From: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   *NO ARCHIVE*   
      
      
      
   Title: Je veux croire   
   Author: Susan   
   E-mail: susanf34@comcast.net   
   Classification: vignette   
   Keyword: angst   
   Archive: No archive without permission.   
   Disclaimer: This character isn't mine. I wish he was.   
      
   Je veux croire: French for "I want to believe".   
      
   Summary: Do they even have a Christmas tree?   
   *******************************************************   
   Je veux croire   
   by Susan   
   ~~~~   
      
   Christmas Eve night, and it's dark outside.   
      
   Inside he sits in his recliner the way he does   
   every night, but on this night, this cold and   
   rainy night, he can't stop thinking about them.   
      
   He knows they're out there somewhere, he's certain   
   of it, but he also knows that right now they're   
   not really who they are just as he really isn't   
   who he is.   
      
   Some nights it eats away at him, the jagged wounds   
   surrounding his heart, red and raw.   
      
   Some nights his head pounds with the pain of missing   
   them, with the agony of not knowing.   
      
   Other nights, like on this night, he feels restless   
   and wants nothing more than to run, run through the   
   cold and rain until he finds them.   
      
   But he won't leave her and their son.   
      
   He promised.   
      
   And so he sits in his recliner alone and wonders.   
      
   Are they safe? Are they staying at a house with   
   a fenced-in yard, or are they tucked away in a   
   motel room in the middle of nowhere?   
      
   Do they even have a Christmas tree?   
      
   When he was little, he remembers having one, and   
   he remembers how sparkly the lights were.  He   
   remembers wrapping his palm around one of the bulbs   
   and burning his skin, then being whisked up off the   
   floor and having his hand held underneath the cold   
   water from the faucet until he stopped screaming.   
      
   He wonders if they ever saw the small scar he still   
   has there.   
      
   They have scars, he's certain of it, though he's   
   never seen them.   
      
   Just as they've never seen who he is now.   
      
   And what if they did? What if they saw him now,   
   with a wife and a child and the kind of home   
   they never had?   
      
   Would they be happy for him, or would they push   
   him even further away?   
      
   He thinks he already knows the answer, and yet   
   he has to know, he has to know that what they   
   did all those years ago was the right thing to   
   do.   
      
   And he has to believe it.   
      
   It's always been about that, the believing, and   
   he wonders how many more years it will take before   
   they stop.   
      
   Then again, he suspects that believing is something   
   that they'll always do no matter how much time   
   passes.   
      
   Still, on this night, this eve of Christmas, he   
   needs to know that they're all right where they   
   are.   
      
   And that he's all right where he is.   
      
   He stands up from the recliner, walks over by the   
   window, reaches into the deepest part of his pants   
   pocket and pulls out the small piece of paper they   
   gave him. Then he picks up the phone and presses   
   the numbers he's been carrying around for the last   
   five years.   
      
   And he waits.   
      
   But what will he do if one of them answers?   
      
   He's not sure, but he knows that if someone does,   
   the words will come, he's certain of it.   
      
   Just as he's certain that making the call at all   
   is what he needs to do tonight.   
      
   "Hello," a voice answers.   
      
   *His* voice.   
      
   Even though it's only one word, he can hear the   
   cautious tone in it.   
      
   "Is anyone there? Hello?"   
      
   He tries to breathe.   
      
   "Ummm...Merry Christmas," he says nervously, his   
   chest tight, his legs unsteady.   
      
   "William? Is that you?"   
      
   He hears static on the phone then and a rustling   
   noise in the background, and he imagines that   
   she's sitting up in bed now too, both of them   
   with their shoulders touching and their ears   
   pressed close to the receiver.   
      
   He looks down at the scar on his palm, presses   
   his hand against the cool windowpane, and replies,   
   "Yes, it is, Dad. It's me."   
      
   He tries to breathe again. It's easier this time.   
      
   "Are you okay, son?" they both ask, though he   
   can't tell where his dad's voice ends and his   
   mother's begins.   
      
   "I am now," he answers, slowly sliding his palm   
   down the glass, over the path of raindrops on   
   the other side of the pane. "Take care of each   
   other," he quietly says, then disconnects the   
   phone before anyone can trace his call.   
      
   Setting the phone back on the table, he takes a   
   long deep breath and replays their conversation   
   in his head, then stuffs the piece of paper back   
   into his pocket. "Merry Christmas...wherever you   
   are," he whispers towards the window, turning off   
   the tree lights.   
      
   And on this night, this cold and rainy night,   
   as he heads upstairs to kiss his son good night   
   and slide into bed beside his wife, he knows all   
   he needs to know.   
      
   And he believes.   
      
      
   ~end~   
      
   *This was one of those stories that just got   
   under my skin and wouldn't let go until I wrote   
   it. Thanks for taking the time to read it, and   
   I hope you and *your* family have a wonderful   
   Christmas.:)   
      
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)