The Past I Part 2

The Past I
Part 2

Tess and Dan became fast friends. Kindred spirits were they; children forced to assume adult qualities at too early an age. In one another they found comfort and strength. Tessa could tell Dan about her family, her home, and her discomfort with the unfamiliarity of New York in the winter. Dan found in Tessa a sounding board. To her, he could talk about the mistakes he had made. He told her how bad he’d felt after his mother picked him up at the police station when he was arrested for joy riding. How at that moment, he had vowed not to make her cry with disappointment ever again. He talked about his mother’s illness and impending death. Tessa did not judge his past, and she understood--as none of his so-called friends did--his fear of being left alone. After all, she was already experiencing it.

Three days before Christmas, Saraid Mangan woke up with her mind set on a mission. She had watched her son opening up to the girl upstairs. Dan smiled more now, seemed less guarded. Saraid knew too well the fate of foster children at Christmastime. The agency would send clothes. A charity or two might send a book or a toy. For the most part, the child would go unnoticed outside of the foster family. Tessa would have more. Saraid was determined.

Dan dutifully pushed his mother through Bloomingdale’s, grinning as she directed Nurse Kelly to hand her this or that along her way. They had spent two hours shopping for Tessa. Normally, it would have been torture, but Dan hadn’t seen his mother so animated in a very long time. Anything pink, lacy or flowered had been carefully inspected. A substantial pile of sweaters, blouses and shoes waited behind the counter, and Saraid was currently checking out makeup mirrors and blush brushes.

“What was the scent Tessa likes so much, Danny?”

“Jasmine,” Dan told her, reaching for a bottle of jasmine scented body spray. “She says it reminds her of her home.”

“Get two of them, then.” Dan complied, adding the bottles to the pile.

“Now for some lingerie,” Saraid said.

Dan stopped short. “Mum,” he said in a horrified whisper. “I can’t go in there!”

Saraid laughed. “No. I don’t suppose you should.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of bills. “Here,” she said. “You go find something you think she’ll like from you. Meet Kelly and me here in about forty minutes.”

“Thanks Mum.” Dan took the money, a little surprised at the amount, and kissed his mother’s cheek. Tucking the cash into his front pocket he quickly made his escape from the rows of silky scanties.

Dan wandered out of the store and down the street. Christmas in New York City, especially with money in his pocket, was complete sensory overload. Vendors and store windows beckoned from every direction. Suddenly, Dan felt sad. Flattening himself against a building, out of the crowd, he thought back to Christmas past. There hadn’t been a lot of money, but he had been part of a family, a mostly whole and healthy family, full of laughter and love. Now there was money and love, but the healthy family was fast disappearing. For the second time in less than a week, Dan felt tears stinging his eyes. He blinked hard and sucked in a lung full of cold air. He wasn’t completely alone yet. Tessa was. He still had a mother, and she wanted to make this Christmas special for him, and for Tess. The least he could do was help.

Emotions under control, Dan ducked into a small storefront. The air was thick with incense, the crowded counters loaded with funky and unusual items. Some of them were vintage, like the Etch-a-Sketch leaning up against a plastic cactus shaped like a...Dan looked closer, and blushed. The cactus was tagged “Frisky Fred”, and supposedly he vibrated. Turning away quickly, Dan’s attention was drawn to an item tagged Genuine Lava Lamp. Red wax floated lazily in clear liquid, lit from below. Dan picked it up, surprised at the weight. It was a quirky piece and it made him smile. Setting it down, he wandered over to a display of woven blankets. One of them depicted a beach scene, complete with palm trees and coconuts. The browns and greens of the weaving reminded Dan of the old maps that had hung on the walls of their quarters in California. Tessa was always cold. Maybe a blanket would be a better gift. Chewing on his lower lip, Dan tried to decide.

Saraid had tried hard to make this Christmas--her last Christmas on earth-- memorable for her son. She succeeded beyond even her wildest dreams. Dan knew that for all his life he would remember this Christmas.

The apartment was cluttered with every decoration ever collected by the Mangan family. The tree, while not overly large, was hung with tinsel and bubble lights. Ornaments made from framed photos chronicling Dan’s Christmases hung from the branches, as did every ornament he had ever made. Saraid was most fond of the reindeer made from a candy cane and pipe cleaners. Dan laughed at the single googley eye dangling from the silly thing, but he enjoyed recounting memories with his mother as they decorated the tree.

“I remember this outfit,” Saraid said softly, holding out a picture of Tim Mangan holding Dan, who was wearing a red velvet Santa suit. “We had just moved to Germany. It was your very first Christmas. You were only ten months old, and already a little charmer like your daddy. All the ladies on base just loved to pinch your cheeks.”

“Well, they certainly were big enough,” Dan said. “Man, I was a fat baby.”

“You were adorably chubby,” his mother corrected, holding out another photo. “Here you are with Da the following Christmas. You loved the snow.”

Dan took the picture. He was wearing a blue snowsuit and clinging tightly to his father’s hand. Tim Mangan was smiling down at his son, whose tongue was sticking out, catching snowflakes. Behind them was a blurry red neon sign. Dan handed the photo back to his mother and asked, “What does that sign say?”

Saraid looked, and then laughed. “Santa kommt aber einmal pro Jahr,” she said. “It means Santa comes but once a year. I remember that the Santa Claus face on the sign kept flashing and ruining my shot.”

The memories continued each evening as Dan curled up at his mother’s feet and they reminisced. Saraid hoped that the memories they created during this last Christmas would sustain her son throughout his life.

Christmas morning dawned cold and clear. Dan awoke late to the smells of soda bread and sausage. Stumbling from his bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of his mother, dressed in a cheery green and white sweater and long red skirt, instructing her nurse Maryam in the art of soft cooked eggs.

After a tasty Irish breakfast of eggs, sausage, soda bread and tea, the upstairs neighbors joined Saraid and Dan. Tessa and Mrs. K arrived bearing Christmas cookies and spiced cider. Archie, to Dan’s great relief, had developed a bad cold and stayed in his own apartment.

Wheeling Saraid into the living room, both Dan and Tess gasped at the sight of the tree, fully lit and overflowing with gifts and treats. Dan leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “You were busy,” he whispered.

“I wanted you to have happy things to remember. Your friend as well,” she whispered back. “Now light the candles and we’ll get to the fun.” He smiled at her with love in his eyes and did as she asked. The room filled with the scents of cinnamon and spice.

Saraid presided over the distribution of the gifts, her sallow cheeks flushed with excitement. As each carefully chosen gift was opened, she seemed to gather energy from the recipient’s pleasure. Tessa’s surprise and delight at each article of clothing brought a giggle to Saraid’s lips, and the look in her Danny’s eyes as he opened an entire set of Encyclopedia Americana, a new clock radio and the complete collection of leather bound Cosmo McNaught books brought tears of joy to her eyes.

Dan waited patiently as Mrs. K opened the basket of bath salts and body lotions he had selected for her. Tessa was holding the gifts he had selected, peeling the wrapping back slowly. As she pulled the blanket out of its paper she rubbed it against her cheek. “It’s beautiful!” she said. “It’s so soft and warm, and the pictures are of home.”

“I know how cold you get,” Dan told her. “I thought that might help. Look underneath it.”

“There’s more? I thought it was awfully heavy for a blanket.” Tessa’s eyes opened wide as she pulled the lava lamp from the bottom of the box. “I love it!” she exclaimed. “My daddy had one just like this when he was in college. Thank you, Danny.”

Dan blushed. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled.

“Here.” Tess held out a small, gaily wrapped package to Dan, and another to Saraid. “I didn’t have any money, but Mrs. K let me raid her craft closet.”

Dan unwrapped a scarf, knitted from very soft black and red yarn. “Wow!” he exclaimed, wrapping it around his neck. “You made this?” Tess nodded.

“And these?” Saraid had unwrapped a pair of crocheted bed socks in shades of green and gold. “These are lovely. Thank you.”

“I guess I get so cold here, I could only think about keeping everybody else warm,” Tessa joked. “I’m glad you like them.”

After all the packages had been opened and the remnants of wrappings cleaned up, Saraid asked Maryam to wheel her into her room for a nap. Dan followed to kiss her before she slept. He knew that the morning activity had drained her scant reserves of energy. Then he went upstairs with Tessa to play board games and watch Frosty the Snowman on Mrs. K’s new VCR.

When Dan returned home after a Christmas dinner with Mrs. K, Tessa, and a wheezing, sniffling Archie, his mother was waiting for him in front of the fireplace.

“How was dinner?” she asked quietly.

“The turkey was dry, the stuffing was wet, and Archie sneezed on the pecan pie. Other than that, it was excellent.”

“Did you remember your manners?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dan quipped. “I cleaned my plate, used my napkin, chewed with my mouth closed, and complimented my hostess. Just like my Mama taught me.”

“That’s my good boy,” Saraid said. “Manners will take you farther in life than either good looks or money.”

Dan knelt in front of her chair. “I have something for you,” he said. “I didn’t want to give it to you until it was quieter.” He handed her a box, wrapped in pale silver tissue paper. “I made it for you.”

Saraid opened the package and gasped, tears filling her eyes as she pulled the rosary from the box. Made up of amethyst glass and rosewood beads, a beautifully carved Celtic cross hung from the center. Saraid clasped it in her hands and whispered, “It’s lovely. I love the beads. Amethyst is your birthstone.”

“I know. I wanted you to have something of me to...keep with you,” Dan said nervously. “Father Paul helped me find the beads, and he showed me how to get the carving right on the cross. I hope...hope you like it.”

“I love it, and I love you too, my Danny.” She leaned forward and hugged him close to her. Sitting upright she said, “I have something for you as well. It is in the closet.”

Dan retrieved a plain white box from the closet. Opening it, he pulled out a familiar looking black leather jacket. “Da’s jacket,” he said.

“Your father was wearing this jacket when we met,” Saraid told him. “I had it cleaned for you. I know it is a little big, but I thought you might want it...and this,” she reached in the pocket of her robe and pulled out a silver locket on a long chain. “Your father gave this to me when you were born. Open it.”

Dan flicked open the oval and saw two pictures. The one on the left side was of himself and his parents when he was only a few weeks old. On the right, the last family picture they had had taken, just before his father had shipped out for the last time. Tears welled in his eyes.

“I wanted you to remember that no matter what, your father and I love you and are always with you.” Saraid wiped Dan’s tears with her fingertips. “We are a part of you, and you a part of us, in this life and in the next. Always remember, mé toil cion thú go ceann tráth.” She cradled her son’s head on her lap and began to sing softly to him, of lullabies and leprechauns.

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