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Nora’s Time


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Nora’s Time

By Craig R. Seaton

It’s not the first time she noticed that guy staring at her. Every time she glanced up from her book (you know, the glance that really starts as an unfamiliar feeling), this fellow was just staring. And, he was in no hurry to act like he wasn’t when she caught his eye. That worried her more than anything.

More than this barren train station.

More than the yawning hole in her heart.

More than being enormously alone on this night.

Why this night? There were 364 others that would’ve worked just fine, thank you. Tomorrow would be That Day. Oh, how she dreaded That Day….

In an instant she was nine again. Silly pigtails. Ugly hand-me-down dress. Grey-walled empty room. This image had plagued her for years; more than 30 of them to be exact. He was there. He was always there on this night. He never left. You’d think he’d find another mind to bother; another memory to haunt.

How she’d wanted to hold him. How she longed to just wrap her little bony arms around his comfy waist. That waist had always drawn her like a cool drink of water on a sweltering day. Then, every time right before she launched toward him with all her might, he’d always turned and walked out of the room. More like disappeared out of the room really. Always, just before she got to him. Right out of reach. Why couldn’t he stay just a moment longer? Just long enough for arms to meet waist.

Train station still barren. Guy still staring. Oh my. That was more than a stare. That, my dear Christmas Eve Loner, was a look. A genuine look. She hadn’t seen one of those in years.

Breathe in. Get ready. He’s getting up. He’s…uh, he’s huge! He didn’t look that big tucked away in the corner chair under the wall-mounted TV; the one with the hand-scribbled “don’t touch” sign taped on the volume control.

Breathe Nora. Breathe. You’ve done it all your life. Just suck in some air and blow it out again. It’s not rocket science! Why then could she not remember how? Breathe!

His steps took eons to complete; like one of those slow-motion scenes in a movie, but with the edgy theme music missing. Fwop. Fwop. Fwop. Fwop. As he closed in, she closed her eyes tightly. That should make him go away.

No good. She still felt him coming. She didn’t need to see anything. It was all playing out quite nicely in that bothersome mind of hers. Then, just when she thought the entire train station would simply implode right in her lap…

“Nora?”

What? That was an awfully deep voice to be coming from her very feminine subconscious.

“Nora?”

No, it can’t be. He can’t be speaking to me! He can’t be calling my name. Not my name. Any name but mine. Wait…he knows my name? He knows MY name? This changes everything. This feels weird and amazing at the same time. This is swimming in a pool and staying perfectly dry.

This is—The Time.

She knew it would come. She knew she couldn’t run forever. She’d imagined and fantasized about The Time. She’d painted pictures of it. She’d written stories about it. She’d spent endless hours walking in the forest imagining what The Time would look like when it came. But she always knew it would come. The Time would come. He would come.

“Nora?”

Yes?

“I’ve missed you.”

I’ve missed you too.

“Nora?”

Yes?

“Did you know it was me?”

Yes. I knew. I’ve always known.

“Do you want to open your eyes now?”

Nope.

“Just a peek?”

No.

“Ok. I’ll be right here when you do. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay with you.”

Silence. Breathing. Pins dropping. Distant hiss from the off-the-air snowy TV.

It took a little longer this time to be nine years old again. But when she was back there, back in that empty grey room; there was something different. Different was good. It had been painfully identical every time she’d gone back. It never changed. Never. But this time it was finally different. The familiar dread was replaced by a fresh peace. And it felt nice; really nice.

“Want to open your eyes yet?”

Nope. Wait a minute.

Within what the Bible stories used to call the twinkling of an eye, she felt this warmth well up within her. It started way deep down inside. It was 30 years since something came from that place. It was really warm. Physically warm. It felt good. It felt more than good; it felt right.

Was that an orchestra whose string section just swelled a crescendo her way? Did years of waiting just begin to fall away with the effort of molasses escaping from a hot ladle?

“Nora?”

Yes, Santa?

“I’m here. Open your eyes sweetie.”

You’re not going to disappear and turn around and leave the room?

“No. Not this time. Actually, I never did back in your room either. You just couldn’t see me anymore. Remember who you saw instead?”

My dad?

“Yes. That was him.”

You mean he wasn’t just dressed up like you?

“No, dear one. It was me. I am as real as it gets. People have made up stories about me for centuries. They’ve tried to fit me into their rational explanations. I’m not that. I can’t fit there.”

Santa, I want you to know something.

“What my child?”

I’ve always believed in you. Even when I was all grown up; I still believed. I didn’t want to sometimes, but those feelings and the memories were just too real.

“Nora…”

Yes, Santa?

“…I believe in you too. I always have.”

Just then, two loving arms—which were no longer little or bony—finally made their way around a very comfy waist.