspect of hive life and flourished there, but most folks saw it as a humiliating loss of prestige. The reward of working from home was incentive enough for the majority of workers to put in the long hours demanded of them. As a result, most folks lost their connection with tradition. Life was too challenging and fast-paced then to waste on leisure pursuits or trivial rituals of the past. Still, they treasured their new technology. Their world was now at the touch of their fingertips, like some virtual reality existing on a screen. We now see the flaws in such a culture, but it was an exciting development for them. They saw freedom in what we see as confinement.
Their lifestyle changed gradually but relentlessly through those years. Religious services were still a part of some people's lives, but worshippers now monitored them from their homes. The few churches still remaining primarily catered to weddings and funerals. The number of clergy had shrunk decidedly as a result of the changing times.
It was then too that the tradition of gathering for spectator events nearly ended. People were newly able to connect visually and interact with others from the comfort of their homes. The event promoters were forced to offer free admittance to those electing to attend. Such lures became necessary to assure adequate crowds. Corporations funded the events in exchange for exclusive advertising rights.
Many people played sports to stay in shape and refresh their social batteries. Others preferred attending restaurants or clubs for an occasional night of fun. Most folks, though, tended to mingle only with others of the same sub-profession. The restaurants, clubs, and sports venues catered to those cliques with special hours or nights for each. The only people exposed to a wide cross-section of the populace were the service workers, the police and health care professionals.
Marissa liked the service workers. They seemed to have more time for jokes, friendly nods, and conversations. She was a bundle of youthful energy and curiosity, open to new thoughts and ideas. Many other children shared such traits. It was disconcerting for the adults, but they consoled themselves with the fact that most kids sobered up eventually.
The children's lives were very structured. Their only free moments during the week were between class and dinner. They often chatted with friends electronically after the "homework" was done, but the only real chance for them to get together was during the weekends. A swarm of hyperactive kids usually descended upon the LDC then. Marissa was going nowhere that week-end though. It was still much too "yucky" outside.
__________
By the next Monday, Detroit was in the middle of a mid-December thaw and the snow was rapidly melting. Classes were over and Marissa's schedule was clear for the rest of the day. As a lark, she ordered her computer to search for the carol "Silent Night." Text soon appeared telling her that it was one of many once popular carols. She learned that it was written by a German priest named Joseph Mohr, put to melody by an Austrian named Franz Gruber, and first sung on Christmas Eve of the year 1818 in the alpine village of Oberndorf. There was more, but Marissa skipped down to the lyrics. She opened the music box and began to sing:
"Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
"Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Savior is born
Christ, the Savior is born
"Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love’s pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth"
Marissa had learned of the Christ story in school, along with those of other world religions. While repeating the lyrics though, she found herself lost in thought. The story seemed to come to life for her. Marissa told her computer to find more Christmas carols, and then she marched down-stairs for dinner. She rushed back to her room afterwards to continue practicing her song.
John's workday mercifully ended at eight o'clock that evening. Laura often had to save dinner for him. He served as a security expert for World Tours Incorporated, a company that developed virtual trips for the Virreal technology. He and his team engaged in a never-ending struggle with cyber-pirates who sought to steal corporate secrets and sell them to the highest bidder. John loved his career, but it was stressful and he liked to unwind with a drink or two before bed. Laura was tolerant of John's habit, but she closely monitored his alcohol intake. It had been a difficult day at work for John, definitely a two-drink day.
He sat in his easy chair in the den, sipping a scotch on the rocks. He had discarded his clothes, thrown on a robe, and slipped back into the slippers that he always wore in the house. Swirling his drink, he looked at his distorted image in the glass. Although his ancestors were primarily English, John claimed he was Irish. He still had all of his reddish-brown hair and the boyish quality to his face that had drawn Laura to him years ago. He was affable and often silly, a trait Laura also liked. John detected some laugh lines as he scanned his face, but no bags, or sags, or furrows were evident. Not that it mattered; the prospect of aging didn't bother him. He would always be trim because of his naturally active nature, and Laura liked that too.
John had managed well in his career and he eventually convinced Laura to find a less demanding job than she once held. She was now a cyber-nurse, monitoring patients and caring for them remotely. When someone needed attention, Laura would simply notify the patient's nurse or doctor. She usually served more as a long-distance sounding board and friend than as a health professional, but Laura was a fully qualified nurse. She once held a post at one of the more prominent hospitals in the area. Her workday was much shorter now, leaving time for her to keep the household running smoothly. Laura had looked in on Marissa, and Jonny was asleep. She was heading downstairs when John called to her from the den. "Have a glass of wine and relax."
"Sure, why not?" Laura casually responded.
"How did it go today?"
"...Nothing out of the ordinary. I need to do some shopping before I begin work tomorrow."
"I'm beat," John said, "We were plugging leaks all day. I was glad when Tom took over. By the way, what were you singing to Missy this morning? I haven’t heard you sing much lately."
Laura nonchalantly replied, "Oh, it was just something I learned as a girl. Missy seems to be on a new kick. She wanted to hear Christmas carols."
"I didn’t know you knew any."
"There's a lot you don’t know about me," she said mysteriously.
"Is that so?"
"No, I'm just teasing."
"You'd better be," John said with feigned suspicion.
"She gave me quite a shock this morning."
"She did?"
"Yes. I asked her about the man who taught her that song. She described him to me and it sounded like someone I met when I was a girl."
"I doubt that."
"I know. It's just too preposterous. He was an old man when I met him. Anyway, I felt that I should talk to her this morning about it. I wanted to know how she learned that song. I know I never taught it to her."
"But you knew it?"
"Yes."
"How did you learn it?" John asked.
"I was ten, the same age as her. I heard a woman singing it and she taught it to me. I met that man at her home. He was a friend of hers."
"It's probably just a coincidence. Are you ready to go up? I’m getting tired."
"I think I’ll sit for a minute and finish my wine."
"Okay, don’t be long."
"I won't." Laura dimmed the lights and leaned back after John left the room, still trying to make sense of things.
As her parents talked, Marissa was chatting with an e-pal from Australia named Shar-Ann. The two had cyber-met a couple of years earlier and they still talked often, mostly swapping pictures and gossip. Shar-Ann was a year older and she loved to tease Marissa about it. She would laugh as Marissa called her a mean old hag. It was early morning for Shar-Ann, and she had only a few minutes to talk.
Marissa went over the recent events, and sang "Silent Night" to her friend. Shar-Ann needed to research an old custom of the past for school, and she thought that Christmas might be the perfect subject. She thanked Marissa for the idea and asked to hear the song once more so she could record it. She purred, "I just love your mom's music box, Missy."
"Yeah, it's like an heirloom. I wonder how old it is."
"There must be something about them floating around in cyberspace," Shar-Ann mused.
Marissa chided herself, "Yeah, I should have thought of that. Next time we talk, you can tell me how your project is going and I'll let you know about the music box."
"Okay, G'day rat face."
"Goodnight beagle brains." They made fish faces at each other and logged off.
Marissa climbed into bed thinking about Shar-Ann. She hoped they would get together someday. Glenna and her other friends were great, but she saw them all of the time. She finally drifted off to sleep, where chimneys, fat men, and white-haired old women with plates of cookies swirled in a confusion of images.
__________
It was hard for Marissa to concentrate on school the next day. Her mind often wandered as she impatiently waited for her classes to end. At lunch, she made a short list of items to look up. She had no plans to go outdoors that day; it was still yucky outside with the snow continuing to melt and puddles forming everywhere.
First thing after class, Marissa looked up her search results for carols. She found that St. Francis introduced them in the twelfth century, and that Oliver Cromwell of England banned them during his reign. The article explained that the joyful theme of the songs clashed with his puritanical vision of Christianity. Many carols were lost for all time then. During the Victorian Era, carols became popular again and remained so until around 2050, when interest faded. Marissa then found a list of carols, complete with words and music. She nearly burst when she saw who created it. Clearly typed at the bottom of the page were the words, "By Laura Flores-12/17/2074." Flores was her mother's maiden name. Marissa printed out the list and decided to show it to her mother later. She examined her list and counted exactly thirty songs. She then sampled each one, being too short of time to hear them all completely. Some of them made no sense to her at all and appeared to be merely silly fairy tales.
Her search for chimneys turned up nothing of interest, so she moved on to music boxes and found that in 1796 a clockmaker from Switzerland invented the first one. They soon became popular and remained so until the phonograph replaced them. She could find nothing about her box; it had no date or markings, making it impossible to trace. It was disappointing, but she still had the list of carols as a reward for her work.
Marissa presented the list to her mom during dinner. Laura nostalgically looked it over, and then said, "My, this takes me back. I forgot all about this. How did you get it Missy?"
"I found it when I was searching for Christmas carols."
"What do you have there?" John asked.
"It's just something I did when I was a girl, a list of songs I learned from that woman I told you about. I saved them on the computer."
"Is that so?" John absently remarked, immediately losing interest.
Marissa, however, was full of questions. Laura only smiled patiently and insisted that any questions would have to wait until later. She promised to come up early, before bedtime. Marissa was hardly a patient girl, but she knew it was useless to whine. Her mother was immune to whining. She dragged herself upstairs.
Marissa was listening to twenty-five-year-old recordings of songs that were written hundreds of years ago, sung by her mother as a little girl while Marissa was sitting in her room, in the present. "This is so weird," she thought. She cried aloud histrionically, "I'm going absolutely mad," just as her mother entered the room. She turned quickly and saw Laura's questioning stare. Flushed with sudden embarrassment, Marissa rushed to reassure her mother that she was fine.
Laura stood over her with arms folded and said, "What am I going to do with you? Now, do you have some questions?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes! I went through the songs, and I like some of them better than the rest. Which ones do you like the most?"
"Well, let me see the list again. I had three or four favorites as a girl, but I like three or four different ones now. People change as they get older, you know."
"Not me, I'm never going to change."
"Don't scare your mother. Now, when I was a girl, my favorite song was 'Deck the Halls.' It was easy and fun to sing. I also liked to sing 'Little Drummer Boy,' 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' and 'Joy to the World' too."
"That one is my favorite. It makes me feel warm inside."
"That's what a good song is supposed to do. Now, I think I prefer 'Ave Maria,' 'Angels We Have Heard on High,' 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' and 'White Christmas.'
"What about those crazy songs? Who in the world are Rudolf and Santa Claus?" Marissa asked.
"Carol never really told me. She just said they were songs the children used to love in the old days. They didn’t make any sense to me either."
"I want to send some of the songs to my girlfriends. Can I send them yours?"
"I think they'll like them better if you sang them. You have a nice voice."
"Maybe we can team up."
"It's your idea and I haven’t the time. Now get ready for bed." Laura moved to the door and slowly closed it behind her as she said, "Sleep tight, dear."
__________
Marissa planned to get out of the house for a while after school the next day. She hoped to see Chris again. She told her grandmother she would be back for dinner, and headed out the door. The snow was nearly gone. Only some drifts that the plows had formed remained. It was a cloudy, dreary day and Marissa hurried to Glenna's house hoping that her friend could go along with her. Glenna mournfully reminded Marissa that she had piano lessons that day. She waved forlornly while closing the door as Marissa left the porch and skipped down the walk.
The LDC was still catching up from the delays caused by the storm. Dodging the frantic employees, Marissa headed for the sitting area in the main hall and found it nearly empty; only a couple of workers on their breaks and some security people were around. She half-heartedly wandered the aisles. Failing to find any of her friends, she bought a big cookie at the bakery and headed outside. Marissa took the scenic route home down the parkway, half-expecting to find a white-haired old woman sitting on a bench and singing songs. She then systematically combed the neighbor-hood near the park, searching for a home with a large pine tree in the front yard. After searching for an hour, she finally headed home.
Trees were rare in the cities at that time. There were huge forests throughout the country, but the urban landscapers rarely utilized them. They were important tools in maintaining the eco-system, but seen as nuisances in populated areas. Tree roots could damage pavement and delicate underground systems. A large vacation industry evolved as a result. Huge resorts were created in the middle of each wilderness area. Urban families eager for a chance to commune with Mother Nature would fly in from surrounding cities. Not many people went far from the resorts however; roughing it was not a popular concept in those days.
Marissa saw the trees as rare jewels in her limited experience. She had traveled little in her short life and she had not been exposed to many. The solitary tree in the nearest park was an enormous cottonwood, a variety of the poplar family. Its peak reached more than eighty feet above the ground. It sent white puffy seedlings out on the wind in the spring, blanketing the grass all around it. In autumn, the leaves would turn to a dull yellow and fall from the tree to blanket the grass again. Marissa often sat beneath the tree in summer, sometimes with friends, watching and listening as the wind caressed the rustling branches. She thought of it as her tree. The big pine tree of her mother's story was another lure for Marissa. She had never before seen one that large. She was determined to find it while on her way home that day, and she was disappointed when her search for it proved fruitless.
Her grandmother was waiting at the door as Marissa came up the walk. "Hurry up, you're late. Now hop to it!"
She laughed as Marissa began to hop into the house. Marissa often made her grandmother laugh. The girl was much like she had once been and evoked memories of her own child-hood. She also delighted in her granddaughter's knack for driving her mother crazy. She would tell Laura on such occasions, "It serves you right. You were twice as hard to handle." It was hardly true, but Laura's exasperation with Marissa would ease and shift to her mother. Angela (she preferred Angie) and Marissa were teammates, two pixies on the loose. Angie was purposely eccentric. It pleased her to perplex her daughter. Angie cared little for the staid demeanor Laura had adopted in recent years. She understood that her daughter was trying to be a responsible mother, but she missed the outgoing and bouncy young woman Laura once was. She was waging a subtle little war with the new Laura. She knew that the change in her daughter was triggered by the death of Laura's father. She hoped somehow to reach the old Laura again but she was having a difficult time finding her. Laura would not even speak about her father, choosing to carry her pain in silence.
Since Angie often joined a small group of her retired friends for dinner, Marissa considered it a special treat whenever her grandmother was at the family dinner table. Jonny was only two, he never had much to say, and her parents always talked about boring stuff. It was great to have Grangie around to shake up things. Soon Angie had everyone laughing with gossip of her friends and their families. It was gratifying to her when she could make her daughter laugh. She silently judged it a successful dinner and politely excused herself from the table.
Angie often found it necessary to amuse herself. The others were often busy with their own affairs, and the Virreal Machine was a godsend to her. She announced, "I am off to China to-night. Would anyone like to join me?" She arose from the table. There were no volunteers, as expected, so she bade them all a fond farewell.
Marissa called out, "Bon Voyage, Grandma," and waved. She excused herself too and headed for her room. Shar-Ann would be awake now; there was only a short window of opportunity for them to communicate. As she was about to contact her friend, her screen came alive.
"Earth calling Missy, come in. Has your mommy tucked you in already? Earth to Missy. Are you there?"
"I'm here, you wicked old hag."
Shar-Ann chirped, "What did you find out?"
"I struck out with my music box search," Marissa replied. "There are no markings on mine so it was impossible to find out anything. I found a list of Christmas carols though, and it was made by my mom almost twenty-five years ago. Isn't that wild?"
"Wild! Can you send it to me? Maybe I can use it for my project."
"Okay. It was so strange listening to my mom when she was ten-years-old," Marissa noted.
"You should tease her about it," suggested Shar-Ann.
"It's no fun teasing her. She simply has no sense of humor."
"Guess what, I found all kinds of stuff about what people used to do for Christmas. I can send my stuff if you want it."
"Yeah, you send yours and I'll send mine."
"I cannot wait to finish my report! You won’t believe the stuff they used to do."
Marissa asked excitedly, "Is it juicy? I can hardly wait to see it. When is it due?"
"I have to have it in by my Wednesday." Shar-Ann responded.
"Okay, let's talk on your Thursday morning, my Wednesday night."
"Okay, I'll see you then."
Marissa set aside Shar-Ann's material for later and began a message to her other friends. She gave a short account of her last few days and sent her mother's list of songs, deciding it was too much trouble to record them in her own voice. Next, she turned to the material Shar-Ann sent. It was edited, including only what Shar-Ann found interesting, but it was still a lot to sort through.
Marissa began to read: "In Australia, it is summer at Christmas. People often spent the day at the beach, or enjoyed a picnic. On Christmas Eve, thousands gathered to sing carols by candle-light beneath the open sky.
"In Africa, carolers walked through the villages singing. They gave love offerings at church, laying their gifts upon a raised platform near the communion table.
"In Bethlehem, the Church of the Nativity is still ablaze with flags and decorations on every Christmas. On Christmas Eve, a parade solemnly marches to a grotto where visitors find a silver star marking the site of the birth of Jesus.
"In Venezuela, on the fifth of January, children placed straw beside their beds. The next morning, in place of the straw, they found gifts from the Magi. If they found a smudge on their cheeks, it meant that Balthazar (one of the Magi) had kissed them as they slept
"On Christmas Eve in Spain, the streets filled with dancers and onlookers. On the sixth of January, children put carrots and barley in wooden shoes filled with straw. They left them on their windowsills for the horses of the Magi. Balthazar left them gifts in return.
"In Germany, children left sparkly letters on their windowsills for Christkind, a winged figure dressed in white robes and a golden crown. There were gingerbread houses and Christmas trees in every home. On the sixth of December, children left a shoe by the door. Next morning, they found a small present if they’d been good, a rod if they’d been bad."
Marissa pushed her chair away from the computer and blinked her eyes several times. "I must have goodies," she mumbled, and staggered downstairs. In the kitchen, she found a bowl of grapes and lazily devoured them while slouching at the table. Refreshed somewhat, she lingered for a few moments afterwards, then suddenly popped up and returned to her room upstairs. Settled again in her desk chair at the computer station, Marissa resumed her reading.
"In Scandinavia, children left out a bowl of porridge for a little gnome named Julenisse who put presents under the Christmas tree in the night. They believed that other gnomes who lived in the attics of the homes made the presents. Families would burn great Yule logs that remained lit throughout the season.
"In Switzerland, silver bells heralded the arrival of Christkindli, an angel with a veil and a jeweled crown. She came in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. Tree candles glowed as she entered each home, and she offered presents from a basket held by her child helpers. Bell-ringing contests were held between the towns annually.
"In England, the people loved singing Christmas carols and decorating Christmas trees. Father Christmas would leave presents for the children in stockings on Christmas Eve.
"In Hungary, families gathered round their Christmas trees to sing and open gifts left by baby Jesus and the angels. St. Nicholas visited on the sixth of December, accompanied by a 'Devil Boy' holding a switch to smack naughty children. Good children received toys or sweets.
"In Holland, Sinterklass arrived in November clad in bishop's robes and journeying in a boat with a helper called Black Peter. Swarms of people greeted him at the docks. He then mounted a snow horse and rode through the streets in a great parade. People exchanged gifts on the fifth of December. The children believed Sinterklass spent the year making lists and presents. The farmers blew horns into their wells, amplifying the sound, to herald the coming of Christmas.
"In Belgium, two gift givers arrived. St. Nicholas visited twice. On the fourth of December, he came to learn who had been good or bad. On the sixth of December, he returned with presents for the good and twigs for the bad. Pere Noel came for the French speaking children.
"On the sixth of December in the Netherlands, Sinterklaas Avond gave gifts in return for hay and sugar for his horse. Christmas came on the twenty-fifth of December. Three Kings' Day arrived on the sixth of January.
"Santa Claus, or Kris Kringle, first appeared in the United States in the nineteenth century. He had a great white beard and a big belly, wore a red suit, smoked a pipe, and traveled in a sleigh drawn by reindeer. He was the American version of St. Nicholas."
Marissa drew a deep breath; it was a lot to process in a short time. It seemed obvious that Christmas used to be something special. She wondered why people no longer celebrated it. Santa Claus sounded like Chris to her and she wondered if Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, and Sinterklaas were different names for St. Nicholas. The next step was for her to learn more about St. Nicholas, but that would have to wait. Her mother had already checked on her twice. Marissa would be in trouble if she wasn't ready for bed when Laura returned.
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Saturday came at last, the eighteenth day of December. Marissa contacted Glenna before breakfast, and they agreed to meet at noon. Glenna greeted Marissa at the door just as the old clock in her hallway struck twelve. After a quick lunch, the two began to plan their day.
"What do you want to do first?" Glenna asked.
"Want to go skating?"
"Yeah!" Glenna responded, "We can get there before all the big kids show up."
"They're so rude."
"I know. They think they own everything," Glenna groaned.
"Yeah, I won't be like that when I get older."
"Me neither. We're civilized," Glenna said haughtily.
Marissa laughed and began to strut like a queen. "How true, my dear."
"Then we'll get some ice cream and wander around."
Marissa jumped up, "Maybe we'll bump into somebody. Are you ready to go?"
The LDC was not crowded yet. They had the rink mostly to themselves and skated for more than an hour. Both of them were good skaters and each tried to outdo the other. Afterward, they made sure to sample every ice cream flavor at the soda fountain before choosing. They ate their cones leisurely, having all afternoon to waste. Later, they ran into friends while walking the aisles. All of them wandered aimlessly together, gawking at the displays and teasing one another.
Bored at last, the girls bought soft drinks and rested on one of the circular couches that were placed throughout the mall. One of them said that she had read Marissa's message, and they all began to chatter at once. Some of them had listened to the songs, and some had not. Marissa told them all that she had found more stuff. Some of the girls were eager to see it.