Joyeuse Noelle
Un
The lights draped around the lonely, artificial pine in the corner blinked on and off. As they danced on the surrounding wall, perfectly in sync with the soft crooning that flowed from my laptop’s speakers, my fingers interrupted the lights’ rhythmic patterns with the quick clacking of the keyboard as I rushed to begin my article. It was Christmas Eve, and my bi-monthly submission for the Tribune was due on the 26th.
At least there wouldn’t be anything to distract me. My family was all down South, in Texas. I didn’t have any real friends to speak of in the area—I’d only moved to Chicago twelve months earlier, after receiving an internship at a newspaper that I’d previously thought out of my league—and most of the people I usually talked to were coworkers who already had plans.
Unfortunately, the greater pull factor – the internship was just the cherry on top – wasn’t around, either. Ever since his band released their first ‘real’ album, he hadn’t been around as much.
Granted, I was proud of him, even before the recognition began—he’d been my friend for years, before we started dating—and I loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about what it felt like to be onstage, but that didn’t help much. I missed his smile. I missed his laugh. I missed the embrace that used to greet me every afternoon when I came home from work, missed the way his golden voice filled the entire apartment, whether he was practicing his own songs, or belting out Top 40 hits or showtunes. I missed Patrick.
I sighed, unable to focus on the beginnings of the paragraph that had appeared on the white screen in front of me, and pushed back the rolling chair. I took a few steps and ended up in the kitchen, where I spent the next three minutes making a mug of hot chocolate. As I finished stirring the cocoa powder into the milk, I heard something fall. I abandoned the drink and headed back into the living room, wondering if I’d imagined it. I looked around the base of the gift-less tree, thinking that one of the ornaments had become a victim of gravity. All of the decorations were, however, intact.
I turned away from the forlorn-looking Christmas tree, searching for the source of the gentle thud. My eyes darted around the room, finding nothing. Just as I was about to return to the kitchen, I glanced back at the window as a lump of white hit it and then slid off, creating a muffled crunch. Surprised, I stood up and slowly—almost cautiously—walked towards the source of the noise. Gently placing my fingertips against the frozen glass, I scanned the field of white outside to find the culprit—a somewhat challenging task, since the snow had lost its initial softness, falling faster, almost angrily. My thoughts jumped immediately to him, wishing for the Christmases of long ago, for the winters we’d spent between snowball fights, before I was a columnist, before the band had made a name for itself. Outside, a shadowy figure—conveniently concealed by the cover of snow and by the thick winter clothes—lifted its arm as my heart began to race. It couldn’t be him…could it?
The arm pitched forward, and a third snowball—I assume that the original sound came from the same place—hit the window. Suddenly excited—setting myself up for disappointment, no doubt—I pulled up the window, an action I regretted almost instantly as I was assaulted by a gust of cold air. Hugging myself tightly, rubbing my arms to make them at least marginally warmer, I leaned out a little, trying to get a better view of the unexpected visitor.
The wind carried a voice through the snow and to my ears. I couldn’t tell what it said, but the timbre was enough to confirm my suspicions and send me running. Stopping only to put on some shoes—slippers, actually—I pulled the door open and, engulfed by the freezing cold, I ran down the stairs to the first floor of the apartment complex, my arms wrapped tight around myself as the snow blew into my face. When I reached the spot where I had just seen Pa—erm, the hallucination, standing, however, I slowed down. There was nothing there.
I glanced around in disbelief, hoping I hadn’t just pulled a Bella Swan. I mean, I love Patrick, but was that reason enough for me to lose my mind and have to pretend he was there with me?
Then it hit me.
Literally.
I shrieked as a mass of cold struck my face, frantically wiping the remains of the snowball off my face with my hands, leaving my bare arms at the weather’s mercy. Call me sensitive, but that single strike was enough to make my throat tighten sharply. I wanted to throw a tantrum, to collapse in the snow and bawl my eyes out. I missed my hot chocolate.
“If only he were here,” I thought. Then I slightly regained my focus – where had the snowball come fr—
“You’re gonna get sick. You know better than to go out in the cold like this.”
I gasped as the gentle chiding hit my ear, warming it as I felt two arms wrap themselves around my freezing shoulders. I broke away from the loose grasp and turned around, my brown eyes fixing themselves upon his greenish blues, my face just centimeters from his.
His.
I froze in disbelief, trying hard to control the knot in my throat. After a moment’s hesitation, I realized—or at the very least, convinced myself—that I wasn’t going insane, that he was actually there—not a figment, or a hallucination, or a random stranger.
“Patrick!” I huffed, overjoyed, despite the fact that I had just run without any kind of jacket in single-digit weather. I tossed my arms out and hugged him, burying my face in his jacket as he hugged back, the tears of temporary disappointment, of pain and of newfound joy blurring into his shoulder, my chest expanding as I sobbed quietly, his hand rubbing my back comfortingly.
It was all I needed. The cold had not disappeared, but it had subsided, and he was definitely with me—unless, of course, mirages are capable of giving warm hugs. I didn’t need my hot chocolate after all.
“Are you okay, Noelle?” he asked after a moment of silent reunion, some kind of worry staining his sweet voice. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I wanted to let the moment live as long as it possibly could, enjoying the softness of his lips as he brushed them softly against my cheek, the warmth of his arms that saved me from the bitter snow, the joy of seeing him again as it bubbled in my chest and flowed through my tears.
“I…I just…” I started, between gasps for air, pulling my face away from the warm fabric, the wind’s second siege not as strong as its first against my glowing cheeks. I looked at him through tear-blurred eyes, smiling genuinely. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Patrick replied, taking one arm away from me and using his gloved hand to lift my chin a little, bringing his lips to mine. After a short, but blissful, peck, I had to pull away and cough. Blushing, I smiled apologetically as Patrick insisted that we go inside, joking about how frostbite wasn’t that hard to get in slippers.
-------
My eyelids shot open suddenly the next morning, unlike on most other mornings, on which they drooped heavily over my eyes as I snuggled into the covers and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t take me more than a few moments to realize something.
Patrick wasn’t there.
I sat up and looked around the room to find an alarming emptiness. Kicking off the covers, I leaped out of bed and dashed out of the room, frantically looking around at the rest of the small apartment. There was no trace of him – the mugs from the previous night’s hot chocolate were no longer sitting in the sink, the tree was still as lonely as ever, and the shoes he’d left by the door the night before were no longer there.
I entered a mild panic as I realized that it had been a dream. He hadn’t decided to drive or fly home from LA early after all. It was Christmas Day (I think), and I was completely alone.
…At least I still had something to keep me busy?
It was only 7 AM. I could go back to sleep, or I could get to work. It was probably too early to call Patrick and wish him a merry Christmas, especially considering the fact that it was a few hours earlier in California than in Chicago.
I plopped down on the couch, sighing deeply, and lazily looked around the empty apartment, feeling more than a little disappointed. I peered wistfully through the windows, to the outside, where the world was blanketed in white. I laid down on the couch, curling up on my side.
------
“Stop it,” I mumbled half-asleep, batting at whatever was attacking my face.
Wait.
Something was attacking my face?
I sat up, still groggy, and opened my eyes. A little ball of fur was in my lap, hopping up, trying to lick my face. Amazed, I rubbed my eyes and examined it more closely. It was a Pomeranian, a really little one. I smiled down at it, scratching behind its ears as it yipped excitedly.
“Isn’t she sweet?” asked Patrick as he opened the front door, carrying a plain cardboard box.
“Yeah. I guess she is,” I replied, delighted by his return, and by the tiny furball that was now calmly curled in my lap. “Where were you?” I asked, curious about the box.
He came over, and I made room for him on the couch. “I went to my mom’s,” he explained, sitting down. “To bring Penny over.” He patted the dog—Penny—and smiled up at me. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise…”
Wait. Surprise?
“So…is she staying here?” I asked, wondering if the landlady would mind a small dog.
“Well, yeah. She’s kind of your present, actually.”
I picked up the puppy and held her close to my chest.
“Didja hear that?” I asked, in the squeaky voice I usually reserve for two-year-olds. “You’re staying with me, Penny.” I wiggled my finger in front of her face, and giggled as she batted her paw at me.
At least there’d be someone with me when my angel wasn’t.
Patrick wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Noelle.”
I picked his cheek and returned the sentiment: “Merry Christmas, Patrick.”
Penny yipped.
At least there wouldn’t be anything to distract me. My family was all down South, in Texas. I didn’t have any real friends to speak of in the area—I’d only moved to Chicago twelve months earlier, after receiving an internship at a newspaper that I’d previously thought out of my league—and most of the people I usually talked to were coworkers who already had plans.
Unfortunately, the greater pull factor – the internship was just the cherry on top – wasn’t around, either. Ever since his band released their first ‘real’ album, he hadn’t been around as much.
Granted, I was proud of him, even before the recognition began—he’d been my friend for years, before we started dating—and I loved the way his eyes lit up when he talked about what it felt like to be onstage, but that didn’t help much. I missed his smile. I missed his laugh. I missed the embrace that used to greet me every afternoon when I came home from work, missed the way his golden voice filled the entire apartment, whether he was practicing his own songs, or belting out Top 40 hits or showtunes. I missed Patrick.
I sighed, unable to focus on the beginnings of the paragraph that had appeared on the white screen in front of me, and pushed back the rolling chair. I took a few steps and ended up in the kitchen, where I spent the next three minutes making a mug of hot chocolate. As I finished stirring the cocoa powder into the milk, I heard something fall. I abandoned the drink and headed back into the living room, wondering if I’d imagined it. I looked around the base of the gift-less tree, thinking that one of the ornaments had become a victim of gravity. All of the decorations were, however, intact.
I turned away from the forlorn-looking Christmas tree, searching for the source of the gentle thud. My eyes darted around the room, finding nothing. Just as I was about to return to the kitchen, I glanced back at the window as a lump of white hit it and then slid off, creating a muffled crunch. Surprised, I stood up and slowly—almost cautiously—walked towards the source of the noise. Gently placing my fingertips against the frozen glass, I scanned the field of white outside to find the culprit—a somewhat challenging task, since the snow had lost its initial softness, falling faster, almost angrily. My thoughts jumped immediately to him, wishing for the Christmases of long ago, for the winters we’d spent between snowball fights, before I was a columnist, before the band had made a name for itself. Outside, a shadowy figure—conveniently concealed by the cover of snow and by the thick winter clothes—lifted its arm as my heart began to race. It couldn’t be him…could it?
The arm pitched forward, and a third snowball—I assume that the original sound came from the same place—hit the window. Suddenly excited—setting myself up for disappointment, no doubt—I pulled up the window, an action I regretted almost instantly as I was assaulted by a gust of cold air. Hugging myself tightly, rubbing my arms to make them at least marginally warmer, I leaned out a little, trying to get a better view of the unexpected visitor.
The wind carried a voice through the snow and to my ears. I couldn’t tell what it said, but the timbre was enough to confirm my suspicions and send me running. Stopping only to put on some shoes—slippers, actually—I pulled the door open and, engulfed by the freezing cold, I ran down the stairs to the first floor of the apartment complex, my arms wrapped tight around myself as the snow blew into my face. When I reached the spot where I had just seen Pa—erm, the hallucination, standing, however, I slowed down. There was nothing there.
I glanced around in disbelief, hoping I hadn’t just pulled a Bella Swan. I mean, I love Patrick, but was that reason enough for me to lose my mind and have to pretend he was there with me?
Then it hit me.
Literally.
I shrieked as a mass of cold struck my face, frantically wiping the remains of the snowball off my face with my hands, leaving my bare arms at the weather’s mercy. Call me sensitive, but that single strike was enough to make my throat tighten sharply. I wanted to throw a tantrum, to collapse in the snow and bawl my eyes out. I missed my hot chocolate.
“If only he were here,” I thought. Then I slightly regained my focus – where had the snowball come fr—
“You’re gonna get sick. You know better than to go out in the cold like this.”
I gasped as the gentle chiding hit my ear, warming it as I felt two arms wrap themselves around my freezing shoulders. I broke away from the loose grasp and turned around, my brown eyes fixing themselves upon his greenish blues, my face just centimeters from his.
His.
I froze in disbelief, trying hard to control the knot in my throat. After a moment’s hesitation, I realized—or at the very least, convinced myself—that I wasn’t going insane, that he was actually there—not a figment, or a hallucination, or a random stranger.
“Patrick!” I huffed, overjoyed, despite the fact that I had just run without any kind of jacket in single-digit weather. I tossed my arms out and hugged him, burying my face in his jacket as he hugged back, the tears of temporary disappointment, of pain and of newfound joy blurring into his shoulder, my chest expanding as I sobbed quietly, his hand rubbing my back comfortingly.
It was all I needed. The cold had not disappeared, but it had subsided, and he was definitely with me—unless, of course, mirages are capable of giving warm hugs. I didn’t need my hot chocolate after all.
“Are you okay, Noelle?” he asked after a moment of silent reunion, some kind of worry staining his sweet voice. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I wanted to let the moment live as long as it possibly could, enjoying the softness of his lips as he brushed them softly against my cheek, the warmth of his arms that saved me from the bitter snow, the joy of seeing him again as it bubbled in my chest and flowed through my tears.
“I…I just…” I started, between gasps for air, pulling my face away from the warm fabric, the wind’s second siege not as strong as its first against my glowing cheeks. I looked at him through tear-blurred eyes, smiling genuinely. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Patrick replied, taking one arm away from me and using his gloved hand to lift my chin a little, bringing his lips to mine. After a short, but blissful, peck, I had to pull away and cough. Blushing, I smiled apologetically as Patrick insisted that we go inside, joking about how frostbite wasn’t that hard to get in slippers.
-------
My eyelids shot open suddenly the next morning, unlike on most other mornings, on which they drooped heavily over my eyes as I snuggled into the covers and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t take me more than a few moments to realize something.
Patrick wasn’t there.
I sat up and looked around the room to find an alarming emptiness. Kicking off the covers, I leaped out of bed and dashed out of the room, frantically looking around at the rest of the small apartment. There was no trace of him – the mugs from the previous night’s hot chocolate were no longer sitting in the sink, the tree was still as lonely as ever, and the shoes he’d left by the door the night before were no longer there.
I entered a mild panic as I realized that it had been a dream. He hadn’t decided to drive or fly home from LA early after all. It was Christmas Day (I think), and I was completely alone.
…At least I still had something to keep me busy?
It was only 7 AM. I could go back to sleep, or I could get to work. It was probably too early to call Patrick and wish him a merry Christmas, especially considering the fact that it was a few hours earlier in California than in Chicago.
I plopped down on the couch, sighing deeply, and lazily looked around the empty apartment, feeling more than a little disappointed. I peered wistfully through the windows, to the outside, where the world was blanketed in white. I laid down on the couch, curling up on my side.
------
“Stop it,” I mumbled half-asleep, batting at whatever was attacking my face.
Wait.
Something was attacking my face?
I sat up, still groggy, and opened my eyes. A little ball of fur was in my lap, hopping up, trying to lick my face. Amazed, I rubbed my eyes and examined it more closely. It was a Pomeranian, a really little one. I smiled down at it, scratching behind its ears as it yipped excitedly.
“Isn’t she sweet?” asked Patrick as he opened the front door, carrying a plain cardboard box.
“Yeah. I guess she is,” I replied, delighted by his return, and by the tiny furball that was now calmly curled in my lap. “Where were you?” I asked, curious about the box.
He came over, and I made room for him on the couch. “I went to my mom’s,” he explained, sitting down. “To bring Penny over.” He patted the dog—Penny—and smiled up at me. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise…”
Wait. Surprise?
“So…is she staying here?” I asked, wondering if the landlady would mind a small dog.
“Well, yeah. She’s kind of your present, actually.”
I picked up the puppy and held her close to my chest.
“Didja hear that?” I asked, in the squeaky voice I usually reserve for two-year-olds. “You’re staying with me, Penny.” I wiggled my finger in front of her face, and giggled as she batted her paw at me.
At least there’d be someone with me when my angel wasn’t.
Patrick wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Noelle.”
I picked his cheek and returned the sentiment: “Merry Christmas, Patrick.”
Penny yipped.