Alone

Alone

 

I sit alone in a crowded space. Wishing I wasn’t felling isolated, separate. Seeing faces, dispassionte, ignorant, immune to my mood. There is no Christmas here. People moving quickly, shuffling, frowning, dodging through, uttering quiet curses, arguing, starting fights. Rudeness. Inconsideration. All islands in the middle of a vast ocean. How can you find happiness if you see all of this? How can you sit quietly and believe there is a safe place for you when the cell phone talker next to you is wondering about whether or not to refinance their yacht? 

That one over there seems to believe that her expensive fur coat elevates her above the peasants she must marinade among, fearing the smell of the middle class might linger on her and be taken back to her high society friends; might uncover the terrible truth, that her husband has spent all the money on his secretary’s immaculate new breasts and pilfered on expensive afternoon hotel rooms with chocolate and the finest champagne. She reads her Conde’ Nast, but knows that her sheltered and charity ball-filled life is over. She will be a bitter, lonely woman past her prime with sons who don’t care enough to call and cheap box wine in an expensive carafe she managed to keep when she moved into her condo. 

The stress eater carefully reads the latest business tome, trying to reach the next level. He has sacrificed it all, the family, the love, the friends, all for the next strata of success. He thinks he is happy, but I know his heart in the dark of the night. So driven; he has segregated himself from all but superficial contact with humanity. His mother weeps, wondering where her smiling little boy went, silently cursing the father that pressed all this into her baby. 

The girl, while pretty in the face, can’t help but eat her emotions. Eating still, wondering if she should put up a Christmas tree to make herself feel better, or if she will just be more depressed when she opens the presents she bought for herself on Christmas morning. Knowing that by the sunset she will have eaten all of the divine chocolates and cry herself to sleep. 

Her exact opposite behind her, eating now; but aware that the food will have to come up soon. She is guilty in her soul of abusing herself, trying to be perfect. Three pounds and he will not love her, she has watched his furtive glances at her best friend. The friend that has the perfect waist and breasts, perfect smile and lascivious nature. She is as much a predator as prey, and a threat to all her so-called friends. The too-skinny little girl has much to be afraid of. She might be alone soon, scared of her own voice telling her to workout harder, eat less, push herself to the limit. She is beautiful, they are all beautiful, but do not see it. 

They see all the flaws. It insulates them all from each other, no outstretched hands or momentary smiles. Not a passing nod, nor secret smile. The love is stoppered here, there is a bottleneck in the emotional flow. Unfettered empathy and vulnerability will only make you hurt more. Someone will take advantage and you will cry. Your only hope is to build your walls and hide until dark. No one has access, for they are all they enemy. Even the ones you love will hurt you, they will hurt you the most and most often.  Unknowingly, they stab at your exposed heart and tear it to pieces. It is a very slow process with the ones you love, and they don’t want to hurt you. These strangers, these emotional vampires and destroyers, they will take away your safety. Don’t expose yourself, stay quiet and don’t be noticed. Attention will equal damage.

In the middle of all these floating souls is a bright thread, many threads, all leading to a center, a hub of shining life. There is a little boy, too young to be afraid, too small to be worried, watched by all. He sings and smiles, telling his frazzled mother about the mysteries of Santa Claus. There is unbridled passion for the season in this one child. All of these lost souls are watching him, unaware of the smiles slowly changing their faces, dropping their guards. This tiny flame, he is a beacon in the darkness, the lighter of the way, he is seeping slowly through the cracks in the armor, filling each person with a little Christmas. He recalls the vigor and innocence in all of us, the barely contained excitement for the holidays. The presents that will come, the candy to be eaten, the scratchy sweaters at Grandma’s stuffy house and the feeling that Christmas Night will never end. The awe of seeing Santa at the store, the clanging of the bells outside of the store and the good feeling that comes from putting a few cents in a bucket. The untarnished happiness and reason for the season.

That is where we all find a little bit of our Christmas. Not enough to break our fear, to reach out and sing like the Whos of Whoville, but a little to carry in our hearts. If we could all bring this child inside of us now, there would be more smiles, more nods, and less of the Alone.

 

Merry Christmas.