Christmas Day Alive

Scrooge dreamed and felt his past return in greyscale images.

Eb was young and a camper once again.

Eb walked smartly in his overcoat and grey sash. His head itched.

He walked along the camp’s path in the lightly falling snow. His head itched more. Other campers were with him as they were all heading to the planned festivities for Christmas Eve. His hat was tightly attached and he smiled as he walked towards the glen with his peers at Fezziwig’s Komputar Kamp.

His head itched terribly. He scratched just over his ear and it hurt. Fezziwig’s Finishing Camp for Young Ladies was invited so that the party had some social value. He stopped as his head pounded in pain.

Fred was waiting at the glen for his uncle. His grey and greyer waistcoat was adorned with twinkling stars that matched the highlights in his bright eyes. He waved at Eb as soon as he met his elder’s eyes.

Eb’s head itched intensely. He scratched harder. The itch just would not relent. He scratched and scratched each side of his head. His vision filled in greens and reds. The pain throbbed and his teeth ground in response. His hands reached up to the ratchet and found the tightening knob.

He popped the ratchet; it spun wildly. The straps around the hat relaxed and sloughed off. He closed his eyes and sighed. His vision cleared.

He opened his hat hinge and his red round head showed to the bare sky.

Fred looked on and said, “Go on. You’re almost there!”

Scrooge placed the hat down carefully. He took a step back and kicked it far. He put his hand over his eyes in order to better see the hat disappear in the snowy forest.

A young transparent girl in the treeline watched it fall at her feet. She smiled and the old transparent man next to her said, “Finally.”

Scrooge turned to Fred. He saw Fred’s red and green eyes smiling back.

“Fuck that hat,” Scrooge said.

Fred agreed, “It never suited you anyway,” as he faded away.

Scrooge felt himself waking in the bright sunlight streaming into his room. He was feeling something odd. He had no deja vu. His hands looked familiar. Arms and legs worked.

He was not in his loft but a strange small bedroom. His new, meager bed was comfortable, warm and obviously shared. He was alone, but the room itself was brightly lit. This was also odd, but not unwelcome now.

He saw in wonder the new and wild hand-made paintings covering the walls. He smelled the foreign scent of red beans filling the air. There was a large white scarf on the bed post with the word ‘Eb’ carefully knitted within. Someone was singing from nearby and there was laughter.

Scrooge’s head itched. He reached up and felt thick hair. His hands explored his unknown gift. It was unwrapped and lacked a bow.

His skull was short and smooth. Not perfectly round as a steel ball, but round like the head of someone who just let it be. He felt crevices and flat spots with some symmetry under probing fingertips.

A nearby mirror stood amid a cluster of small photographs of someone who looked like him, but without a hat on. He stumbled over to take it all in, but first looked at himself: the stranger in the mirror.

Eb saw his reflection and it was just Eb’s head, as it would have grown if left alone. He sobbed, “This is too kind. Thank you. This is truly the best of all Christmas Gifts!”

He heard more laughing and a strange sound from outside his bedroom as a draft picked up. It was pounding feet from behind the door. Eb poised for what it might mean and looked at the door for the answer.

The door burst open with a wild wind and a wilder being in tow. “Merry Christmas, Daddy!” yelled the child with blazing red and green eyes to her father.