Time Drifters

“Did Renatta live?”

I had begged Mr. Danby to tell me and the only thing he would say was, “You will see her again.”

Problem was, that could mean too many things. I knew that I would see Capucine. She had told me so; that I would see her earlier in her life when we had a Drift that she had already experienced. I was frustrated not knowing how she’d survive, although I knew she had some money from Aureliano. I was pretty sure that she was resigned to the fact that she needed to leave Carrolltown, even before the fire destroyed what she considered to be a home.

But Renatta’s shimmering departure had been so fast and it looked different. She’d been unconscious and burning—I couldn’t get the picture of it out of my head. There had been no way to tell if the blow from the beam had been instantly fatal.

The only thing Mr. Danby told me while I was wolfing down my second “lunch” that afternoon was that we must have all done what was required because we had made it back. It didn’t satisfy my need to know, which was made worse by the physical pinch of smoke in my chest and the cough that frequently reminded me of what had happened. I couldn’t wait until the year mark to see what information I’d finally be given and what access I might have in understanding what we did as Drifters.

Immediately, though, I knew that I had Christmas. And I was back in time. We were all ready for some nice news in the world, even if it meant shutting out everything else and focusing on small moments. Sort of like being ostriches, in very festive moods.

With travel restrictions still in effect, my parents weren’t going to risk flying or driving to Toronto and none of the Van Kier family were going to come to us either. My other grandparents, the Anderson-Trinders, were visiting my Dad’s brother in Baltimore, so it was just the three of us for the big day.

They couldn’t understand why I was so sleepy and I really couldn’t help myself.

I’d doze off and wake to hear wrapping paper crunching. I’d wake to see lights going onto the tree and then wake with my Mom poking me to get up to help with lacing the strands of tinsel. I’d wake to smell Christmas pudding heating on the stovetop and icing sugar frosting heating in a pan.

I woke Saturday afternoon so Dad could take me to the store to help him pick out some earrings for Mom, as the present I’d be giving her. I woke to hear Mom coming back from church on Sunday afternoon, telling me that I’d better be ready to go with her to the candlelight service that night.

Before we went, I got to open up two presents; one from each of my grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa Van Kier gave me a super simple watercolor paint palette with some paper to go with it. And Dad’s folks gave me a leather portfolio that, he explained, was something they might have thought could help my school presentations to look more professional. Two presents that pretty much summed up where I was at in life—caught somewhere between being a kid and being grown up.

Snow was lightly falling as we entered the church and the cold air in the foyer was spiked with that spicy smell of cedar and pine boughs. We sat in pews at the side, something Mom did out of habit so we could duck out if things got too long or if I became too fidgety, like I did when I was younger. Now it was just a comfortable place to be. Familiar.

I could hear the cars moving outside, skidding a bit on the snow at the intersection. The warning beep of a snow plough pierced the thick stone walls and the stained glass windows, the mechanical rhythm of it punctuating a prayer that the whole congregation was repeating. I thought about rap music right then, and I started moving a bit in a little dance until my Mom pushed down firmly on my shoulder. It was OK, though, because she was smirking.

During the service, there was a lot of music. This one woman with a really big chest—and a really big everything, to be honest—sang a song called, “I Wonder As I Wander.” It seemed so sad for a Christmas Eve, and yet I found myself wondering about my own questions and the people that I cared about—my fellow Drifters. They weren’t on my Christmas list, but I was sending them good wishes, just the same.

It was too hard to see around the head of the lady in front of me, and her husband looked and smelled like he'd come straight from bed and I wished that he'd taken his Christmas bath before he emerged. I slumped down a bit in my seat and felt the arm of my Mom's coat on my cheek. The warmth of the church must have gotten to me because I was looking at the large hanging banner of an angel one minute and the next I was somewhere else.

I jerked awake, and threw my hands forward, hitting the back of the wooden pew and knocking the lady in the shoulder. She and her husband almost jumped out of the pew while my Mom was pulling me backwards, apologizing.

"Was I drifting again?" I asked. My Mother nodded, “Yes,” and then "Shushed" me, looking around embarrassed.

"I didn't mean that..." I started to say. She pulled up her finger. And she didn't understand. It wasn't like I'd gone someplace new. It was like I was remembering somewhere that I'd already been.

It had been bright and misty, like a chilly September morning when fog rises from the ponds and the sunlight is starting to blast through it. But then there had also been other colors; greens and blues, almost like the northern lights… the aurora borealis.

I know it sounds dumb to say it, but I thought I saw an angel. Only it had been an angel with Marijka’s face, the way she looked when she was older. She’d been completely calm as she came forward through the mist, as if she were floating down directly to me. I have to say that she spoke because I swear that I heard her voice, even though her lips never moved.

"Be…Watchful," I heard. Her eyes looked concerned that I pay attention.

The service was over soon enough and, happily, Mom was not one for lining up to say thanks to the minister.

"Let's just beetle out the side door," she said, using one of her Mom’s expressions.

The snowfall was getting thicker and home was such a welcomed place. The last log of the evening fire was still glowing red, and we toasted Christmas at midnight with a cup of hot chocolate for each of us. Dad was watching his favorite old black and white version of “A Christmas Carol” and we joined him on the couch, with me sandwiched in the middle.

When the ghost of Christmas Past appeared, I thought about my dream in church. It seemed so real. I was almost afraid to go to sleep for fear of going back into it again. And where I was seemed pretty great; Dad and Mom were together and the whole place smelled like pine needles and chocolate. How perfect!

Mom put her arm around me and I felt like I was about five years old. I was going to pull away but I didn't want to. Just for a moment, I decided that it was fine to be a kid.

Why not!, I thought. The world was changing, but it could wait till next year, or at least until tomorrow. Tonight was Christmas Eve and there was something that seemed to link it with all the years past and all the years future.

I come from Tarrytown, New York, in the year 2001. Those were my stats; my where and my when. And at that moment, I was happy to be exactly in, and from, both.

The End