(Even the promise of a white Christmas in the most unlikely of places is no longer enough to cheer up thirty year old Allen, but an unlikely encounter with a stranger pulls him out of the depths of despair and gives him cause to hope for the first time in a long time).

There were only three shopping days left until Christmas, but you wouldn’t know it if you closed your eyes and savored the warm breeze funneling in between the tall buildings and swirling around the courtyard, which was exactly what I was doing as I ate my lunch by the fountain wearing just a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Living and working in the Deep South, I had grown accustomed to warm winters and Christmases where the only thing that blanketed the ground was brown creeping grass. But this was warm even by my standards, by everyone’s standards.

It was 2035 and it had been over a quarter of a century since snow last blanketed the ground here on Christmas day, and the chance this year seemed just about as remote as ever even though there was talk on the radio and television about the possibility of significant snow accumulation just in time for Christmas. But I had heard that before and long ago given up hope of ever experiencing a day as perfect as that magical winter wonderland I awoke to when I was five. I knew all too well about getting my hopes up just to see them dashed. However, I seemed to be in the minority that day.

I smiled a bittersweet smile at the repeated displays of youthful enthusiasm near the fountain and right in front of it. Numerous times, a little kid would hold out their hand and a mother or father would place a penny in their outstretched hand so they could make a wish for whatever they felt was perhaps a little too far out of the realm of Santa’s magic.

I followed suit. I walked over to the fountain and loitered for a bit as I dug around in my pocket for a coin. I fished out a tarnished penny, which oddly enough, was not so tarnished that I couldn’t make out that the year on it was the same as my birth year: 2005.

I forced a smile before closing my eyes. If it had been any other year, there was only one wish that would have popped into my mind, a desperate wish that had burdened my soul for as long as I could remember: please God, give me the courage to become the woman I was always meant to be. But a lot had changed in just over one year. I had lost my job during the recession just after losing my girlfriend only eight months earlier. Being laid off was just the last straw. I pursed my lips and took a deep breath and uttered the new wish that had come to burden my soul these past few weeks: give me the courage to go through with it when the time comes to end my life.

As I opened my eyes after sending the penny on its way to the depths, I smiled as a wave of relief swept over me just like the unseasonably warm breeze that was now picking up again. All of my burdens just melted away and I felt the strangest stirring of hope within. I savored every sight, sensation, and sound as if they were my last, because they just about were. Almost all of the tethers keeping me weighed down in this life were nearly cut. I had already freed myself from guilt and responsibility. Come Christmas night, I would finish cutting through the thickest one of all: fear. Of that I was now certain.

I turned around and strolled over to my bench with a new found spring in my step as they say. Everyone around me was all smiles except for one person. The calm smile ran away from my face at the sight of an older gentleman peering above a weathered composition book he had been scribbling in during most of my “lunch break.” He had the most somber expression on his face as he fixed his gaze upon me. He may have only looked at me for a few moments, but the way his eyes seemed to bore into my soul made it feel longer. Before I had a chance to really start feeling uncomfortable and squirm on the bench, his expression softened and he managed a smile as he returned his attention to the happy hustle and bustle of downtown in general.

While he continued scribbling in his book, I picked up my trash, left some crumbs for the birds, and walked off, or more accurately, sashayed on my way. Some of my inhibitions had apparently melted away with my burdens after tossing the penny, and my natural feminine mannerisms, which I usually kept in check, had apparently betrayed me. I figured that’s why the old man had been looking at me the way he had been. I just continued on my merry way. As they say, life’s too short to care too much about what others think. And boy, wasn’t that the truth!

Christmas Eve rolled around in the blink of an eye. I dragged myself out of bed that morning, put my robe on, and put some coffee on to brew. I sat in the corner of the living room and looked at the sparsely populated room. For the most part, whatever my girlfriend hadn’t taken with her when she moved out I had given away. The chair in the corner that I was sitting on was the only piece of furniture left.

While most people were doing last minute holiday shopping or perhaps nearing the end of their journey to a loved one’s house or incessantly tapping their foot as they waited at a departure gate for a delayed flight to arrive, I was preparing for my quiet, neat, and uneventful departure from this world. And that preparation included checking “leave an immaculate apartment” off my ever shrinking to-do list.

It didn’t take me long to finish cleaning the apartment. All I had left to do was the living room. After that, I left apartment and headed for the stairs. Before I reached the door, I heard a door creak open behind me and the fast approach of footsteps.

“Allen,” said a familiar female voice.

I turned around and smiled at the thin brunette woman only a few years older than I. “Oh, hi Miss Donovan.”

“I’m so glad I caught you before you rushed out again. I just wanted to thank you again for the bike. That was just so nice of you. Paul is going to love it!”

“No problem. It was just sitting there collecting dust in the apartment anyway. I’m just happy that someone’s going to get some enjoyment out of it.” I could feel some tears welling up. I fought them back and forced a smile.

Before I could turn around, she said, “Allen, I wanted to ask you something. What are you doing for Christmas dinner?”

“Umm…Well…”

“Because I was thinking you could come over and have dinner with us. It’s not going to be much, but Paul and I would love to have you.”

“Well thanks. I really appreciate the offer, but…”

“Oh,” she said in a deflated tone. “You have other plans.”

I simply nodded my head.

“Well, if you change your mind just let me know.

I nodded again. “I will.” I could feel the tears welling up once more.

“Allen, is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Everything will work out one way or the other.” I pretended to check my watch. “Oh, I’d better get going. See you later.”

I barely made it down one flight of stairs before I collapsed on a step and broke down crying. Why was I so sad now? Where was that feeling of unburdened peace I had experienced the other day by the fountain? Now I felt the tether of guilt trying to pull me back to Earth once more.

That afternoon, I strolled around downtown for a while, looking at all of the Christmas cheer that was on display that my apartment was so lacking at the moment. I ended up by the fountain once more and desperately searched for that feeling of peace with each carefully calculated casual “without a care in the world” step.

I peered through the frothy water at all of the wishes just lying discarded on the bottom. Finding my resolve was as difficult a task as trying to find the tarnished penny I had tossed in just the other day; instead, I gave up searching and headed for the bank. It was time to check off the second to last item on my to-do list.

I closed my account and placed the thick stack of crisp one-hundred dollar bills in my faded wallet. Next, I headed over to a bar and did the whole clichéd trying to find my courage at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey thing.

But truthfully, I never was much of a whiskey drinker. I had my arms crossed and I was staring vacantly at the half empty glass of the finest imported beer on tap, when a worn but chipper voice livened the place up.

“Hello lads!” he announced.

I didn’t even look up.

“Mike!” said the jolly bartender who could have earned some extra money as a department store Santa Claus. “It’s good to see ya again. How the hell are ya!”

“The same my friend. The same. You know, not as good as some, but better than most I suppose. And you Dave? How’s life treatin’ ya?”

“You know me. I guess I could complain but who’d want to listen. Right? So what’ll it be? The usual?”

The man nodded his head. There were quite a few empty stools, but for some reason he sat down next to me.

“Hello,” he said in the usual friendly tone. He picked up his beer and looked in my direction once more. “Here’s to a white Christmas and seeing kids using cardboard as an impromptu sled.”

I simply raised my glass.

He furrowed his brow before saying, “I know it’s none of my business, but why the long face?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I’d complain, but who wants to listen anyway. Right?”

“Hey Dave, there a few sad faces in this place and it’s startin’ to bring me down. How about I start spreading some Christmas cheer? The next round’s on me, okay?”

Dave smiled and said, “I see day trading is still paying off for you.”

“I do pretty well,” he said modestly.

“If you really want to spread some Christmas cheer, you can give everyone some investment tips as an early stocking stuffer if you know what I mean.”

“Sure,” he said with a warm smile.

“Thanks for the beer,” I said. Now it was my turn. I lifted my bottle and said, “And here’s to the winning lottery ticket falling in my lap. I guess it’s about as likely as a white Christmas.”

Instead of laughing he shot me a serious expression. “Are you sure that’s what you really want for Christmas?”

“It was just a joke,” I said, trying to laugh off that uncomfortable feeling of his eyes boring straight into my soul.

But he certainly wasn’t laughing. Despite his generally jovial nature, we barely spoke during my pit stop at my new favorite watering hole as of late. While I finished my fourth and last beer, he was finishing a rematch of darts with an ancient looking man for whom I seemed to now have something in common: this could likely be his last Christmas as well.

About fifteen minutes before I got up to leave, Mike headed out.

“Merry Christmas everyone,” he announced in a steady and seemingly sober tone. “I’m going to go out and soak up some more of the blessing that is this beautiful and warm day. Never know how much longer you’re going to be around to enjoy days like this. Huh Dave?”

His voice may have addressed Dave, but his eyes landed on me. He gave me a knowing smile and left.

My heart dropped in my chest as if my secret was out. Who was this guy that was so down to Earth and nice? Was he following me around or something? I shook my head and immediately dismissed the thought. As if I was important enough.

When I returned to my lonely apartment, I opened the door to discover a plain white envelope. Before I opened it, I had a pretty good idea of who it was from.
I sat in my chair and admired the good penmanship for a second.

Dear Allen,
I hope you’ll reconsider and have a change of heart and come over and have dinner with us. I know things haven’t been going very well for you lately, and it just makes me sad thinking about you spending Christmas alone. I also know that when things take a turn for the worse, it seems like life will never get any better. But please hang in there. I know if you just give it some time, things will turn around for you.
-Miss Donovan

I know she was just trying to be nice, but the best of intentions had me fighting back tears again. Did she actually believe what she wrote? If things were going to turn around, they would have turned around by now. I had been patient and given things plenty of time to turn around, but they only got worse. And God only knows what would happen if I decided to stick things out. I’d probably find myself homeless and on the street during the next Christmas shopping season.

I shook my head at the irony of the whole situation. I mean talk about your all time backfires. Her note had unintentionally given me the resolve to stick to the plan I had written out so many weeks earlier.

I tore up the note and threw it in the trash. But that didn’t stop me from writing a note of my own. Miss Donovan and Paul were the closest thing I had to family at the moment and I felt I owed them some kind of an explanation. I needed to tell someone.

As I sat at the computer, thinking of what hopelessly inadequate words to use, now I knew what it must be like for someone with obsessive compulsive disorder as I sat there writing and revising, and revising, and revising again. It was like I was striving for some kind of perfection I couldn’t define that would somehow magically make things okay and my neighbors would actually be happy for me for what I perceived as the rational exercising of an escape clause.

After an hour, I printed the note. I grasped my beautiful hand carved pen and brought it close to the paper. I let the tip hover over the gleaming white page for a few moments. For some reason, I was tempted to write Alicia, my femme name that I had decided on so long ago. Since I had already explained in the note about the girl I had kept hidden away from the world for so long, it seemed only logical. I signed it Allen (aka Alicia).

I carefully placed the note in the envelope along with a stack of what remained of those crisp one-hundred dollar bills. I used my tongue to moisten the envelope, but I could have easily used some tears that were now starting to course their way between the stubble of my baby face.
Instead of moistening the envelope, my tears darkened my pillow as I cried myself to sleep.

The appointed hour came the next day. At ten o’clock in the evening, I quietly slipped the note under her door. I stepped outside into the cold drizzle and hailed a cab.

“Where to?” said the cabbie.

“Home. I’m going home. Take me to the Tavern bar please.”

“The tavern? I thought you said you was goin’ home?”

“I thought I’d stop by for a drink first.”

After I was dropped off, instead of downing a couple of beers, I threw back a few shots of Jack.

“Here you go Dave,” I said with a smile, slapping down thirty dollars. I turned and walked away.

“Don’t you want your change?” he asked.

“No. I’m good. Merry Christmas.”

Instead of hailing another cab, I walked the twenty minutes to the cold steel bridge spanning that murky water. I felt like a sailor on the deck of a ship on a raw day as the cold drops stung my face. The wind was really starting to howl now. I pulled my jacket closer to my body, a jacket that seemed as hopelessly inadequate in the present situation as the words written in my note.

I fought my way through the driving cold until I was halfway across the bridge. I leaned against the cold railing and looked down. A chill shot down my spine as quickly as my heart rate skyrocketed when I saw a moving shadow out of the corner of my eye.

“Those drops have got a long, long, way to fall don’t you think Allen?”

I whipped my head around. “How do you know…Oh, it’s you.” It was the older guy from the fountain and the bar. “You really scared the hell out of me! What are you doing out on a night like this anyway.”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Well, it’s none of your business.” I resumed leaning on the railing and staring blankly at the darkness below.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you asked for help when you still had a sliver of hope.”

“What are you talking about old man? The only person I asked for help from was God.”

“Well, he does work in mysterious ways.”

I shook my head. “What are you, some kind of guardian angel or something?”

He chuckled. “Kind of. I am available on an on call basis so to speak.”

I’ll never forget what he said next until the day I die, because it chilled me to the bone more than that arctic cold front that night.

“I definitely wouldn’t recommend jumping tonight,” he said. “It’s certainly not a pretty death, especially for someone with such a pretty name…Alicia.”

My eyes became as wide as a child’s on Christmas morning. “How do you know…I mean, why did you call me by that name.” I became indignant. With arms akimbo, I said, “Did you follow me and somehow get into my apartment and read that note? I mean how else could…” My eyes darted back and forth as I searched for a rational explanation.

“There was no need to follow you Alicia. I know all about you.”

“Bull shit! This is impossible!”

“Not impossible. Highly improbable maybe. I’ll tell you, it made me so sad that day by the fountain when I heard your wish after hearing all of those happy wishes from all of the smiling children.” He closed his eyes before saying, “’please God, give me the courage to go through with it when the time comes to end my life.’”

Tears started streaming down my face. “Why are you this doing this to me? Who are you?”

“I’m just a person who cares, a person who may not carry around your terrible burden, but someone that carries around a burden just the same.”

“Right," I said, crossing my arms as much out of necessity as anger. "I’m sure it’s such a terrible burden being a mind reader and hanging around Wall Street to get stock tips.”

“You’re right in a way. I can no more fully understand your burden than you can possibly fathom mine. But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know you are a decent and kind person who deserves a full life. I also know that there are others like you who have had the courage to transition, to overcome enormous obstacles and come out on the other side with an incredible depth of peace that few come to know in this life.”

“Well I’m not them, okay. I want peace now. I need peace now!” I demanded. “I was just a few minutes away from peace before you came along and ruined everything.”

My lip started quivering as much as my body was shivering at that moment. I collapsed in a heap and started sobbing.
He let me cry myself out.

“My God,” he said. “You’re shivering like a leaf. Here, take my coat.”

“Don’t you need it?” I asked weakly, wiping away a couple of tears.

He patted his stomach. “I’ve got a little more insulation than you do my dear. Here, take it.”

I took his hand and he helped me up. We started walking after I put his coat on. As my shivering reduced in intensity, I asked, “Now what do I do? I mean, I’ve got no job, I’ve got no furniture, I’ve got no savings, I’ve got no family. Who’s to say I won’t end up here a month from now, or two months from now…I mean what the hell am I supposed to do…And the note!" I slapped myself on the forehead. "Now she knows all about me. She’ll probably think I’m some kind of a freak and not want to talk to me anymore.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said. “Let’s just say that she has a very good soul.”

“I hope so,” I said quietly. “There’s no taking it back now, is there?”

We reached the end of the bridge.

“Here,” I said, unbuttoning my…I mean his coat. “All that walking has warmed me up.”

“Are you sure that isn’t a little premature?” He smiled and pointed to a streetlamp. “Look. The rain is changing over to snow.”

“God, it’s so beautiful…It’s been so long.”

I was mesmerized by the fat flakes silently drifting down, but he glanced at his watch.

“We’ve got about an hour left of Christmas and if it keeps snowing at this rate, maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”

I smiled and said, “Maybe just under the wire. That’d be nice.”

Again, he looked at his watch and said, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got another appointment to keep and I can’t afford to be late.” He tipped his hat before saying, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year my dear.”

“You too. Maybe you and Alicia will run into each other in the New Year.”

“I’d like that.”

When I got back to my apartment building, I looked up at a lit second story window. The curtains were parted and a child’s face was pressed against the dewed glass, as mesmerized as I had been by the fat flakes now swiftly falling through the golden shaft of light across the street.

I shifted my gaze and looked down the street, through the beautiful luminescent haze at the frosted cityscape. There was over an inch on the ground with the promise of much more to come by daybreak. I was hopeful again, for my future seemed to hold as much promise as the imminent untarnished dawning of a beautiful winter’s day.