Chase

My heart races, my breathing fails, I can’t find air in my lungs.

My legs are beefy from the run. They’re strong, they’re fast.

Faster than Time. 

He’s always chasing me, always on my trail. A beast, a fierce, furious, scary, heavy beast.

I can’t stop until he stops. I can’t rest until he rests. 

I can’t look back. 

I can’t let him catch me. 

I can’t let him devour me.

Time is a beast on my trail.

Always, non-stop chasing me.

***

I can’t hear him anymore. 

I look back, I can’t see him. My squeezed eyes scan the perimeter, searching around for him.

He’s nowhere to be seen. 

I stop.

Panting, I bend with hands in my knees to give my heart a rest and breathe. Air cuts my lungs as it goes in.

My slightly wavy, blond snowy hair is so long now that it almost touches the ground. My milky flowy dress caresses my ankles as the silent breeze welcomes me into the forest. I don’t know how my bare feet remain clean and silky. It must be my blood heritage. 

As I walk, I hear the leaves ruffle and the birds chime. I can smell freshwater not too far ahead. Like me, rivers run non-stop - unless a rock blocks the way. But no rock will block my way.

The river is like a mirror, reflecting the green of the trees surrounding us. I capture the clear water with my palms and drink a sip from it. It feels rejuvenating. 

I sit in the bank to rest. Not too out in the open, but close enough to the river so I can jump on it when Time comes.

Time, a beast that pursues me. When will it stop? 

I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. Once upon a time, he got too close. A little bit too close. I have to keep alert and remain vigilant. I can’t allow any distractions. There’s no room for it.

When I open my eyes again, I spot a shining rock not too far ahead. My feet tingle. 

I look around, searching for danger. I concentrate on listening, and the forest is the only sound I find.

My entire being is bursting with a growing desire, an aim to get closer. My muscles are tense, my body is defensive, but I have to take a peek. 

I allow my feet to speak for themselves and tip-toe towards the shining rock. I touch the round-shaped, tall rock and look up. The fluffy clouds in the sky are like egg whites. The faded sun shine coming through them in an opening makes the silver metal buried across it glow. 

Fast as a monkey, I climb the polished rock and grab the ancient gold handle. 

A wind gust shakes the leaves hard and I shiver, stopping to hold my breath. Pulling the sword out from the rock, I start to run.

He’s coming.

The chase has begun again.

The Bench

She sits on the bench, palms covering her eyes, heads down. The sun heats her neck, the shadow covering her entire being, a dark grey spectrum stretching claws on the bright paved floor.

She sighs. Kids come, kids go. She doesn't notice, she doesn't care. She doesn't move.

The sun moves to her three o'clock. Runners pass by. She looks up, she looks down, left, right. Looking for something, finding nothing. Heads down.

Six o'clock. Nobody comes to her. She doesn't go.

A troubled being, finding no meaning. Just there, sitting.

I open my gate and walk. As I'm coming closer, I wonder. I wonder why she's there at this hour, a spectrum of a human being occupying my bench.

My slow body, wrapped on wrinkled, thin skin, descends until my bottom meets the wooden seat. She senses my weight. Her head lifts up quietly.

Our eyes meet. I throw her a greeting smile. She throws back an empty one. It immediately takes me back decades ago, back to her, reminding me of troubled moments my mind had already crushed deep down, reviving connections my soul had long forgotten. Then we part.

She's back staring at the pavement, I'm left facing forward. Side by side. In silence.

I know her type. I've experienced, through another pair of eyes, the troubles of her soul. Oh, I know.

The blue sky turns pale white, my favorite shade before it all goes dark. I sigh, cursing her presence here tonight.

"It's getting dark," I state the obvious, hoping she will get up and go home. "Your partner must be waiting for you."

"Uh?," She looks at me confused.

"The ring on your left finger." I say.

"Oh." She replies, then goes back to her static state of mind.

Yeah, she's definitely lost. Poor soul. I sigh.

"I have nowhere to go," The woman says. I follow her gaze. It freezes at one of the new townhouses on farthest corner of the park. "That place feels nothing like home. For a while now."

"I've been there before." I throw her a compassionate smile. She stares me with disdain, clearly not buying my shit. "One can never forget the inflicted pain."

Her eyes go wide then wild. Bingo.

I point at her house, then move my slender finger until it indicates my gate.

"I built my house forty years ago. When I stacked the first wood on the ground, there was nothing but grass all around."

Her body moves slightly, now attentive, grown curious. I keep going.

"It was different times. Not much technology, except for T.V., radio. Work was long hours. I liked humming, dancing. An attempt to make it lighter. Especially the evenings. I spent every night with my wife and three kids. Twenty-five long, difficult, troubled years. Three kids. Obviously there were lots of disagreements. Fights, occasionally. Depression and anxiety were unthinkable, unspoken then. But love - ah, love was always there. Even when she felt so heavy, so dry, uncapable of making it blossom from so much, from too much caring for that many people under the same roof."

I twist my torso just enough to touch the silver inscription at my bench. She squints, beating the eminent darkness, and reads out loud.

In loving memory of Maria Muniz. Mother, wife, housekeeper, cook, doctor, accountant, manager, painter, constructor, driver, teacher, salesperson, inventor, dancer, lover. For the sake of all ordinary women, may her beautiful life and day-to-day deeds always be remembered.

"In the end, I like to think that we thrived. She thrived."

A flash of hope lightens up her gloomy eyes. Her desperate face is now soft and kind, eager for me to share more. I rub my cane.

"We all face our own battles. But there's one all humans share, one that, no matter how much we fight, we will never win: immortality. When we are gone, it's not long until we are forgotten. Photographs, recordings, videos. It all exists, it all gets lost. No one can be remembered forever. So many ordinary lives are gone with the wind. But when I was thirty I noticed that living beings can extend their lives and the lives of others once they are gone. All we need, my dear, is a plan. Write a book. Command a statue. Vote for street names. Nail memorial signs to park benches."

She laughs, wiping her tears out of her rosy cheeks.

"There is only one life to live. And each and everyone of us are precious in our very own, remarkable way. Like Maria. My Maria. Our Maria."

She takes in a deep breath.

"Thank you, sir. This has been... very helpful."

I nod empathetically, as she gets up. Her energy has changed. Her spirit has started to heal. Well done, Maria. Your body may be gone, but you're still touching peoples lives.

The woman is ready to leave, ready to go back to her place, ready to try again to make it feel more like a home. Her home. Their home. But she doesn't go. Instead, she stares at me with excitement.

"May I... If this is not too weird... May I give you a hug, sir?"

"I'm sorry. I don't hug people I don't know."

"Oh, but I feel like you do. My name is Maria. Nice to meet you."

I stare surprised at the void, then at her back after she hugs me and leaves, turning back twice to wave one of those thankful goodbyes you'd throw at a beloved friend, not a stranger.

Well done, Maria. Well done.

The Magic Knight

Humongous snowflakes mount by the minute outside, covering every branch, every car, every road with a perfect layer of white. The dark sky gets even blacker, but mommy and daddy don’t seem to care. I have my tummy full with Cheerios, so I also don’t care.

Our Christmas tree is glistening. Daddy puts the star at the very top, but there’s still one thing missing. Mommy unwraps a tiny package and carefully hands its content over to me. For the first time, I get to hang the pixie ornament right below the star. We’re all done.

Daddy helps me prepare for bed and it’s hard to hide my excitement. Tonight I get to hear, again, the best bedtime story ever.

Mommy tucks me in, gives me a goodnight kiss and sits right by my side. She begins, drawing her story not from a book, not from my comics, but from her own memories.

*

It was December 24th 1977. The Amaral family had moved to Toronto a few months ago. They were drinking eggnog and savouring Portuguese tarts in the only Portuguese bakery in town. An aroma of cinnamon filled the air.

“She’s lying, Nelly,” said Alex, poking his little sister’s head. “Don’t listen to this lunatic.”

“Alex, please, leave Clara alone!” Their mother asked for the second time that morning, and dragged the boy from Clara’s side. She turned to her husband and said, “Berto, my love, would you please pay the bill at the front and check if the cupcakes are ready to go? It’s already eleven thirty and I need to cook dinner and prepare all the desserts for this eve!”

“It’s true, OK!” Clara shrieked at her brother, her eight-year-old voice carried with fury. “If you two don’t want to believe me, I’m fine with it! But she did come to me last night and asked me to wait for her, because she will show up tonight and do some magic! All just for me!”

“Alright, everyone! I have cupcakes!” Berto smelled them close, so close his nose almost ruined the frosting. “Mmmmm! They are sooo warm and smell sooo nice... Who wants one?”

He shook a cupcake in the air, the same way someone shakes a steak at the dogs. The three kids were already fighting to grab the first one when his wife stood up:

“Later, everyone! We don’t have time for it now. C’mon, put your jackets on and let’s get going. Off we go, off we go.”

*

The afternoon went by with ease. Their father left the radio playing Christmas classics then went downstairs to fix the snowblower. Nelly, the oldest, set the dinner table as instructed by her mother and then locked herself in her room to read her paperback novels. Clara played cards with Alex but she soon got bored and went to the kitchen to help her mom with the chocolate cake. They were whipping the egg whites into fluffy clouds while shaking their hips and singing along to Jingle Bell Rock.

“Mamma, is snow as fluffy as the egg whites?”

“I don’t know, Clara,” she replied, with honesty. “I’ve never seen snow, sweetie. People say it’s magical when the snowflakes fall but I was also told that snow is a burden when it mounts on the ground, wet and heavy. Nobody stands it anymore after a while as everything turns into ice and it’s annoying to shove it all every morning. That’s really all I know. Maybe this year we will have a magical Christmas?”

“The pixie told me she will do some magic tonight.”

“Which pixie, sweetie?”

“The pixie that came to my dreams last night, Mamma. She told me to stay awake because she will do some magic after midnight. I told Nelly and Alex but they don’t believe me.”

“That’s good, Clara.” Her mother said, turning off the mixer and flipping the bowl to check the peaks of the egg whites. “I mean, it’s no good that they didn’t believe you. But it’s important that you believe in yourself and do what you have to do, sweetie. I just don’t want you to get upset if she doesn’t show up, ok? You know how pixies are, they make promises but sometimes they can’t keep them.”

“This pixie seemed nice, Mamma. I don’t think she will let me down.”

*

After dinner, the kids had fun opening their stockings hung at the window. There were candies for each one of them, and their special gifts. Nelly got hardcover novels, Alex was given skates and Clara got a journal and stickers.

When everybody was in bed, Clara tip-toed to the living room. She looked at the clock: 11:58pm. She knelt at the bay window, next to the Christmas tree. Through the open curtains, she could see the pathway and the sky softly illuminated by the street lights. Then, tons of fine gold glitter dust were flying everywhere, floating and dancing until finally painting in white everything that was still. Little by little a white layer covered every surface. Everything now looked like cupcakes topped with flat icing.

Clara was amazed. It was her first time seeing snow, and she was the first of her family to witness it too! Her eyes were glued to the flying sparkles when a green-winged butterfly landed outside the glass window.

“Hello, poppet!”

Clara fell on the floor and covered her mouth with both hands, unsure of what exactly she was trying to stop from coming out: a scream or her heart. She couldn’t believe what was right in front of her: a sweet voice coming out of a tiny, thin, winged-body posing with a golden armor, shiny green boots, curly hair.

“Oh my, oh my! It’s a knighted angel!” Clara whispered to herself.

“I’m no angel, poppet.” The winged little creature looked disappointed, and flew to Clara’s side. The girl took a closer look.

“It’s you, pixie!”

“Yes, poppet, it’s me!”, the pixie-knight giggled. She was used to these reactions. “I told you I was coming, didn’t I? If only you knew how happy I am, Clara! You made my day, er, I mean, night!”

“I’m happy for you, Mrs. Pixie-Knight!”

“You can call me, Anna, sweetie! Can you keep a secret, Clara?”

“Sure, Mrs. Pixie... I mean, Anna.”

“Yes, poppet, just Anna, please,” the pixie giggled again, and went on. “Every year, the night before Christmas, we, the pixies, visit the dreams of all pure-hearted children. We tell them we are going to show up, we ask them to wait for us... But some kids just don’t… Why would they?”, The pixie sighed, seeming a bit stressed. “Many children don’t believe in us and they are so selfish.... They get so excited with their gifts that they just forget about us!” Anna was now kicking the bay window glass with her tiny feet. “They go to bed before midnight, right after eating dessert. They forget what Christmas is about! They only care about Santa, and about their gifts the next morning…. But with that attitude, we, the pixies, cannot bring the Christmas magic! We cannot make the first snow of the year happen! Not without help… Your help. It’s ALL about believing, Clara! All of it! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I get it, Mrs. Anna.”

“And because you were so generous tonight, poppet, I’ll grant you your deepest wish.”

Anna flapped her wings and several snowflakes suspended in the air right in front of her, awaiting instructions. Then Anna produced a silver sword in the air as thin as a needle, waved it once and the floating snowflakes were now a giant snowball. Anna waved her sword-wand again and the solid white ball turned into a translucent multicolored bubble. She drew a door on it with her sword.

“Go on, poppet, go on!”

Clara hesitated. It was very cold outside and she was wearing fleece pajamas.

“Ah, I get it, poppet! Don’t you worry!”

Flapping her wand, Anna made the huge enchanted bubble go through the baywindow’s glass and stop suspended in the air right in front of Clara.

As soon as Clara went through the enchanted door, the bubble changed, shaping itself to her body. This made her warm from head to toe as if she was wearing a winter coat, boots, hat and gloves. Except she wasn’t!

“Wow! This is amazing!”

“There you go! Now that you have this magical cloak on, you can play outside in the snow until dawn! You won’t get hurt nor catch a cold! Not even a sniffle! Play as much as you wish, poppet! Go on!”

Anna waved her silver sword and floated Clara through the window glass until she safely reached the snowy ground.

Clara tried to catch snowflakes with her tongue.

“They taste as sweet as cotton candy!”

Then she dug her fingers in the snow covering a green round bush.

“They feel cold, and wet!”

“Yes, poppet, and your fingers would freeze if it wasn’t for the magic cloak!”

Clara got a stick and drew hearts, stars, and animals on the fluffy flat snow. She built a snowman, skated on the frozen lake, went sledding, skied, and played hockey with Anna. Once the sun began brightening the dark sky, Anna flew Clara back to her living room, removed the enchanted cloak and the two of them held hands. Clara was beaming.

“That was soooooo much fun!”

“It sure was! I loved it!”

“Thanks, Anna, for granting my deepest wish. I loved the snow, I loved playing with you! Thank you so so so much!” Clara gave the pixie-knight a warm hug.

“You made this happen, poppet. You made the magic happen. Thank you for believing in me and for being so kind! Off you go now! Off to bed!”

*

A few hours later, Nelly and Alex stormed into Clara’s bedroom.

“Clara, Clara!”, they shouted and shook their sister. “Wake up, Clara, wake up now!!!”

“Huh...?! What... what’s going....”

“You gotta come! You need to see this, Clara! You won’t believe it!”, Nelly said.

“C’mon, Clara!”, Alex rushed her.

Clara jumped out of bed and the kids ran to the living room. Under the bay window, there it was: a Christmas-tree ornament and a greeting card.

“That’s your pixie, Clara! Look!”, Alex pointed to the doll-shaped ornament on the floor.

“She looks just like the way you described her to us!”, said Nelly.

Clara was mesmerized by the little china doll. The pale skin, the golden armor, the green boots, the thin silver sword, the curly brown hair. She opened the card:

Dear Clara,

Thank you for believing. Thank you for helping me bring the Christmas magic this year. Hang this ornament on your Christmas tree every year, a little reminder to always keep believing in yourself.

PS.: I’ll meet you in your dreams.

*

After that, the pixie-knight Anna appeared to my mommy a few more times, then never again. She was 12 years old when they met for the last time.

Mommy kept believing in herself, and kept hanging the pixie ornament at our Christmas tree each year. She has always told me that, if a pixie shows up in my dreams on Christmas eve and asks me to wait for her, I should stay awake.

I have never told her that Emma showed up here about three times already.

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