Purgatorium (49 page)

Suddenly I hear something…music…coming from above me. I see the hourglass reflection in the subway window and know that the time is 42:02.

Sealtiel screams, “Try to block the music out! Or just give up like what you do best!”

I cover my ears with my hands, shutting my eyes tightly, trying to concentrate. The music brings with it lyrics, as I hear the sound of Madi’s voice singing, “You are that December morning…”

The music gets louder and louder. Panicking, I look up and see the emergency exit at the end of the subway car. I jump up, run to it, pull it open, and leap out. Midair—the music now deafening—in the darkness, with only the tracks below me, everything breaks into puzzle pieces.

THE OFFICE

I open my eyes and see a calendar posted on the wall in my cubical. The year says 1999. This is the year I last remember. Everyone has left the office except for me, who is sitting in an ergonomic chair behind a very large oak desk.

Looking around, I notice it is the same as the office in the other world. There is a Christmas tree in the corner, decorated and lit with red, green, and white lights. I look over at the wall full of framed publishing awards.
I work for a publishing company?
I think. Maybe I finally did achieve my goal.

Scanning the desk, I see the back of a nameplate. Excited to finally find out who I am, I reach over, turn it around, and read:

President Mike Donald.

I am perplexed. That can’t be my name, I think. It doesn’t sound familiar at all. I look around the top of the desk again and open a drawer on the right. Inside is an unopened bottle of 50-year-old Macallan whisky. This is the bottle Sealtiel was drinking from. I look over at a coffee cup on the desk. Grabbing it, I read: #1 Dad.

Emotions of anger run through me. I just want to throw this cup out of the window. I accidentally let it slip out of my hand and watch it fall. It shatters on the ground. Quickly, I pick up all the pieces and throw them away in the trash can next to the desk. The door opens. I jump up and close the drawer. A man steps in, looking surprised. He looks like
Michael
, I think.

“What are you doing in my chair?” the man asks. I find myself unable to move.

“The printer is broken. I had to use yours, Mr. Donald,” I find myself saying. I stand up and pick up some sheets of paper out of the print tray on the desk.

Mr. Donald gives me a strange look. “All right, make sure you’re at the meeting tomorrow—bright and early this time! I can’t always cover for your lateness. You did finish the outline I asked for, right?”

I feel my anxiety mounting. “I was going to, but you see—”

Mr. Donald interrupts, “There is always an excuse with you!” I look down at the ground. Mr. Donald shakes his head, obviously disappointed, and takes his coat off the coat rack. He stops. “You know something?”

I look up.

“I see greatness in you, and it’s just sad that you don’t take the time to realize it in yourself. And we’ve talked about this many times before. So don’t bother coming in tomorrow or the day after.”

Scared my boss is saying what I think he is, I ask, “Sir? Mr. Donald?”

“I’m letting you go, son. I will leave the light on for you so you can pack your belongings,” Mr. Donald says. “Just remember to shut it off when you leave.”

Mr. Donald walks out, turning off all the lights but one and shutting the door behind him. The Christmas lights glow, casting shadows of branches around the room. Sunk in misery, I sigh heavily.

Just then my work phone lights up. I look at the caller ID display. It’s Madi. Great, I say sarcastically. What am I going to tell her? I have to find some excuse to buy me time to think.

I stand up from the desk, quickly pacing back and forth. I walk out of the office and into the hallway. The phone’s ring echoes through the silent office building, almost as if it were haunting me to pick up. Most of the lights are out but there is a Christmas tree decorated and lit in the sitting area next to the elevator.

I get an idea and walk back over to the phone and reluctantly pick it up. “Hey!” I answer, quickly interjecting before she can say anything. “I am going to be late again.”

After a moment of silence, she replies, her voice flat, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know. I will try to make it back as soon as possible.” Madi says nothing. “Tell Anna I love her.”

“Tell her yourself,” Madi replies softly. I hear a faint music playing over the phone, and then the sound of Anna and Madi singing, “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”

The sound pulls on my heartstrings. At that moment, the elevator doors ahead of me open. Madi is carefully holding a small portable record player in her right arm, while also holding hands with Anna. Madi’s voice comes from the recording.

“Here’s a song I wrote for you.” Soft piano music starts to play. Madi sings, “You are that December morning. You are the first snow falling, covering me, all around me. You are everything I wanted. You are all that I asked for every year, and now you’re finally here…”

I am mesmerized by the lyrics as I listen to her beautiful voice. They continue walking toward me. Madi stops and puts the record player on a table next to the Christmas tree. The music continues playing. Anna runs forward and hugs me around the legs as Madi continues singing.

“What are you two doing here?” I ask, bending over and picking up my daughter. I kiss her on the cheek as Madi gets to the end.

“You are that December morning, and now you’re finally here.” The record stops as she gives me a hug.

Madi reaches into her bag and pulls out a large, thin, square package wrapped in shiny red paper. She walks over to me and Anna. Anna kisses me on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy! You can’t be alone on Christmas!”

I try to keep forcing a smile. I look at Anna with wide eyes. “I think there’s a surprise from Santa Claus for you, Anna.” She looks at me, full of excitement. “I think he left it in my coat. You want to check for me?” I put Anna down.

“He remembered this year!” she shouts to mommy. I remember, despondently, how I hadn’t gotten them presents last year because I gambled my money away. Even though I did remember the gift was only five dollars at a pawn shop. It still isn’t good enough to be called a gift.

I will make it up to them, I think. I will save up so I can finally take them to where Madi and I were supposed to have our honeymoon. I remember it was a small island with a little blue shelled colored house right in the middle of it. The ocean seemed so clear. Anna has never seen the ocean before, I recall in my mind.

Anna runs through the open door on my left, across from Mr. Donald’s office. She runs back out carrying a wrapped box, already starting to pull the bow off.

“Should we wait for Daddy to open his?” Madi asks, looking at Anna, smiling.

The little girl smiled brightly. “Can I go first?” she asks, hopefully.

“I think I will be okay going second this one time,” I say, looking at Anna and sitting down on the chair beside the tree.

“You can share mine!” she says, beaming. I help her crawl up onto my lap.

Anna tears the ribbon off. Looking at her, I take a corner of the wrapping paper and pull on it. She grabs my hand and pulls it back recklessly, laughing. The paper quickly rips off, revealing a small, plain, white box. Anna pulls the lid off, looks inside, her eyes wide with anticipation. She puts her little hand in and, making a small grunting sound, pulls out a snow
globe
. Anna smiles uncertainly. Seeing her look, I take the orb and shake it, handing it back to her. Her eyes light up, watching the white particles moving around above and through the city inside.

“Your mommy had something just like this a long time ago from her mommy,” I say, now noticing the music box at the base and realizing that it is the very same snow globe from the other world.

Anna winds up the bottom and “The Light in the Piazza” begins to play. Anna yells out with excitement, “It’s yours and mommy’s song!” My inner self starts coming out as I think, I didn’t know it could play music. I erase the thought from my head and say to her, “Mommy sang this to you every night when you were a baby. I like to think it’s all of our song.”

Anna, enthralled by the inner landscape and the music, runs her finger along the base. We hear a
click
, and the city slowly separates into two separate halves inside the globe, revealing a photo of Madi and little baby Anna.

“Mommy’s mama always put a photo of her and your mommy inside,” I say, smiling lovingly. “She used to call your mom her ‘little hidden treasure.’”

“Was this the first picture you took of me?” Anna asks. “I was so small.”

“Yes, and you’re still small, my little girl.” I tickle her. Anna laughs.

“Does this mean now I’m your ‘hidden treasure,’ too?”

“Always, little girl.”

Anna smiles and giggles as she throws her arms around me and squeezes me with all of her might. “Merry Christmas, Daddy!”

I look over at Madi who has tears in her eyes. She wipes them away. Anna turns to Madi, holding the snow
globe up for her to see
.

“That is beautiful, little girl,” she says to Anna.

“Can I give him mine now, mommy?”

Madi nods. Anna walks off for a few seconds, then comes back with a small package, almost shaped like a book. She hands it to me. As I begin opening it, I find that it’s a leather bound book with a locked hatch over it.

“It’s a logbook!” Anna screams with excitement. Madi stops her by saying, “It’s not a logbook sweatheart; it’s a hidden storybook.”

“Hidden?”

“Yes, hidden. Only your daddy can read the story. It comes from your daddy’s imagination. As he thinks of it, he then writes the words on the blank pages, making his own personal storybook come alive.”

Anna looks in amazement. “Wow! That’s cool! Can you read me the story once you’re finished, Daddy?”

I look to Anna, smiling and saying, “ Yes. Of course. I will even put you in it. How does that sound?”

She climbs back onto me with overly happy energy. “Really?! Can you make me a princess?”

“I wouldn’t imagine it any other way, little girl. Thank you for this.” Her childlike laugh pulls at my heartstrings. She hugs me again. I look over to the expensive book, realizing how much this cost Madi.

Madi sits down beside me and Anna and kisses us both on the cheek. I secretly mouth the words, “Thank you” to her. Madi nods and puts a thin, square package on my lap.

“My turn. I hope you like it.”

I look at Anna with open eyes, then back down at the present and tear away the wrapping. I see Madi’s face on the front of the album. The exact same photo I have seen on the billboard from the other world. Flipping it over, I read the credits:

“Produced by Madi.”

“How did you…?” I am in shock.

“I had the church music director make me a song list.” She walks back to the record player and lifts the needle to the side. Taking the record off, she flips it over, places it on the platter, presses the power button, and puts the needle down again. She turns up the volume.

Over the music she says, “This is the last song on the track, but it won’t be the last song that reminds me of us,” she says, tearing up again.

I look at the track listing on the album cover.

“Each song is from an important moment we’ve shared together,” says Madi.

Struck by an epiphany, I stare up at the wall for a moment. I finally understand what record is playing for me from the outside world. Someone is playing this album in my hospital room. All the songs are related to the moments between Madi and me. That’s how I keep getting these flashbacks, I think to myself.

“How did you remember every special song of ours?” I ask, still astonished.

Madi takes out her book which I had found and given back to her a long time ago. She flips to the very end of the Book, and I can see a list of our favorite songs written down. She points to the very first song.

“When I saw you come into the coffee shop, the day we met for the first time, I wrote down the song that was playing. I thought that if you were the one, it could be our first song.”

Trying to change the subject, I remember my gift to her and I take out my wallet. “I’ve got something for you, too,” I say, pulling Peter’s card out and handing it to her. Surprised, she recognizes it immediately.

“You still have it?”

I nod. “This calls for a celebration!”

I turn and walk straight to Mr. Donald’s door, head over to his desk, open the drawer, and pull out the Macallan. I uncork it, bring it to my lips, and take two large gulps. I feel the alcohol warm my throat to my stomach. A slight calm comes over me. I take two whisky glasses off his desk and make my way back to them.

I lay the glasses down on the desk and pour each half way.