Solitude (with the Spectral)

Hoarfrost crystalised the valley. Early this morning, as the front rolled through, I shivered under my heavy electric blanket, the howling wind shrill as a lonely coyote. The sudden drop in temperature froze the rising fog, and now, white ice clings in puffy clumps to naked gnarled oak branches, giving an illusion of softness to the ridge.

It’s impossible not to admire.

Even as it solidifies I will spend Christmas alone.

Just me and the ghosts. 

Part of me wanted this. The dark parts.

The cynical demon who made pie crusts, gravy, and mashed potatoes to freeze ahead of our family meal. As everyone else cuddled on the couch, watching TV, I grumbled to myself, as the Whos merrily squealed their horns and banged their drums, “Isn’t it ableist to vilify the Grinch for having sensory overload from all of the noise, noise, noise, NOISE?”

The multitasking goblin who wrapped gifts, delicately creasing without tearing, while simultaneously listening to my company’s all-hands presentation, trying to divine whether lay-offs were imminent from the end-of-quarter slides. How can we have record-breaking profits, but also have a mandatory freeze on first-quarter raises? I can’t ethically keep Julian on at his measly pay another year. 

The spreadsheet dragon, tracking gifts purchased for the children, to ensure equity in number and cost between the siblings. Tracking gifts for nieces, nephews, and in-laws. Another sheet with Christmas card addresses, updated to reflect divorces and deaths. Merriest time of the year.

Part of me didn’t just want silence -- it was starving for it.  

And yet, I was not exactly gracious when gifted solitude for Christmas.

On the first night of winter break, my husband and I ordered pizza and shared a bottle of cheap red wine. Celia, our daughter, was next door for a sleepover with her best friend, but somehow, we managed to net extra children from this arrangement, as each of her brothers took her absence as an opportunity to invite a friend to stay the night. 

After the feeding frenzy of tweens ended, they migrated back upstairs, resuming their mystery bangs and bumps, as we settled into the couch. Spicy pepperoni tingled on my lips, and a pleasant buzz was just settling in when Andy pulled out his phone.

“So, I got an interesting offer from the Airbnb host today.”

“About the Christmas cabin?” The buzz began to pulse into a sluggish headache. “Please tell me everything's alright,” my brain already spinning up contingency plans for how we could possibly accommodate my sister’s herd of eight children and my brother’s wife (who hates children and fun).

“Yeah, he said if we book the cabin for the full week, he’ll give us the extra days at half price. So, I was thinking…what if you go up ahead of us on the 23rd, and me and the kids and everyone else joins you as planned on Christmas Eve. We’ll all be together for Christmas. Then, you can take the kids home and I’ll spend a night alone on the 26th. I haven’t gotten you anything yet” he said sheepishly, “and I think more than anything, what we both could use is a break.”

“You want to be alone for Christmas?” I asked, tears stinging in my eyes.

“No, I want to be with you and the kids for Christmas! But when was the last time you remember being alone?”

“But I love being with you and the kids! If I was going to go somewhere, I’d want to go on vacation with a friend. I haven’t seen Amelia or Emily in years, and they were bridesmaids in our wedding!”

“If you want to visit your girlfriends, we’ll figure out how to make it happen next year. But even if you don’t want it, you need this. You need a break.”

“I don’t know what I’d even do by myself,” I muttered, thoughts of the hot tub overlooking the ridge flitting through my head. “That cabin is the only house on the mountaintop. Are you sure you don’t want to join me? I gave Miranda a very well-earned Christmas bonus…we might be able to convince her to drive the kids up to us on Christmas Eve.”

He smiled, the lines around his hazel eyes crinkling. It’s so easy to flatter someone so sweet. “I would love to have you alone in that house, all to myself. But, no. You deserve a break.”

I guess the ghosts didn’t get the same message.

The house didn’t look haunted. It looked like a Lincoln Log set came to life, exactly as advertised on Airbnb. With six bedrooms (four with king-size beds and en-suit bathrooms with towel warmers) it would have been listed as a villa if it wasn’t nestled in the mountains. The wrap-around porch was draped in garland, dotted with fat, velvety red bows. Enough space for everyone to be together for three days. 

It wasn’t our first Christmas without Mom and Dad, but none of us were ready to take up the mantle of hosting, yet.

So we were meeting on neutral territory again this year.

A red cardinal preened in a bush next to the car. I thought of mom’s feeder, and how excited she’d get when a cardinal would come through. Looking at the bird, I felt like I saw her, proud and beautiful.

But that’s ridiculous. The cardinal is a male. And mom’s spirit lives on in our memories, not birds. 

The sun was nearly straight above me at high noon, and yet, even though the house was warm, goosebumps prickled up and down my arms as I entered the house. I’m just not used to being alone. 

I unpacked coolers into the spotless sub-zero refrigerator and arranged gifts under the festive tree in the den.

I placed my sunscreen, moisturizers, magnesium, zinc, and melatonin supplements along the vanity and hung up my travel bag.

Now what?

The question hardly had a moment in my head before I felt another shiver up my spine. I cannot be coming down with the flu. I will not be sick. I feel fine. No scratchy throat or fatigue, the usual precursors of a cold. 

Maybe I should take a nap, just in case.

I changed into soft flannel pajama pants, the pink and green plaid ones that matched Celia’s, and pulled down the black-out curtains.

I don’t typically enjoy napping, but I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the overstuffed pillow.

“Where am I??” I panicked as I woke up.

“The cabin,” replied a familiar, comforting voice.

“Right..wait…where are you??” Impossibly, I heard her in my head.  

“I’m not really here physically, sugar. I’m just visiting in spirit.”

“How, Mom? You’ve been dead nearly three years. Maybe those were funny mushrooms in the soup at lunch.”

“Oh, darling. I am always with you. You know that I’ll always be with you.”

Tears fell down my face, and I knew it was true. Undeniably true.

“I’ve come to warn you, sugar. Tonight you will be visited by three spirits, the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Future....”

I interrupted her, “No! Mom! I might be a little grumpy, maybe even burnt out, but I’m no Scrooge!”

She laughs gently, “No, you are no Scrooge. You are a loving mother, a devoted wife, and loyal sister. You deserve to enjoy the holiday. That’s why you were chosen, sugar. These three spirits have just finished…well, I guess you would call it training. They shadowed more mature spirits, but they’ve never worked a case alone. Restoring your spirit is their first mission, and it’s going to be a cakewalk. We like to start them off on a win. They’re basically just working through logistics. Traveling through time and space with a human isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies. Think of them as…ghost interns”

“But Andy gave me alone time for Christmas! I’m not meant to be a spectral babysitter!”

“Relax, sugar. Listen to the spirits. You’re no Scrooge, but that doesn’t mean your life can’t be transformed by their wisdom. Just because they’re new doesn’t mean they’re dumb. You’re not their babysitter; you’re their client. I have to go now. Love you always.”

I know her time is up; the room warms as I felt her withdrawing, returning to her realm.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

Sitting at the kitchen bar stool, waiting for the water in the electric kettle to boil, I felt nauseous and disoriented. I couldn’t reconcile the realness of conversing with my mother with the bizarre dream. It was only three, but the sun was already low in the sky. I considered calling Andy to see if he or the kids also had chills or a squirmy stomach.  

But my phone didn’t have a signal, and to be perfectly honest, I was too spooked to explore the house alone. 

So I sat, watching the kettle boil, hoping to feel sturdier after toast and tea.

The bright blue ring around the kettle shut off as bubbles roiled upwards. As I poured the water into a speckled tin mug, I noticed the steam rising, dancing lightly in the late afternoon sun. I sat back down, enjoying watching the water dissipate into the air, until I realized more and more steam kept billowing from the kettle, building like a cloud in the living room, slowly swirling into a human silhouette, but never quite materializing.  

Their voice was equally ephemeral. Whereas my mother’s was clear and reassuring, the Ghost of Christmas Past spoke with vocal fry uptick.

“Um…hi? Sooo, I’m the Past. I’m here to remind you of who you were, so you can remember who you are. And yes, I know that sounds a lot like what Mufasa told Simba in the Lion King…but it was well put, and repetition doesn’t ruin the prayer.”

I immediately knew what my mother meant by Ghost Intern. The Spirit seemed simultaneously prideful and uncertain. Their face never took a solid form, other than their beautiful gray eyes; the kind of eyes that on a child, give a glimpse into their adult beauty, and on an elder, traces of youth continue to dance.

 Eternal.

“Yes, I loved the Lion King, too.” I replied, speaking with my mind, as I had with my mother.

“So, how about we go watch it together?” It asked, enveloping me in a swirl of steam.

Within the fog, I saw a reflection of myself, eight-years-old, Celia’s age, curled up on a daybed in my mother’s childhood bedroom. I clutched a quilt, stitched by my great-great-grandmother, at my throat, completely mesmerized by the dancing animals on the brilliant savannah. A cup of hot jell-o was beginning to congeal next to me. A midwestern cure-all, but even swallowing the sweet, thick liquid felt like glass shards piercing into my throat. 

Dad had put the video on for me, when I didn’t want to come down and open gifts with my brother and sister.

“It’s probably strep. I’ll take her to the E.R. after the kids finish with stockings,” he told Mom. 

The Spirit showed me snuggled into my dad’s corduroy jacket, sleeping while we waited for hours for a doctor to see us. Reading a Babysitter Club book while he waited for the pharmacist to give me the magical bubble gum medicine. When we finally made it back home, the family was ready to dive into Christmas dinner, but he asked them to wait a little longer, so he could tuck me back into bed.

“Merry Christmas, sugar. I’m glad I got to spend it with you.” Dad kissed my hot forehead, and I spent the rest of the holiday alone.

“You still deserve rest. You know, revisiting this memory, I’m not showing you the pie your grandma made or the turkey your mom roasted. No one remembers those things. Because your family under-salts everything.” 

I laugh.

“I’m only kind of joking. You always need way more salt than you think.” 

“Ok…I hear you. Use more salt.”

“And it doesn’t matter where you spend the holiday, as long as the people you spend it with feel loved, whether they’re at your table, upstairs, or 3,000 miles away.”   

The steam fell away, but my vision was still a little foggy. Blinking, the speckled mug in front of me came into focus. It was cold in my hands now. The sun hovered just above the ridge, in an orange-pink sky. 

The clock on the stove read five. Befuddled, I shook my head. I felt as though I had just poured myself the tea. 

“Please accept my apologies for Christmas Past. They were supposed to transport you back to exactly where and when they found you. But, as you know, this is our first time alone on the job. They’ll get better.”

“Are you the Ghost of Christmas Present?” I asked, looking around a bit desperately, trying to find the spectral. As though talking to a ghost I could see was somehow less insane than talking to an invisible ghost.

“Yes…and please accept my apologies for myself, as well. I’m pretty good at traveling through time, but I’m really struggling to move through space. I’m afraid I am stuck.”

“Where are you?”

It was quiet for so long, I began to wonder if Present had disappeared, when I heard an embarrassed voice reply, “I’m in the jacuzzi. I feel so bad, asking you to meet me here. It’s so unprofessional!” 

I wanted to assure her she was doing great, which was hard to do as I found her sitting half-submerged in the jacuzzi, her sequined green cocktail dress floating around her waist, jangly statement baubles around her neck, red lipstick on her bleached teeth. 

“It’s just that when Past was gone for so long, I got bored and thought, what harm could one teeny martini do?”

I noticed the half-empty bottle of Hendricks next to the tub.

“And then, one felt so nice, I thought another would hit the spot. And then I was just so enamored with the sunset, the way the branches squiggle into the sky, the world is just so perfect, I thought, why not have another…and now…I’m stuck.” She started crying, rubbing away the remnants of heavy eyeliner and mascara.

“It’s ok,” I say, “I wanted to watch the sunset in the jacuzzi tonight. This is perfect, for me. It’s going to be so busy once my family arrives, I’m not sure I’ll even have a chance to use it once they’re here.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you watch the sunset with them?”

“I might…it’s just that things happen, you know? You can’t predict what’s going to unfold.”

“Very true, I was told you were wise.” She hiccupped, and before I could think through the physics of telepathic heartburn, she said, “So, I’m not great at space or time travel. Or sobriety. But I am very good at reading the stars,” her eyes looked up at the emerging pinpoints of starlight. I raised my gaze, too, and we sat in silence, other than the gurgling from hot tub jets.  

“Interesting…Venus is shifting tonight. It’s entering Capricorn--a grounding sign. Yes, tonight is meant for rest and restoration. For stillness. Ah, well that’s a relief since we’re not going anywhere.” 

“Can’t argue with the stars, I guess.”

“No. It’s funny, if you stay out here much longer, you’ll see them move. But they always look static to me. Words on a page. Part of a story. A frozen frame.”

“Like each moment is an eternity, and also somehow fleeting?”

“Yes.”

The cold night air was sharp but sweet. I didn’t want Present to ever leave.

“What a funny little paradox.”

The cabin was so remote, eventually, we saw the Milky Way, as the last cloak of dusk finally fell away, revealing the dark sky in her astounding glory. 

At some point, I felt a shift in Present. Her laugh wasn’t as quick, or as loud. I felt more aware of her attention on me; I felt her attune to the pattern of my breath.

“You need to get dried off and drink some water. You’ll have a terrible headache if you don’t hydrate tonight,” she cautioned.

I obeyed. Wrapped in a marshmallow of a robe, I went back to the deck to find her. Although I already knew she was gone.

Completely satiated, I fell into bed without closing the blinds. 

I slept until woken by the unexpected cold front that brought the hoarfrost, and I expect, any minute now, the Ghost of Christmas Future.

Like every mom I know, I spend so much time living in imagined futures, I shouldn’t be worried about this one. But I know how the story goes; the Future for all of us is Death.

How can I not worry?

Yet, I feel a tingle of joy in my chest. Why am I not worried? (Am I worrying about not being worried?) Maybe it’s the thin air, or the afterglow of spending last night with the stars and Present, and yesterday afternoon in a nostalgic Past, but looking out on the crystalized valley, if I’m honest with myself, I am not afraid.

I’m curious.

He comes over the valley. His eyes a riot of iridescent pink, purple, and blue -- all the colors of refracted light in an icicle, blinking, twinkling as one opens and another shuts. His feathers are snow white, covering his entire body, which isn’t avian or human or earthly. The wisps of steam from Past feel as sturdy as boulders in his presence. Feathers, eyes, these words aren’t quite right, but it’s the closest language comes to describing the radius of a circle, a never-ending decimal.

If not God, the closest we get to the Source while bound here.

He is the only certainty.

And I realize I never have been 

- and never will be - 

alone.