COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES -- peter buffa
For your consideration, an alternative holiday tale.
Once upon a time, in the land of Newport-Mesa, there lived a young woman
named Doris. She was plain and shy, very shy. Doris lived a lonely life,
in a very small universe.
She worked for a small manufacturing company on Red Hill that made the
little metal band that holds the eraser on the end of a pencil. Not the
eraser. Not the pencil. Just the little metal band. There were five
people in the company, including Doris, who was the bookkeeper. As I
said, hers was a small universe.
At the end of the day, she went directly to her studio apartment and
locked herself in. There she sat quietly as the hours passed, then slept
-- without ever dreaming -- until the next morning, when she would face
the world, and people, once again.
About the only time Doris allowed herself to become emotional was in
December. She had strong feelings about the Christmas season. She hated
it. The closer it got, the more she wished either she, or it, would just
disappear. It was unbearable.
People you didn’t even know, which meant virtually everyone in Doris’
case, would actually speak to you -- “Have a merry this ... Have a happy
that.”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, they’d send you Christmas cards. About four
cards in Doris’ case, but cards nonetheless -- festive little reminders
of how empty her own life was. That’s why it was so terribly ironic that
Doris, of all people, was chosen.
She was just drifting off to sleep on a brisk December night when out on
the lawn there rose such a clatter, she sprang from her bed to see what
was the matter. As she threw open the drapes, she couldn’t believe her
eyes. There he was, standing just outside her window -- a young man,
dressed all in black.
“Get away,” said Doris, “or I’ll call 911.”
“No need for that, Doris,” he said. Before she could even ask the
question, he answered it. “Yes. I know your name. And I know else
everything about you.”
“Really. And just why is that?” she asked.
“Because I’m an angel.”
“I’m calling 911,” she said. “And I have a gun,” she lied.
Without warning, a bright light began to glow just above the man’s head.
It became so bright, she had to shield her eyes.
When she peeked through her fingers, you could have knocked her over with
a feather. The young man in black was transformed. He was now a towering,
radiant vision in white. He was, well, an angel. He was about 6 feet
tall, but his shimmering white wings rose at least two feet above his
shoulders.
With another blinding flash, the young man in black reappeared.
“OK, you’re an angel,” she said. “But what do you want with me?”
The angel said he was sent here to put people at ease, to fill their
hearts with the joy and warmth of the holidays, rather than worries about
Y2K and doomsday predictions -- in short, to rekindle the true meaning of
Christmas for people everywhere.
“And you, Doris, are going to help me.”
“Me?” she whispered. “You must be joking. The only two things I like
about the holidays are Dec. 26 and Jan. 2. There must be some mistake.”
“No, Doris, no mistake. Here,” he said, reaching out to her, “touch my
hand.”
She hesitated, more uncertain than scared. But there was a warmth in his
voice and his eyes that drew her toward him.
As their fingers touched, there was another burst of intense light and
she felt a strong wind against her face. Doris opened her eyes and
gasped. They were flying through the night sky, free as birds.
“Don’t worry,” the angel said. “Nothing can harm you.”
They soared above the Fairgrounds, then headed south, past the Niketown
dome, the Arches, above the peninsula and out to sea. Looking back toward
land, the lights were breathtaking -- a shimmering necklace of white and
gold that stretched as far as the eye could see. They could even see the
Parade of Lights, a tidy oval of white and red and green, spinning slowly
around the harbor.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Doris. “Ever. But why are you
showing me this?”
“Just to get your attention, Doris,” he said. The real lesson starts
right ... now.”
They turned quickly toward land. Startled, Doris tried to catch her
breath. Everything after that was a blur -- a rapid-fire collage of
sights and sounds and settings. For what seemed like hours, but might
have been just minutes, the angel let her peer into the lives of people
across the vast expanse of Newport-Mesa, the privileged and the
not-so-privileged. She saw them at their best and at their worst. But in
almost every case, there was a space in their hearts, however small, for
the meaning and the power of Christmas.
Finally, as quickly as it began, Doris was back in the darkness of her
bedroom. She could see her angel just outside the window. He wasn’t
walking off -- just fading away.
“Wait,” said Doris, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. “You
can’t just leave! What does this all mean?”
“Seven days from this moment, I’ll visit you again,” the angel said, “and
it will all become clear. But as for now, I gotta go.”
* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays.
E-mail him at o7 PtrB4@AOL.comf7 .
All the latest on Orange County from Orange County.
Get our free TimesOC newsletter.
You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Daily Pilot.