The Ghost of Christmas Future

Two homes sit side by side on Lakewood Drive that have recently endured a great loss. In one of these homes lives Lynita whose husband, my Uncle Fred, passed away last September. Next to Lynita lives Dorothy, and her husband Jim died only a few months before Fred. These two men were an odd duet that gave the neighborhood character, and their passing left a void of personality that remains unfilled. What was once a neighborhood centered on the adventures of two eccentrics, has now become deeply conscious of two women who are suddenly widows.

Of course my father also mourns. He and his brother had quirks that were not interchangeable, but their values and attitudes were mostly parallel. Those similarities included a striking physical resemblance. Pictures from years before show men very individual in appearance. Yet, as they got older those peculiarities lost their contrast. The wear and graying of age made individual features transparent, and they gradually blended into a common type.

My father is concerned for both these women. Yet for Dorothy that concern is particularly marked because her heart is weak, and her health teeters on the edge of crisis. Within a week of Jim’s funeral Dad spread out on her kitchen table a brochure advertising a small electronic device to be worn like a necklace. This tiny electronic transmitter is activated by the press of a button and it instantly contacts a designated person living nearby.

Dad volunteered to be that designated person.

That was months ago. Until this past week that device was never put to the test. Then on Thursday evening at ten o’clock it was activated and when dad telephoned Dorothy didn’t answer. Dad quickly resolved to drive over to Dorothy’s and mom insisted on coming along. They fumbled for car keys, quickly put on their robes and within a few moments they were at the front door of Dorothy’s darkened home. They knocked, but no one answered.

What they did not know was that Dorothy had been invited to a Christmas party, and some accidental contact had pushed the button that brought them to her porch. With no one responding, mom asked the obvious question, “Do you have Dorothy’s house keys?”

“No… I don’t.”

Mom separately annunciated each of the following words, “Did she give you a set of keys?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And where are they?”

“I’m not sure.”

Within seconds Dad was indicted, tried and found guilty. Sentencing was soon to follow.

At that moment Dad spied the bright possibility of a quick reprieve. Next door the Goolahan’s home was a thicket of blue Christmas lights, and their living room glowed with evidence that they were still awake. In his desperation dad rightly assumed that they must also have a set of Dorothy’s keys.

Unfortunately, regarding the Goolahan's, there was also much that dad could not have assumed.

That night, with her husband was out of town, Laura Goolahan had decided to read aloud “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens. Over the progress of that evening she wove through the famous mishaps of Scrooge. Her young children were introduced to the decaying remnant of old Marley, the perverse image of an elderly child cast as the ghost of Christmas past, and the specter of an emaciated frozen ghost in the person of Christmas present.

There was a brief recess while the popcorn bowl was refilled and then Laura began to describe the most frightening apparition of all, the ghost of Christmas Future. She opened the book and began to read…

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand…

At that very moment there was a loud knock on their elaborately windowed front door. As mother and child looked up, in a glow of blue light, wearing a dark robe with arm outstretched was the very image of Fred. The scream that followed belonged in the pit of Dante's Inferno. Jumping up the Goolahan’s collided with one another in a desperate attempt to find safe exit. So convincing was the panic that dad turned around and made a confused dash for the car.

Sitting next to him in the darkness of this calamity was my mother. “Do you have Dorothy’s keys?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, what on earth happened?”

He turned to look at her and said, “I’m not really sure.”

In a tone of labored patience she asked, “Wouldn't it be wise to go back and ask for those keys?”

Dad thought for a moment, “Doris, you’re right, but something’s terribly wrong and I probably have something to do with it.”

Dad was a picture of mystified culpability. Finally mom opened her mouth as if to offer an argument, but then thought better of it. A second or two passed before she reached for the door handle, “Let me ask poor Laura what you’ve done.”

In due course mom brought order to mayhem. She alleviated panic, restored calm and quickly confirmed that Dorothy was safe and happy. As for dad, he’s resolved to end his brief and convincing career as the ghost of Christmas future.