“Is that all hope and religion are to you? Primitive?” asked the student.
Stanley paused and smiled, “Yes.”
“Then I feel sorry for you, Professor Redlaw.”
“The only way hope can really be felt in this era, the way you seem to want it to be felt, is by erasing all the scars humanity bears. All the wounds we carry. God’s not erasing those wounds. We live in a hell of pain and sorrow that won’t be erased until we are dead, and I blame God and religion for that. Hiroshima, the Holocaust, JFK… all these things. We’re past the point of no return.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Professor Redlaw. Because I happen to believe that there’s hope for everyone… even you.”
“I don’t write happy endings. I write realistic ones. It’s cruel to lead people on to let them believe that we all live happily ever after. The prince doesn’t save the princess. He stays home and develops a drinking problem. The princess sells herself to make due because the king is a draconian and society is horribly chauvinistic.
“Priests in those stories won’t sleep with women, but they’ll sleep with each other because it’s a technical loophole for them, when they’re not exploiting the poor, that is. Those are the stories that should be told.”
“Isn’t it better to plant a seed of hope? To plant something… better, for the future?”
“What future? Tell me what future there is. The Soviet Union has nuclear bombs. We’re on the brink of financial collapse again. We watched our own president get killed on television. What future is there to speak of, to fight for? No, the sooner we accept the world as broken and beyond repair the sooner we will all make peace with it. That’s what I hope to do with my work.”
“So there are no happy endings in real life?”
“There are no happy endings,” Stanley confirmed.
***
Stanley walked into his office after class and saw a young couple sitting down. The Swidgers, William and Milly. Stanley saw great potential in William from his short stories. Stanley believed William had either the capacity to achieve greatness or wallow in obscurity. No in-between. A true writer.
William and Milly were both married that year. They had the newlywed feeling in them that made Stanley miss Ashley.
“Professor Redlaw, can we take you up on your invitation to come to your house for the holidays?” William asked. “We need to stay near my father. We were originally going to try to swing by Minnesota, but that doesn’t seem to be an option this year.”
What the Swidgers didn’t know was that Ronald had already approached him. Stanley smiled, “Of course,” he put his coat around the desk chair, “but you should know I have no Christmas tree or decorations.”
“Why not?”
“Never had a reason to celebrate or feel grateful lately.”
“Should you not at least be grateful for the gifts of family during this time?” asked Milly.
Stanley forced a smile, “Gratitude is an invention of capitalism to keep us numb to the horrors of the world. Happiness is afforded only for the privileged.”
William sighed, “Well, we want to be with you in our happiness. We hope you at least consider it as we stay at your house.”
“I’ll consider it, but know I am far too busy and too much of a realist to acknowledge Christmas as it is now. I hope you understand. Maybe one day you will.”
“I hope to not ever understand it,” Milly shook her head.
Stanley shrugged.
“You’ve got a message, Professor Redlaw,” Milly took out a piece of paper and handed it to Stanley. “The man who gave it to me looked an awful lot like you did. Older, but I’m not sure if that’s an accurate description.”
Stanley opened up the letter: I have what you want. Meet me for coffee at Tetterbys’ Shop at 4 PM.
Stanley’s face turned pale.
“Is something wrong?” asked William.
“No… no, nothing’s wrong,” Stanley cleared his throat and put the note in his desk drawer.
“Can we go to the house to decorate a bit?” asked Milly.
Stanley sighed and handed her his keys.
“Thanks so much!” Milly’s eyes brightened.
“Don’t over-decorate,” warned Stanley. “The only reason Christmas is in my house this year is because of you. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, Professor,” William smirked.
As Milly and William both stood up, Stanley asked: “So this guy, Milly, you say he looked like me?”
“Yes. An older version, if you can imagine… only… haunted. Like those pictures of World War 1 vets when they returned from war.”
Stanley nodded, “Makes sense that someone like that would be into my work.”
***
I have what you want. Meet me for coffee at Tetterbys’ Shop at 4 PM.
That could’ve meant a hundred things to Stanley. His reputation in the literary world was well-known. He’s had a stalker or two before, women. He’s never had someone older than him reach out like this.
Stanley put on his jacket and started walking down the busy streets. A few snowflakes started to fall, followed by hundreds more. Stanley found himself smiling. He loved the snow, realist or not.
He looked around at the skyscrapers decorated in Christmas decor, lights shining everywhere. Even if he didn’t feel the spirit anymore, Stanley couldn’t help but be in awe of what people are capable of building. Santas on every corner, charities fully funded. But, come January 2nd, none of this mattered.
Along the buildings and bustling traffic, Stanley could sense a newfound spiritual reality, a more grim one. He saw shadows dancing in between alleys, reflections of who once existed in the windows as he walked by.
Stanley was a mystic at heart. A nihilist, but also spiritual through and through. The spirit realm didn’t surprise him. Energy can’t be destroyed, as his chemist friends said. He figured that everything went on in one way or another after death. He accepted these shadows. They were a familiar, bitter friend.
***
Stanley sipped his coffee as an older gentleman sat across from him. He wasn’t just older, decrepit. William was right. This man looked like Stanley if he had gone to hell, or was perhaps homeless.
“How did you know what would happen with the bridge?” Stanley asked.
Silence.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“I have what you want,” the man whispered plainly.
“What is it you think I want?” asked Stanley.
“An end to the horror.”
Stanley continued to sip his coffee and sighed. He looked at the Tetterbys behind the counter ringing up new customers. They were a young couple, Sophia and Marcus. They seemed as in love as when they met. Stanley knew them when they were students. Tragedy bound them together and somehow they made it through.
“Death?” Stanley sighed. “Is this what this is? It’s my time?”
“No… even better,” the man took off his coat. A faint, musky smell hit Stanley’s nostrils.
“Are you going to keep talking in riddles or what?” Stanley’s heart started beating.
“What if you had the power to forget? To not only forget, but to allow others the same privilege? Like that bridge collapse, for example,” the man smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. “What if you had the power to erase memories of the horror ever happening? All those people walking around in pain and agony. You said it yourself, Professor. The world is grim and there is no hope. None to clasp on to. As the world descends into oblivion, perhaps the greatest mercy is to help people forget. To help them remember their traumas and pain no more.”
Stanley raised an eyebrow, “Who are you, exactly?”
“I’m you,” whispered the phantom. “And you are me. I come from the mirror realm where all your sorrows and woes are reflected back tenfold. This is what you are in spirit form. The mirror realm sees all and judges mankind to be lacking.”
Stanley shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“This is complete nonsense,” Stanley blurted. “Please don’t call me ever again. I’ve contacted the police.”
“Is it nonsense though? Search your heart, Stanley. This is what you’ve been praying for all these years. A chance to heal the brokenness. The hurt you feel since Ashley left and Charlene died. All the world’s woes healed overnight if you chose. You’d be like Christ.”
“A lot of good Christ did.”
“Yes, it’d be better if he stayed on that cross,” said the phantom. “Bold of you to say that this time of year. Wouldn’t you like a chance to prove yourself correct? Do the things he didn’t do?”
Something in Stanley’s heart told him that this man was real. Perhaps more real than he ever really knew.
“What is it you pray for the most in the world?” asked the man across the table.
“A day without pain,” Stanley whispered. He couldn’t believe he’d answered so vulnerably.
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- A Chicago Carol - December 24, 2024
