Bob Heydecker

It was Christmas Eve. Behind the bargain counter at Lowerys' Laurie Darr noticed that there were only five minutes until closing time, yet there were still customers milling around happily purchasing gifts for their loved ones. Her feet ached and her smile had just about worn off. Suddenly Laurie was aware of the desperate, lonely feeling inside. Time had taught her to forget, but how could she on Christmas Eve?

Fifteen minutes later, Laurie walked out into the chilly night. A tinny version of "0 Come All Ye Faithful" blasted out of the store P.A. system perhaps for the last time until next year's mad Christmas rush.

Waiting on the corner for the bus, Laurie remembered the accident again. She had lost Jon and her faith in God. Seeing happy people made her feel out of place, for she had not been happy for a long time. She reached up and pulled her collar closer to her. It was cold. Jon had been her entire life... now he was dead. Laurie hated God‑if there was one.

The bus came faithfully on time. After entering and seating herself, she peered out of the steamed‑up window as one lone, salty tear ran down her cheek.

She automatically rose when she saw Garfinkels' Delicatessen. The bus stopped, and she stepped out while the bus went off around Jackson Street. Although only a three block walk, it seemed like an hour when she reached the brownstone apartment building. All the front tenants had a Christmas tree in the window, even the Rosenthals', who were Jewish.

Once in the entry hall, Laurie took a deep breath and proceeded to climb the four flights of stairs. The dimly lit halls smelled of various nationality cookery. Panting, she reached her room. After finding the key in her purse, she opened the door and locked it behind her. She didn't turn the light on, but took her shoes off and sat on the edge of her bed, finally laying back. Patterns of light chased each other on the ceiling.

Oddly enough, a ginger cookie smell crept under the door nostalgically reminding her of home. Memories of her childhood Christmases marched across her mind, and she relived each one. She fell asleep clothes and all, amidst happy thoughts.

Hark! The Herald angels sing-Glory! To the new-born King. . .It was the chimes that woke Laurie. She jumped up and ran to the window. Opening it, lacey snowflakes danced to the sill. It was beautiful. Faint strains of, "O Holy Night," streamed from the church down the street. Laurie knew what to do.

She reached the church breathing excitedly with snowflakes brushing her face. Deep inside, she was surging with emotions that had been shut up a long time.

Starry‑eyed, she entered the sanctuary, and sat herself in a front pew. The carol was lovely, and she began to sob gently. Sobs of pity? No, sobs of forgiveness for herself and humanity.

Through her tears the candlelight and atmosphere gave off an aura of lustre. Centering her eyes on the Nativity, she said softly, "Father, forgive me. . . and Happy Birthday dear Jesus . . .