A Christmas for one

“You should go somewhere this Christmas.”

My friend’s voice echoed through my mind as I sat on the edge of my bed, contemplating. He had a long talk with me last evening about my mental well-being, and he repeatedly asked me to leave the town for a few days and go somewhere. But how could I? My mind, heart, and soul were still trapped here with her memories. This will be the first Christmas in many years I will be spending it without her. The thought made my heart race, and panic started to set in. 

“It will do you some good,” my friend said as he sat across from me in a café. “I’m really worried about you.” 

I sat there numb with no response. I heard him but was too weary to respond. I had nothing left in me to tell him how much I missed her and felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest. But no words escaped my mouth. I just sat there lifeless; eyes cast down. 

“Please,” he begged as he stood up. “She is not coming back. The sooner you get that in your head, the better.” 

I watched him leave the café, but I didn’t follow him out. I sat there for another hour just staring at nothing, my mind drifting, sitting in denial. 

Today morning, getting out of bed felt impossible. I had been awake since three in the morning but only moved at seven a.m. Now I just sat there at the edge of the bed thinking about what I was going to be doing moving forward. Staying here alone felt dangerous. Maybe my friend was right; I should leave this place for a short while. It was Christmas Eve today. And the thought of spending it alone was eating me alive. The heart started to race again. 

Reluctantly, I left the house. I packed a spare dress in my bag and threw it in the passenger seat and sat in the car, staring out through the windscreen. Where am I going? What am I going to do? I started the car and drove off with no destination in mind. I was mindlessly driving for almost an hour, taking random roads, entering the motorway. Then I realised the radio was off; the car was hushed. I feared the silence, so I turned it on and took the first exit I saw. It led me to a country road. It was narrow, with trees hugging on both sides. The climate was overcast, making the visibility much lower than it usually was. The road was winding every hundred yards. There didn’t seem to be much traffic through this road, so I sped through it without realising it as my mind tried to suppress the past.

After a few minutes, I came to a realisation that I had lost my cell reception, and the radio went static. This dragged my mind back to the present and made me realise that I was doing 70 miles in a very narrow road, and I had no idea where it was leading me. I slowed down as a small little village came into view, and the road’s speed limit decreased to 30. The village name read ‘Northington.’ Then I realised I was slightly north of Winchester. 

An old church came into the view to the right. It read ‘St. John the Evangelist.’ Surrounded by a graveyard. As I inched on the empty road, I was bordered on both sides with country houses, some Tudor-styled and mostly cottages; few and scattered. Within a few hundred yards, the village ended, forcing the road to bifurcate to the right and left. I, involuntarily, took the left and kept going. Now I was welcomed with open fields on both sides as I drove. An inn came into view on my right. My body ached from the hours of driving, and my tummy grumbled. So, I pulled over and parked my car and entered the inn. 

I was welcomed by a warm, cozy-looking place. The temperature was below zero outside, and I was too numb to notice how freezing it was; however, when I entered this place, it felt like home. 

“Good afternoon,” a friendly-looking face greeted me at the door. “Table for one?” she asked. 

“Yes, please,” I muttered, realising that it was past noon, and I was famished. 

She ushered me to a corner table and asked, “Are you happy with this table?” 

This corner table was a two-seater and had a small window adjacent to it. “This will do,” I said without looking up. 

“Perfect! Let me bring our menu. Anything to drink?” 

“Just tap water, please,” I replied.

“Of course,” she said as she left. 

I removed my coat, threw it on the empty seat, and sat down. I looked out the window. This place was so isolated. It was quiet and still, and at this moment, I preferred that. I was able to see the open field through the window, which was covered with frost. The trees surrounding it were so still it looked like a picture. Soon after, the girl returned with the lunch menu and a glass of water. I thanked her and downed the water, which made me recognise how parched I was. This was the first sustenance to enter my body since yesterday. 

The inn slowly filled up with patrons as the warmth and the noise went up. But no one bothered me in my corner. I ordered a beef stew and downed it with a piece of bread. It warmed me up, and I finally felt a bit alive. I got up from my table, took my coat, and walked to the bar. 

“Any drinks?” the girl asked with the same enthusiastic smile. 

“No, thank you. I’m ready to pay the bill,” I uttered. She nodded as she printed my bill. Unexpectedly, at that moment, I felt so drained. I had no energy to get in the car and start driving again. Every fibre in my body started to fight against that thought, so I hesitantly enquired, “Is there any room available to rent for tonight?” 

I was half expecting a ‘no’ as a response, but she looked up, nodding. 

“A single cot room still available if that suits you?” she asked. 

“That will do,” I replied, and my body calmed. I paid the bill and headed out to get my bag from the car. Later, I was escorted to my room. This inn was an old cottage-style building with rooms built on top of it. A narrow stone staircase led me to my room. The room was small but warm. It had a single cot in the corner with an en-suite bathroom. There was a small T.V. on the far end of the wall, and the whole room was mildly lit by a small chandelier on the roof. ‘This will do for tonight,’ I thought. 

I tossed the bag to the corner and sat on the bed. It was too quiet, and my mind had nothing to engage with. The memories of her started to flood over me. My heart started to race, and my hands started to tremble. Involuntarily, tears started to roll down my cheeks. In a few seconds, it was hard to breathe. Panic had set in. And I cried. After all the denial my mind had gone through in the last week disappeared, and I wept like a child. 

Time slipped by as I lay on the bed, curled up fully clothed and shoes still on. I checked my watch, and it read five p.m. The world outside was dark, there was no light through the windows, and the only light that lit the room was the chandelier. I was exhausted. No more tears left. I had gone numb, again. 

As I stood up, I heard a distant sound of carols from the window. I inched towards it, and the source was from the village. I was able to see faint lights through the trees from the houses, nothing more. My body was weak and refused to stand up any longer. I turned on the T.V., tuned in to a random channel, and went to bed; the white noise might help, I thought to myself. My eyes were heavy, and in a few minutes, all the sorrows and heaviness finally caught up with me. I drifted to a deep sleep.

I woke up to my surprise that sunlight had broken through the window and lit up the whole room. I got up from the bed and checked the time. It was eight in the morning. Lazily, I got up from the bed and forced myself to a hot shower and headed down to the inn.

The place was deserted except for one person who was arranging glasses at the bar counter. I approached him. 

“Merry Christmas,” he exclaimed, looking up at me. 

“Merry…Christmas,” I replied.

I looked around to see that all the chairs had been placed upside down on the table. The other person who was following my gaze said, “We are closed today.” 

“Of course,” I realised. 

“But don’t worry, our chef is happy to make a limited lunch for our patrons who are currently occupied in the inn.”

“Good to know” I said. 

“Would you be checking out at ten today?” he enquired. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know yet,” I sheepishly replied. “I will have to take that call maybe after a coffee.” 

“Not a problem. Would you like your coffee to go?” he politely asked. 

I looked up at him questioningly. 

“It snowed last night. I thought you would take a walk down to the village like others did,” he said. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” I admitted and waited for him to make a flat white to go; thanked him, and I stepped out of the inn. It was indeed a white Christmas. A thin layer of snow had settled upon overnight, and still, some flurries were dropping down. It was cold, but I didn’t mind it since it made me feel alive. I sipped down the hot liquid and started towards the village by foot. 

The snow crunched under my boots. Today, the hills were covered with a white blanket. It felt quite peaceful. The walk and the coffee eventually warmed me up as I turned into the village road. Cars were parked up on the road. No one was on the streets; however, all the house chimneys were smoking, and it smelled good. As I walked by each house, I could see people through the windows walking around, talking, and some dancing to some tunes. It put a smile on my face. 

At the end of the road, I reached the church. I saw a group of families exiting as they finished the morning Christmas service. Laughter and wishes were in plenty as they walked by. I waited for everyone to leave, occasionally wishing some who walked past me. After a few minutes, the church cleared, and I entered. 

It was a Romanesque church with high semicircular arches and beautiful stained windows. ‘She would have loved this,’ I thought, and a moment of pain etched my heart. The church was almost empty. A pastor was clearing the altar as I approached. He turned around and saw me. 

“Merry Christmas,” he wished, and I wished him back with a forced smile. 

“New to the church?” he asked as he approached me. 

“Just passing by,” I replied. 

“Welcome, we are happy to have you here.” 

I thanked him as he turned around and exited the church through a back door. I was alone. 

I stood there for a few minutes in silence. Just staring at the wall behind the altar which depicted the image of Christ on the cross as Mother Mary and St. John stood at the foot of the cross. A weird feeling of comfort came over me. I approached the altar and kneeled. It had been years since I had entered a church, let alone prayed. But today my heart felt like it needed it. So, I closed my eyes and brought my hands together and prayed. 

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a message. It was from her. My heart skipped a beat. Excitement surged through me as I fumbled to unlock the screen.

“Merry Christmas. I hope you’re doing well. We love each other, and this distance and time have only made that love stronger. Why don’t we give us another chance?” the message read.

I froze for a moment, disbelief and joy flooding my senses. Then, unable to contain myself, I leapt to my feet. “YES!” I shouted into the stillness of the empty church. My voice echoed around me, but I didn’t care.

Hands trembling, I typed out my reply: “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

As I hit send, a smile broke across my face.