If Only In My Dreams

Phil scoffed. “You think Santa can keep watch on every child in the world, make millions of toys and deliver them all in one night, but he can’t forge a little paperwork?”

“I’m not an angel,” Dorothy said, “I’m just a gal from Chicago with a big heart.”

“Sounds like an angel to me,” Joe said, so softly that she did not hear him. He looked out the window. The snow was falling a bit heavier now. He noticed so many things that he had forgotten about, everyday things that all added up to something very special. Movie marquees. Hot dog stands.Flashing neon signs in the windows of bars and drug store. A woman in a Salvation Army uniform standing next to a kettle in front of a market, ringing a bell.

New Jersey and Philadelphia and the miles of America he had glimpsed though the windows of the train had seemed like little more than the backdrop behind a stage play. Chicago was the real thing. Chicago was home.

Phil turned on to a street lined with tall bare elm trees. Halfway down the block, he pulled into a driveway beside a modest brick house.

“Here we are,” he said proudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dorothy whispered.

They got out of the car. Phil opened the trunk and took both their bags, insisting on carrying them in himself.

Dorothy put her arm through Joe’s. “Last chance to turn and run,” she said.

“I’m good here,” he replied.

They entered the front hall. Joe could smell the tree and the turkey. He heard the sound of small stampeding feet, and three children, a girl and two younger boys, charged around the corner and surrounded Dorothy, hugging her legs and shouting “Auntie Dotty! Auntie Dotty!”

Joe waited awkwardly while each of the children got a hug and a kiss. A half dozen adults squeezed into the front hall.

One little girl looked up at Joe and asked, “Are you going to be our uncle?”

The adults all laughed, and did not notice when Dorothy shrugged her shoulders, winked at Joe and said “Too soon to tell.”

Dorothy reeled off a quick list of introductions; her mom and grandmother, Uncle Henry and Aunt Betsy, cousin Martha, her sister Sybil and her husband Bill. Joe smiled and nodded, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep the names all straight for a while.

The family began to file into the parlor. Joe felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked down and saw the littlest boy staring up at him.

The boy took a step back, stood ramrod straight and raised his hand to his forehead.

Joe snapped to attention and returned the salute. The boy ran off, squealing with delight.

Dorothy took Joe’s arm and they walked toward the archway to the parlor. They stopped and Dorothy looked up. Joe followed her gaze and saw a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the peak of the arch. They kissed, quickly, then stepped into the parlor.

The tree was surrounded with colorful gift wrapped packages. A log glowed in the fireplace and the radio was playing low. Bing Crosby was singing.

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The wartime Christmas songs of the 1940’s; White Christmas, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, I’ll Be Home For Christmas, have always touched me with their melancholy nostalgia for holidays past, and their longing for better days to come. I hope my little Christmas tale captures some small measure of that in these current war torn times.

Peace to all. Thank you for reading.