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Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery, Staten Island, Christmas Eve...

Martino was dead; no question about it. Tirchio had watched his casket shoved rudely into the tomb. Martino was deader than the dot.com fad and the housing market in California. Still, Tirchio knew that he at least was better off than his partner, no matter how his business fared. And he never bothered to take Martino’s name off the sign out front.

“Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery,” it read; almost twenty years after Martino’s passing, he was still doing business. Tirchio actually considered taking his own name off the sign, since nobody really liked him to begin with. And Martino was a horrible man, so you can imagine how bad Tirchio had to be in order for Martino to be the ‘loved’ one in the partnership.

Tirchio was a royal pain in the ass when it came to being a boss; nothing seemed to satisfy him. They would never say it to his face, of course, but sure enough he was a royal pain! He expected as much out of his employees at least as he’d demand of himself. Since he didn’t really have much of a life outside of the bakery, he demanded way more than what most folks were willing to invest. And the ones who did work for him worked hard because too many folks needed jobs.

Nothing seemed to faze him, which was all well and good for him, but horrible for the folks at the bakery, since he wasn’t at all bothered by cold, so the heat was always turned down. Air Conditioning was a myth invented by some science fiction author as far as his workers were concerned. So all in all, it sucked big time to work for Tirchio.

In that world of sheer miserliness it is how we find Alphonso Tirchio; sitting in the office that was built one floor above the bakery so that he could both oversee his business and enjoy the aroma of his workers’ efforts.

“’Scuse, Zio Al? Buon Natale!” Tirchio’s nephew called to him from the doorway of the office.

“Ah! Cosa Insensata!” He spat back at the young man. Fredo Seraphino was a cheerful young man; a notion that confounded Tirchio to no end.

“What do you have to be happy for?” Fredo’s wife was recovering from a double mastectomy, and even at that, there was fear that remission was a foolish hope. Angela and Fredo felt a peace that Tirchio could only dream about.

“What do you have to be miserable about, Zio?” Fredo laughed and kissed the old man on the forehead; Tirchio shooed him away.

“You tell him, Fredo,” Roberta, Tirchio’s accountant, said as she placed a print-out in front of him. He looked up at her as if she had two heads. If she wasn’t the best with numbers, he would have fired her long ago; mostly for her impertinent humor, but also because Roberta lived with her partner Becca, and they had adopted a boy and a girl.

Tirchio was a bigot and idiot. Becca would say che cosa’ imbecile, but Roberta would always speak well of her boss; it wasn’t in her nature to complain or to be angry. Another celebrant of the Christmas season, she loved all the people she met and they loved her.

“You can always be replaced, MISS Crocetti!” He snapped at her; he made a point to forgo “Ms” in favor of the other, older title.

“If only, Papa T. If only.” She laughed and grabbed her jacket from the back of the desk chair. She duplicated Fredo’s kind gesture and kissed the old man on the forehead.

“Buon Natale, Papa T.”

“Show up early on Tuesday; we’ve got the end of the year figures to go over, and I don’t have time for this holiday foolishness! Okay?”

It really wasn’t okay. Roberta and Becca had planned on taking the kids to Roberta’s mother’s home in Kearny for the week, but that would have to wait until the weekend…at least for Roberta. She frowned, but her can-do attitude overcame any disappointment she felt. Becca would have to go with the kids to Nana’s by herself, but she blessed God for the job anyway.

She reached her thirteen year old Camry and sent up a quick prayer which was met by the purr of the engine as she breathed a sigh of relief. She sang to herself...

Christmas children gaze into loving eyes
Finding love within their blessed lives
Christmas love and joy
For a girl t’was born a boy
Accepted for the one that they came know

Christmas spirit giving Christmas blessing
Has me thankful and confessing
No more hurt or pain
Oh so grateful tis my refrain
Now every Christmas morning’s known
So great to see how much the world has grown!

I suppose that children everywhere
Will see their Christmas prayer
Answered with love that Christmas brings!

Christmas children dwell in a Christmas gifting
No longer waiting for a life to change
Wondrous things to see
Being who I was meant to be
No longer need to rearrange
No longer seen as wrong or strange

Other children desperate for Christmas morning
Looked upon as one some might behold?
Fine’ly see their dreams come true
Fine’y loved for me, for you
I believe that story we've been told
Christmas love will finally unfold

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“Zio?" Fredo leaned on the old man's desk.

"Christmas is a great way of realizing just how wonderful life is, si? It may not have me driving a Hummer or building a second home in Boca, but it has done me good and will continue to do me good, so I say, God bless it!” He blew a kiss to his uncle before leaving. Tirchio could hear him whistling ‘And the Glory’ from Handel’s Messiah as he practically danced down the steps and onto the bakery floor.

“Idiota!” He grumbled.

“Nonsenso!”

I hate Christmas! I loathe Christmas!
I abhor and really hate Christmas!
It is full of foolish sentiment
A waste of time; an emotional tenement!
Something that requires no intellectual investment!
I just cannot see
And I hate people who like Christmas!
And I don't care if they hate me!

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Tirchio locked up and walked to his Lincoln Town car. It didn’t start, and he muttered some unprintable words under his breath before hailing a passing cab. Christmas Eve and a thirteen block ride added up, and he muttered once again under his breath as he handed the cabbie a twenty for a nineteen-fifty fare. The man held his hand out once again and was met with a duplicate gesture from the old man, who kept his hand out until the cabbie gave him his change. He walked up the steps to his front door and thought he saw an odd shadow cast over the number plate. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A few minutes later he was sitting in his Lazy Boy with the TV tuned to Iron Chef: America; his microwave Marie Calender Chicken Pot Pie drooling happily onto his TV tray as he drank from a very large snifter of Amarone'.

“Alphonso!!!!!!” The voice echoed throughout the cold apartment; made even colder by the frigid unbelief stored in Tirchio’s heart. He cringed as he heard the sound of rattling.

“Alphonso Tirchio!”

“Martino?” The old man creaked. He cowered behind his Lazy Boy as the apparition seemed to float around the apartment; a sad low moan coming from the spirit.

“Si, vecchio amico!” The spirit practically sang; his dirge-like moan frightened the old man.

“What do you want?”

“What I want doesn’t matter, imbecile!’ Think! What do you think I’m here for?” The ghost snapped at him.

“I…I don’t know!”

“I’m here to tell you to get your spiritual act together or you’ll end up like me. You wanna end up in chains and stuck walking around Staten Island forever? Get with it, Al! You’re goin’ to hell in a handcart unless you clean up your act.”

“I don’t understand…why are you stuck in those chains and why the hell do you have to walk around Staten Island? You were a pretty decent guy, as far as people go. What did you ever do to deserve this?” Al shrank back, wondering what was required; if Giuseppe Martino was stuck in chains, what fate would await Alphonso Tirchio?

“It’s not what I did, though what I did in life was bad enough. It’s what I didn’t do. When the bakery opened up and we didn’t…Yeah, we didn’t pay them what they were worth. And the cheap medical coverage? We coulda’ afforded more, but we didn’t. Not just me, but you too! And now it’s time to wake up….take some action that involves carin’ about someone other than yourself. Or this is what you’re stuck with! FOREVER!!!!!”

“Really?” Al was stubborn enough to believe words like kind and considerate were only for fools and saps.”

“L’Asino Obstinato! Do I look like I’m kidding? Geez, Al you always were stubborn. NO, I’m kidding…I made it all up because I’ve got nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than to rise from the grave and interrupt your friggin’ appointment with Bobby Flay and Cat Cora!” Tirchio looked relieved as he crept around from behind the recliner.

“All inferno!!!!” Martino screamed. The old man fell back into his Lazy Boy and began to cry.

“Listen….one more time…imbecile! You’re gonna have three ghosts visit you tonight. One at each hour….got it?” The old man nodded anxiously.

“One last chance, Al! You blow this, you can kiss any chance of hope goodbye, capisce?” The old man nodded again.

“One AM! Listen for your alarm….the clock is gonna go off and you’re gonna be visited. Don’t blow this chance, Al! Okay?” Martino began to moan even as he started to recede into the wall, helped along by hands that pulled at him; their screams and moans adding to the horror of his own voice.

Alphonso Tirchio looked around at his apartment and sighed. But then he looked over at the half-empty bottle of Amarone and laughed at the irony.

“Spirits….hah….Nonsenso!” He poured another glass of the wine before shaking his head one last time as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Insensato,” he laughed.

“Io sono un uomo vecchio.”

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One O'Clock on Christmas morning...

A loud click was followed by the sound of Andy Williams singing Sleigh Ride followed quickly by louder slap of Al's palm as it hit the snooze button on his clock radio.

"One..." He shook his head before laying his head back on the pillow. A moment later his bedroom filled with a blinding light and what almost seemed like a chorus singing Handel's Comfort Ye. An odd choice of music if he had been scoring his own dream; since he automatically assume he was dreaming. As if to answer his assumption, a very sweet but decidedly firm voice spoke.

"'Scuse, Signore Tirchio. I assure you I am not an apparition, nor are you dreaming. This," and with that she used her hand in a broad gesture to indicate the light in the room,

"This is not a dream! I am not, as your Nana Lena might say..." He cut her off and shouted,

"La fata turchina!" He grinned ear to ear.

"No, Alphonso, I am not the blue fairy, but you do lie almost as much as Pinnochio, though I expect he was more of a real human being than you ever were. No, Alphonso Gabriello Tirchio, sono e lo spirito del Natale Passato...what you would call the ghost."

"Of Christmas Past! Martino wasn't kidding, was he?" He shrank back and covered his head with his comforter; an ironic gesture to say the least. The woman, for she was a woman if but in appearance, spoke again.

"Yes, Alphonso, I have been sent as a guide; a witness of sorts to show you your past."

"Why show me what has been done already? I don't get it."

"For your sake, Alphonso...your...salvation." He poked his head out from beneath the covers and she grabbed his hand, bearing him out of the bed and into the air.

A moment later they were standing in the playground of IS 24, what was once called Myra S. Burns Junior High School. It was warm; almost a summer day, being early June in 1978. Two boys stood back to back, surrounded by a bunch of other boys.

"Hey, Perillo...leave the little fuck and come join us!" A large, mean looking older boy seemed to exude cruel. He pounded his palm with his fist and laughed.

"He ain't worth gettin' the shit kicked outta ya. You stay with him, Marco and you're gonna get pounded!"

"NO!" The boy yelled. "An you're gonna have to go through me to get to him!" The boy worked around so that he had the older boy and his friends facing him, with the other boy behind him. One of the older boy's buddies threw the baseball he had at this hand at the Perillo boy, bouncing it painfully off the boy's thigh. He made no sound.

"You're a fucking idiot, Perillo. You can't fight us all." Another boy yelled.

"Don't really care, Rick..." He picked up a broken piece of blacktop from the playground and held it like a ball.

"First one comes close gets it...between the nuts!" The boy laughed nervously.

"He told me later he didn't know whether or not he could hit Ricky in the nuts, but he said it anyway." Alphonso said as the Ghost looked on.

"Aren't you gonna stop 'em?" He asked.

"I cannot; this has taken place already."

As if on cue, the oldest boy charged at the Perillo boy, who dropped the rock and bent over as the boy careened over him and right into the wall behind them. He fell down and started screaming. A moment later a teacher ran to the kid and helped him to his feet.

"He got suspended for a week for that. They...they left me alone after that." Alphonso shook his head.

"I know, Alphonso...and I also know what else happened." A moment later the scene faded from view, replaced by another, less fortunate occurrence some months later...

"Hey, fag...yeah...you know who we're talkin' to?" The mean older kid was yelling at Marco Perillo.

The boy ignored him and kept walking. One of his buddies stuck his foot out, tripping the boy. He fell on his wrist and they heard a loud snap. The boy rolled over and tears had filled his eyes but he uttered no sound. The rest of the boys pointed at him and laughed before they all walked away, patting the one boy on the back for his actions.

Marco sat up and looked over at Alphonso...not the Alphonso from his future, but the thirteen year old Alphonso who stood by and said nothing while his friend was attacked.

Marco:

They say joyfulness cannot happen for me
Something I’ll never know
If I become me
But with my friend beside me
I can see him
He’s here for me
Happiness is whatever I want me to be

Alphonso:

Living your life is unreachable still
Too high to attain
No You never will

Marco:

Contentment is a friend like you

Alphonso:

There never was
a Me and you!

Marco:

They say fulfillment is the folly of fools

Alphonso:

Too bad about you
One of the fools

Marco:

Friendship is shining down upon me
Going my way
Blessing my day

Both:

Happiness is whatever you want it to be

Marco:

Happiness? Me and you?
I’m your friend?

Alphonso:

No, not you!

Marco:

Friendliness was you and I
Without you I’ll just die
and I cry

Marco:

For joyfulness is whatever you want it to be

Alphonso:

Yes, happiness is whatever I want for me

Marco put his head down and sobbed as Alphonso walked away, past his future self and the Spirit.

"I couldn't help him...why get beat up, too?" He protested. The Spirit sighed as tears came to her eyes, but she did not answer.

"I...You would have done the same thing." He pleaded. She looked at him and looked back at the boy on the ground; he had stopped sobbing and just gazed at the boy walking away until he disappeared around the corner.

"You don't understand." He walked over to the boy on the ground.

"You don't know what he...he told me!"

"What did he tell you?" She pointed away from them both and the air seemed to grow cold and stale as a fog enveloped them.

"Fuck...Marco...you're kiddin', right?"

"Yeah...Al...I'm kidding." Marco put his head down, not at all surprised that Al had missed his sarcasm.

"NO, Al...you're my best friend, and I would never kid about that. Never. You know?" The boy seemed to have softened before his eyes, and Al pulled back; a look of horror on his face.

"You see why I didn't want to tell you...but I would have...I had to say something."

"You...I don't like this joke at all, Marco...shut the fuck up...this isn't funny. Get out of my house...now!!!!" Al pulled away from the boy and pointed to the front door.

"You turned your back on him that day?" The Spirit knew the answer, of course, but she knew that he needed to acknowledge what he had done, and not just to Marco. As his younger self looked out the front window, Al stood over the boy's shoulder, watching Marco sit on the front porch, looking as lost as a stray sheep. He sighed in unison with the boy next to him....

You…you were life to me
You...you brightened my day
You…you gave hope to me
But I turned you away

You…you were kind to me
Kindness never dreamed of
You…I pushed you away
Returning hate for love

Now no longer blind
Opportunity has past
Replaced with such emptiness
Emptiness so vast

I must live with what I’ve done
What hope for me?

Dream since now friendship’s gone
Live with a memory

(Old and Young Al)
You
My best friend
You….my…first love…
You.,.you…you………..

Al stood as the boy walked away from the window and fell down face first on the couch in the living room of his old home. The boy began to weep as Al stood over him.

"I must live with what I've done? What hope for me, Spirit? What hope?" Al began to weep in unison with his younger self as things began to fade. A moment later he was alone in his bedroom in bed. A pained remained on his face as he tried without success to forget just how much in common he had with Marco. He looked at the clock.

"One - Twelve?" He shook his head lazily; his exhaustion proved to be too much and he fell immediately into a deep sleep.

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Soon thereafter...

Al had settled into a near-twilight sort of dream. He was about to savor a very fine looking Vitella ala Marsala when a very loud buzzing filled his ears, causing him to drop the forkful of veal. A moment later he sat up as Judy Garland lamented about a merry little Christmas. Two AM!

He opened his eyes to a glare of brilliantly colored light that streamed underneath his bedroom door from the hallway. He got up and walked slowly down the hall to the kitchen from whence the light emanated. He covered his brow and peered past the glare to see very attractive mature woman sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of cocoa.

“Come in, Alphonso….” She laughed; her voice seemed a bit low and husky. “Come in and know me better.” Al looked once again at the woman as the light seemed to dim a bit. She was not just attractive, but seemed to exude sophistication and charm. He smiled at her almost like a teenager who had fallen in love with his English Lit teacher. Something spoke to his heart and he immediately set aside any idea of foolish infatuation and put his head down.

“Go ahead, Al…look at me.” She said softly. He raised his head slightly and his gaze fell upon her face; a kind and welcoming look that spoke of wonder and sadness and sorrow and joy and strength and peace.

“I am the Spirit of Christmas Present.” Al nodded almost absentmindedly before putting his head down once again, but not before noticing her garb. She wore what looked like the most comfortable cardigan ever made; its cable knit seemed to be infused with silver along with a similarly assembled scarf that wound around her neck and shoulders. Her nearly white hair shone like spun wool and her eyes sparkled with wisdom and love.

“You’ve never seen anyone like me, have you, Al?” She laughed softly; of course he hadn’t nor would he ever again.

“You might have seen one or two or several of my sisters; I have almost two thousand, you know?” Al tried to do some math in his head but in the end gave up and accepted her claim as true.

“I guess you’re supposed to take me around and show me stuff about myself, right?”

“Well, in a way, your question in a way is an answer to it as well; your preoccupation with self is why I have come to you this night, Signore Tirchio!” Her rebuke was tempered by that same soft laugh that he would find both endearing and convicting; a gentle way of showing him how wrong he was about life.

“So what if I look out for myself. Everybody does it!”

Al had missed the one class in his Freshman year at college where Psychology 101 talked about projection. The Spirit shook her head no like a mom correcting her teenage son. It certainly made sense in a way since she was centuries older than him even though she was born that day.

“I am here to show you that life doesn’t always have to be about you, my dear boy!” She laughed again and he went to speak but she put her hand up.

“Shh…time enough for questions once we’re underway. Grab my sleeve,” she said and offered her arm to him; the sleeve extended well beyond her hand and he grabbed the wool and squeezed tightly. In a second they were off….to somewhere…

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Carteret, New Jersey...

“I don’t recognize this house.” He said as they stood in the driveway next to minivan.

“Follow me,” the Spirit beckoned him and they walked up to and through the front door of the townhome. They stepped past an empty stroller and walked through a short hallway into the kitchen, finding two women sitting at the table. He didn’t recognize the older of the two, but the younger woman was very familiar.

“That’s Angela…my nephew’s wife!” he nearly shouted. He put his hand over his mouth, frightened that he had revealed himself. The Spirit turned to him and smiled.

“They cannot hear you, Al. You are but a spectre to them as am I.” She used her hand to point to herself and then him; they seemed almost transparent next to the two women.

“And yes, Al…I know of Angela and of all the pain and sadness she and Fredo have had to face over the past few years. But listen to her…be quiet and quiet yourself inside and listen to the girl.” She used her hand in a broad gesture to indicate the conversation before them.

“It’s a miracle, Mommy. Dr. Leparulo says that I’m cancer free. I’m so…happy.” She began to cry and Al looked at the Spirit in puzzlement.

“She says she’s happy but she’s weeping. I don’t understand.”

“Those are tears of joy Al. Listen!” The Spirit raised her hand to quiet him as the older woman spoke.

“Your Dad will be thrilled, honey. You’re due right around our anniversary, you know? The...the same time of the year Sophia was born...”

She looked down the hallway at the empty stroller, now ready once again after so much time of disuse in the garage. She sighed deeply and choked back a sob. The woman didn’t look like anyone Al knew...she didn't even resemble her daughter, truth be told, but her voice seemed to recall a time in Al’s life that he had sooner wished to forget. The soft, kind tones of the woman reminded him of someone he had long forgotten. She spoke again.

“I’m …I’m so sorry…” The woman began to echo her daughter as she started to cry.

“It’s okay…Mommy…I’m alive and I’m going to have your first...your NEXT grandchild." She crossed herself and looked up as if to pray before continuing.
"She’ll be okay with formula… it’s a disappointment, but I’m going to live to a ripe old age and see the birth of my own grandchildren, God willing.” She looked down at her chest; the evidence of her recent surgery had ceased to become a cruel reminder of what she lacked since she and Fredo had embraced the grace of what a blessing their baby would become.

“She’s…so…peaceful. I don’t understand. She’s lost so much!” Al turned back and stared at the older woman.

“Fredo and I prayed about it, Mommy, and we want to name her after you…. Mary Grace, okay?” Angela said with a smile. Her mother put her head down and began to sob. The girl reached across the table and lifted the woman’s chin.

“Mommy…You have nothing to be ashamed of…nothing.” Her hand caressed the woman’s cheek as she carefully touched her tears.

“I...I know. It’s just that things are…well, you know…much different than I could ever have dreamed. Especially since….” She put her head down and began sob once again.

“Mommy, please. You’re the best mother I could have ever asked for. When you and Daddy brought me home? It was like God answered my prayers just exactly how I asked.”

“But…” The woman looked down at herself. She shook her head as if she had failed an inspection.

“But nothing. I don’t care how you started; even if everybody else thought you were a boy, you knew better. You just did what you had to do. And Daddy?” She looked over her mother’s shoulder and smiled. A deep voice seemed to sing to them both.

“And I fell in love with you,” He said as he stepped close and kissed his wife on the cheek.

“You made me the happiest man in the world, Mary Grace Attanasio”

"Mary Grace Perillo Attanasio, Daddy!" Angela smiled at her father and he nodded. He smiled and kissed Mary's lips gently; her face grew hot both with embarrassment and shame before settling into her usual reluctant self-acceptance. Even after all these years it was still hard for Mary to forget that part of her life.

“That man…he reminds me of someone. He looks awfully familiar.” Al said, shaking his head. A second later his eyes widened in shock and recognition.

“I love you so much, Ricky Attanasio!” She practically sobbed. Angela reached over and grabbed her mother’s hand and squeezed gently. Al looked back and forth between their faces and what had already become a surprising time became illuminating as well. Ricky Attanasio; an erstwhile toady and bully who had grown a backbone and a heart. But that was just the beginning.

“Mary Perillo? Marco didn’t have a sister. Is that his cousin? I know he had a girl cousin over in Queens.” Al looked at the Spirit. She smiled and shook her head no before using her eyes to direct Al’s attention to the woman sitting next to her daughter and her husband. His eyes widened once again.

“NO…it can’t be!” He protested. Even now it was all about his beliefs; his perceptions and his world view intruded upon the moment like the bully he himself had become.

“And why not, Al? Why can’t Mary have a life filled with hope? Why can’t she have love and happiness? Is it really all up to you? What is it about life that you can’t stand?.......”

Alphonso Tirchio?
Your sins, you see, are great
A recipe of neglect
Of disdain and lack of respect
Overlooking others’ need
Failing once again to heed
Tirchio has no rival
In needing a heart revival
In being destined for doom
Unless he finally makes some room?

There is life if you care to look
Life is more than you learn in a book
Life is grand I must confess
If you decide that you can be a blessing
Life can be great if you choose to believe it
Life can be grand go ahead and achieve it

Life is kind
Yes indeed
If you seek
To meet another’s need
Once again
I must say
Life can fill an empty day
I find that can banish
Emptiness and strife

Al -

How?

Spirit -

How? Just live your life!
That's all very well for you
But I hate life

Spirit -

Nonsenso, amico!
Why?

Al -

Because life hates me, that's why!

Spirit -

Lei ᨠun grande idiota che ho pensato
How old are you? Sixty-eight?
And during your long, miserable, miserly, selfish time on the planet
You haven't even tried to live
Now listen to me

I love life
Well, go ahead

Al -

I love life?

Spirit -

Much better!
Life loves me

Al -

Life loves me?

Spirit -

Splendido
If I don’t make it all about me!

Al -

All about me?

Spirit -

Helping friends

Al -

Strangers too?

Spirit -

Being helpful will always behoove me

Al -

I like folks that I’m fine’ly befriending!

Spirit -

Mirabile, Al!
Life with friends is like love never ending!
I like music
I like songs
Hearing them makes me know I belong

Al -

Tra-la-la

Spirit -

Yes indeed

Both —

Helping others makes love grow stronger!

Spirit -

Where there's music and giving
Joyfulness is rife

Al -

Why?

Spirit -

Why?
Because I love life!

Both -

Where there's giving and loving
Joyfulness is rife
Why?
Because we love life!

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And moments later...in Kearny, New Jersey...

Al looked around and was amazed to see that they were in the living room of yet another home Two women sat on a couch; rather one sat at the end and the other lay her head in the other’s lap. A few minutes later they were seated at the dining room table.

“It’s really wonderful that you got the day off. I'm so thankful for that job of yours. I'm sorry for my lousy attitude, Bert, and I thought I'd ever utter the following, but God bless Alphonso Tirchio," the petite woman said as she passed a large bowl of carrots to the woman across the table.

"That's...Roberta...Crocetti...my accountant!" Al exclaimed. He caught himself and quieted down. The Spirit smiled warmly at his efforts to be in tune with what he was observing; an attitude to be sure, since they could neither be seen nor heard by the family before them. A girl of about four or so handed a platter of meat to the woman next to her.

"Here, Momma Becca. And Mommy Berta, may I have the carrots, please?" She smiled at both women.

"Of course, honey. And you know Nana C made her special sausage stuffing just for you?" Roberta asked even as her mother walked in from the kitchen, accompanied by a boy of about twelve.

"Pauly, I've got a seat next to me, okay?" the little girl said enthusiastically. The boy nodded in acknowledgement before walking to the table; his hand stretched out to the girl. She grabbed it gently and led him next to her.

"Mom, would you give the blessing?" Roberta said as she grabbed Pauly's hand. She reached over and grabbed Becca's hand; a smile brightened her already happy expression before she bowed her head. The older woman sat down between Becca and the little girl.

Only if Kaylee can give me some help, she said as she turned to the girl next to her.

"Okay, Nana..." Tischa Crocetti joined her granddaughter as they both spoke,

Bless this food, O...oh God that we are about to eat?" the little girl looked at her grandmother for approval before they all said in unison, "Amen!"
It was only just then that Al noticed the boy reaching almost blindly in front of him.

"Sorry, Pauly...glass of root beer at twelve o'clock!" Becca said and the boy located the glass. He picked it up and drank some before turning to his right.

"I really like root beer, Kaylee, don't you?" A simple declaration, but from an older brother to a little sister, it was like a blessing to the girl.

"Oh, yes!" She practically beamed at the attention.

"I don't get it. This family...look at the boy. Why is everybody so f...why is everybody so happy?" He began to blush as he turned to the Spirit and noticed that she had her head bowed in prayer. She spoke quietly to herself before facing Al.

"They know what's important, Al. Look at the little girl. She dotes on her brother. Look at the two women...they love each other more than anything in the world. What do they lack, Al? What can it be that they're missing?" She turned and faced the family.

"I...They look like they don't need a thing? I just don't get it. They don't have much and yet they're..." Al frowned in frustration; unable to find a word to describe the scene...a word that wasn't really part of his vocabulary.

"Joyful, Al...beyond happy." The Spirit smiled at him; instruction instead of correction.

"What's the difference? I don't understand!"

"Being happy often depends on circumstances. Being joyful is an act of will to rejoice in spite of the circumstances or even in the midst of circumstances."

"So..." Al looked at the family and back at the Spirit.

"Yes, Al...no matter how much money you have...no matter what status or what friends or what connections you have, you'll always be unhappy because you'll never be satisfied. But you can choose to be joyful like these dear ones here." She smiled at him again and used her eyes to direct his attention to the boy.

"We can take Nina out for a walk after dinner. Would you like to hold her harness for me?"

"Can I...Momma Becca? Mommy Berta? Can I help Pauly walk Nina?" The little girl looked back at the dog; a very content white Alsatian that chewed happily on her rope toy. Both women nodded.

"Simple things, aren't they? But they are more than simple to these dear ones, since they are treasured with love and affection and gratitude, Al. The little girl has lived through such pain in her short lifetime. She is doing better after a long bout with a terrible illness that still threatens her life. And she is grateful for the life she has because of the love that her family showers upon her."

"She's sick?"

"Deathly ill, and nothing to be done except wait and hope and pray." The Spirit sighed as tears came to her eyes, but not just for the girl. Her gaze fell upon the two mothers.

"They hope and pray and love the little girl and love each other. And they love their son."

"He's blind...can there be...How...Is there any hope?"

"There is always hope, Al, so long as there is faith and love. And this family has both in abundance, as you've probably noticed." She sighed in frustration; not at the lack of the family, for they had none that mattered in the long run. She sighed for Al's sake.

"I...don't want to see any more. Do we have to stay?" He put his head down; while he wished to leave, his heart seemed to be pulling from side to side as pain flowed throughout his body. But it wasn't physical so much as his conscience warring with itself...

Pauly -

On a beautiful day that I dream about
In a world I would love to see
Is a beautiful place where the sun comes out
And it shines in the sky for me
On this beautiful winter's morning
If my wish could come true somehow
Then the beautiful day that I dream about
Would be here and now

All -

Then the beautiful day that I dream about
Would be here and now *

The room seemed to fill with light until it was too bright for Al to keep his eyes open. A moment later he found himself sitting upright in his bed. Looking over at the clock radio he noticed that Ella Fitzgerald was singing merrily about letting it snow or something like that. And he noticed as well that it was twelve past two... He closed his eyes and struggled to remember what he had just witnessed...if he had witnessed anything at all. A few minutes later he was sound asleep.

---

---

---

---

Soon thereafter...

Al rolled over and felt a warm wetness on his cheek; embarrassing even if no one else would know, he cursed the drool from a night of restless sleep. Dreams so strange had plagued him from the moment his head hit the pillow. The sounds of yuletide carols and Diana Krall filled his bedroom as he gazed at the offending radio; three — seventeen on Christmas morning. He grinned at his fortune; realizing that the odd hour assured him that all of the preceding visions were just that; dreams and nightmares from too much cavatelli and clam sauce at lunch.

He rolled over and covered his head with his pillow, but not enough to block the grayish orange glow that came from his bedroom door.

“Tirchio,” the voice came softly but with such a sad and mournful tone he would swear later that he was sitting in the midst of a funeral. The voice repeated his name; a summons of sorts to attend to needs unmet? No sound was heard, but in his head his name resounded a third time; insistent but without anger. He sat up and looked toward the source of the sound and his eyes widened a bit in fear.

A tall young woman stood there; but not there, since he realized he was no longer in his bed at home, but sitting on the ground in the middle of a darkly lit courtyard. The woman made no other attempt to speak, but she made a motion of beckoning as she turned and pointed with her other hand.

“Lo Spirito del Natale Ancora a Venire?” It amazed him that he could recall the words, since he hadn’t spoken Italian since his childhood, and then only invectives and curses. The woman nodded. The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come.

“Are you going to show me what can happen… or what WILL happen?” Even as the words left his mouth he found himself transported to a vaguely familiar place.

---

---

“Hey, Mom?” the young man called out as he walked in the door; the white dog preceding him with a yip. The woman on the couch looked up from the papers she held, her face etched with fatigue and sadness.

“Oh…Paul, honey. When you were at the doctor, did they happen to give you a packet?” She put her head down to hide her sad frown, forgetting for a moment that her son was unable to see her expression. He knew anyway.

“Yeah…He said everything you need for the…” His voice trailed off.

“It’s okay, hon…” A voice came from beside him as his other favorite Mom kissed him on the cheek, accepting the thick envelope from him.

“Why don’t you go lie down before dinner, okay? Your mom and I need to talk.” She kissed his cheek once again before walking over and sitting down next to her spouse.

“Hey, babe. Why don’t you take a break from that?” Becca went to take the paperwork from Roberta’s hands, but the woman grasped them tightly.

“I’ve got to finish this…we can’t even...we don’t have the money for the plaque…” Roberta stammered before falling into her partner’s arms, sobbing. The woman held her close; her own tears added to the sadness of the home. Only Pauly remained silent; he felt that he had cried enough, and that crying now would only add more grief to his parents. He sighed.

“What happened to the little girl?” Al tried to step closer to the boy sitting on his bed, but the woman put her arm out, barring his way. The dog lay on a small rug next to the boy’s bed. She lifted her head and growled before turning and nudging the boy’s shin.

“I know, Nina …I….” the careful attention of the dog gave him permission to grieve. He put his head down….

On that wonderful day I dreamt of
In that world that I wanted to see
Was a wonderful girl who gave me so much hope
As she held out her hand for me
On a wonderful winter evening
Where my wish might have come true some way
But instead we are lost without all hope
Crying here today

Pauly fell back and buried his face in his pillow and wept. The dog jumped up on the bed and nuzzled the boy’s cheek and whimpered.

“We’ll make a way somehow…we always do.” Becca said, almost trying to convince herself as much as her partner. Roberta continued to weep despite the comfort from Becca’s soft assuring voice. Becca patted her back softly….

Our beautiful girl who had blessed our hearts
Still resides in our hearts today….

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Al looked into the cold stare of the woman and noticed that she was crying; a very odd but still frightening expression as he realized the woman wasn’t crying only for the family. She pointed at the two women and shook her head. The two seemed to fade away, but really it was Al and the Spirit who were turning to vapor…

---

---

Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery...sometime later...

“He didn’t leave me anything,” a man said as he threw a large bag of flour on a table next to a big mixer.

“Still, he did me a favor.” The man laughed and the tall woman next to him turned and faced him with a quizzical look; her expression asked the unspoken question.

“Favor…oh yeah…he died!” The man laughed again. A moment later Al and the woman were standing in the midst of a group of people standing around; mulling was the word they used to use.

“Can you believe it? We got the day off? I’m just gonna stay home and maybe get some wrapping done,” a woman said.

“I still got a lotta shoppin’ to do,” another woman said with a frown.

“Well, we’re gonna get paid even if we don’t go.” The younger man smiled and pointed to the bulletin board, where a lonely piece of paper seemed to stick out.

“The Bakery will be closed until next Monday.” He said with a soft laugh.

“The funeral ain’t until Saturday! Pretty nice of him!” He smiled broadly and the rest of the people started clapping in agreement.

“Way to go, Pete! Tell it like it ain’t!”

“Hey, Kenny…ESS TEE EFF YOU!” He laughed and everyone else started to laugh along with him. He climbed up on a pile of pallets and took a bow…. Guys..Girls…anybody in between?

Peter Kapusta -

For everybody here?
I’d like to say
With a lotta gratitude
And a not so pretty attitude
For what that bastard has done today
I’d really just like to say

Thank you very much!
Thank you very much!
That's the greatest thing that anyone’s ever done for us
I may sound like a schmuck
But I don’t give a …..
Cause the bastard went and did and croaked for us

And if I really cared I might start cryin’
But that would make feel like such a putz
Since I don’t really care at all
I won’t bother to even swear at all
Thank you very, very, very much!

Company -

Thank you very, very, very much!

Pete -

Thank you very much!
Thank you very much!
That's the neatest thing that anyone's ever done for me
It might sound pretty odd
To thank that f’n clod
I feel as if another life's begun for me

Company -

And if we had some shares gee we would sell them
In honor of that stupid Dago putz
But I don’t have shares today
I'll simply have to say

Al - (unheard by crowd)

Thank you very, very, very much!

Company -

Thank you very, very, very much!
Thank you very much!
Thank you very much!
That's the nicest thing that anyone's ever done for me
It isn't every year
Stuff actually works right here
I never thought that things would ever work for me
And if I had a air horn I would blow it
To add a pretty decent f’n touch?
But since I don’t have an f’n horn
I'll simply have to say
Thank you very, very, very much

“They seem to be pretty happy…more fun than I ever remember them having.” He turned to the woman who shook her head before pointing to the bulletin board. Al stepped closer and peered at the paper that had garnered so much attention moments before. His eyes widened as he read,

To honor Al’s memory, Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery will be closed until next Monday. I’d really appreciate some company at the funeral since Fredo has been a decent kid with us, but I understand if you don’t want to attend. Al gave us all jobs, and that’s pretty good in a recession, but do what you think is best. Signed, Lou Abendando, Shop Steward, IBT 917

“What? I don’t understand?” He mewled. The woman shook her head and pointed to a newspaper clipping.

…Alphonso “Al” Tirchio, 68, of Staten Island, President and founder of Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery…

Al turned to the spirit; almost pleading. She shook her head and her eyes filled with tears once again.

“Tell me this doesn’t have to happen. Tell me I can fix things with me…I gotta be able to do something that….I’ve been such a fucking stubborn bastard. I can change. Really…I can. There must be something I can do.” He fell to the ground and knelt in front of the woman; his arms wrapped around her legs.

“Please…I’ll do anything….Dear god in heaven I’ll do anything!” Things began to fade again, and as Al seemed to slip out of conciousness, he noticed something peculiar that escaped his attention...the young woman Spirit looked very familiar, but in his haze he couldn't figure out just whom the Spirit resembled....

---

---

---

---

Al awoke to the sound of a loud clack followed by Brenda Lee rocking around a Christmas tree. A quick scan of the clock radio revealed the time to be seven in the morning; a determination that was attested to by the bright light streaming through the bedroom window.

“I…I’m alive…in my own bedroom! I’m alive.” Al ran over to the bedroom window and threw it open, revealing the facing window of the house next door. Running downstairs seemed to be an odd and unfamiliar affair, but Al managed it, flinging open the front door and shouting at a kid passing the house on his bike as he delivered newspapers.

“Hey…kid?”

“Yeah?” The boy stopped short and fell off the seat onto the frame of the bike; not quite but almost harming himself.

“What day is it?” The kid looked at Al in a much more than quizzical expression before answering.

“It’s Christmas!” The boy shook his head before hopping back onto the seat and pedaling off before Al could ask him anymore questions.

“I haven’t missed it…the Spirits did it all in one night…of course they did…that’s what they do,” Al said softly. The overall outlook on life had changed due to the intervention of someone or something much larger than the life of Alphonso Tirchio. A second later Al was bounding up the stairs two at a time toward the bedroom.

I’ll begin anew
I’ll rebuild my life
Now I finally know
How to live my life
I’ll begin right now
No more wasting time
Now I realize
Waste is such a crime

I will grab the chance
That’s been given me
I’ll do all I can
See all those I can see
I will live for now
Live for one and all
Give up everything
So I can give my all

---

---

After changing into something more appropriate than pajamas, Al got into the car in the driveway and sped off, heading toward the Goethals Bridge. And a few more minutes after that, the car was headed north up US 1.

A short time later...Kearny, New Jersey...

“Becca, would you get the door?” Nonny Natalie called from the kitchen as the doorbell rang.

“Sure thing, Mom!” The woman hopped off the couch and pulled on her robe before heading to the door.

“Hello? Oh…” Her eyes widened as she recognized her spouse’s employer. She held open the door and gestured for Al to enter the home.

“Merry Christmas,” Becca said, but received no reply other than a nod as Roberta came walking down the hall followed by Nina. She stopped short, surprised to see her boss standing in her mother’s living room on Christmas morning.

Turning back finally to Becca, Al smiled and nodded once again and spoke.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, and of course, to my favorite person in the whole wide world.” The hyperbole would have been surprising enough, but even more so as Al looked around.

“There you are.” All eyes focused on the little girl sitting on the couch, wrapped in a green comforter and holding a teddy bear.

“Kaylee, right?” Roberta nodded, wondering how Al actually managed to remember her daughter’s name.

“Yes it is.” The girl said with a smile. She herself showed no surprise at all, acting as if she was the center of attention of someone other than her family all the time.

“I…I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas in person, and give you all something, if that’s okay?”

“That’s….you don’t have to…” Roberta was completely at a loss for words; nothing that Al could say would explain the sudden but welcome behavior they were witnessing. She put her hand out as if to turn down whatever was about to be offered. Al would have none of it and simply held out an envelope. Roberta stood and stared, and Becca stepped up, accepting the envelope.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. She knew enough of the infamous Tirchio neglect and disdain to realize something had changed for the better, no matter what the envelope held.

“Open it…go ahead.” A very eager and excited encouragement. Becca carefully opened the flap with her index finger. A Christmas card which looked as if it had languished in the back of bottom drawer in a desk for some time after purchase, but still an nice picture of a cottage with a snow covered roof and smoke wafting out of the chimney. Becca opened the card. Her hand went quickly to her face and she began to cry.

“It’s just a beginning, but I hope it will help. I plan on doing whatever I can for your sweet little girl.”

“I…This is…” Becca choked up. She held out the card to Roberta, who went to grab it. Becca let go of the card but it fell to the floor along with a piece of paper that fluttered down to land in front of Roberta’s feet. A check. She picked it up and gazed at it before looking up at her boss; her eyes were filled with tears and she smiled at the return nod that indicated she wasn’t just seeing things.

“Mom? What’s going on?” The voice came from the hallway. Pauly stood staring with sightless eyes, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if he was tuning in on the conversation, which at that point consisted more of sobs and tearful laughter than words. Nina rushed to his side and wagged her tail as she banged against his thighs gleefully.

“I’m….there’s only so much…” As Al’s eyes filled with tears, Roberta nodded, understanding that some things just cannot be undone. But some things can be made to be better; no matter how badly they began. And somehow everything was the same and brand new at the same time.

“I want to pay for your education, young man. Every bit of it. I seem to remember your mother saying that you wanted to become a therapist? To help people? Perhaps you and I can have a talk with your parents here when it gets closer to applications and all that?”

“There is a catch.” Roberta looked sideways at Al, expecting the worst. Becca just kept crying. Her mother-in-law had joined them and was rubbing Becca’s back. She noticed what seemed to be a twinkle in her daughter’s employer’s eyes, and she smiled back.

“I only ask that you forgive me for being such a fool and such a mean-spirited person all these years? Can you find it in your hearts?” No other words would need to be said as Roberta held out her arms and beckoned. A hug; the first of several over the course of the next few days, but one that would set the tone for the remainder of a life…

I will grab the chance
That’s been given me
I’ll do all I can
See all those I can see
I will live for now
Live for one and all
Give up everything
So I can give my all

---

---

Sometime later that day...Carteret, New Jersey...

“Everybody’s here already. I wonder who that could be.” Angela said as she headed to the front door at the sound of a soft knock.

“Am I too late for dinner?” Al stood in the doorway; the proverbial but figurative hat in hand. Angela nodded before her arms widened for a hug.

“Oh, I….I wasn’t expecting you. What a nice surprise.” Fredo stammered at the shock of seeing Al standing there. And Al was puzzled beyond any expectation at Fredo’s comment.

“You’re just in time. Mom was just taking the baccala off the table; the turkey and the lobster ravioli are almost done, but you’re welcome to some fish while we wait.” Baccala was never one of Al’s favorites, and the lobster ravioli was too rich if very good. It wasn’t the food that surprised but the one preparing the meal along with Angela. A voice interrupted the moment as a tall man of about Al’s age walked into the house with a grocery bag in his hands; it always surprised everyone how Enrico Attanasio was still strikingly handsome and tall at nearly sixty-seven years old.

“She still makes the best calamari, wouldn’t you say?” The voice and the face were warm and friendly as Ricky smiled at his erstwhile extended family member.

“Ye….yes.” Al nodded. Something magical indeed had transpired overnight, and it wasn’t just with Al’s life. It was almost as if bygones truly had become bygones, as the old saying goes. Another friendly face beamed as Mary wiped her hands with a kitchen towel before she hugged Al. A kiss on both cheeks was followed with a soft whisper.

“Si, Chi avrebbe mai pensato? Dolce Sorella?”

“Who would have thought, indeed? And who calls themselves a sweet sister?” Al thought, but the question would pale in comparison to the confusion and wonder that came as Mary continued.

“We were young and we were friends a long time ago. And it never seemed we’d ever be friends again. But you…you changed. Just like my Ricky’s heart changed…. Your heart is so much different now, cara mia? I’m so happy.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears. What was she talking about? Nothing had changed until that very morning.

“I had a dream….when I was under when I had the operation.”

Mary had finally gotten to the point where she was no longer ashamed, and she resisted the urge to gaze downward. No longer fearful and in need to justify her becoming a woman since she finally accepted along with everyone who knew and loved her that she indeed was a woman all along, even if she did start out as Marco Perillo. Al and the others stared at her as she continued.

“An angel or a messenger…almost like a ghost…spirito? Came to me and told me that everything would be alright, si?” They all nodded even though they didn’t quite know where she was going.

“And it’s only now…in our old age that I can tell you that the ghost looked just like you when we were younger…the age when I had the operation…I think I was twenty-four?” She knew the age, but she wanted Al to recall just what was going on at that time.

“But for one big detail, Si?” Al looked at her and she looked back, using her hand as a gesture toward her once and finally restored best friend.

“In my dream you were as you are now. I know that you loved me, but it was not to be, but I never knew just how much you were like me, dolce sorella? Si?” There was those words again…’sweet sister,’ and ‘yes?’ What did she mean? Al turned his head as if to regain some modicum of composure and noticed the mirror hanging by the side table near the door. A reflection blinking back that shocked and surprised and didn’t surprise at all. Staring back at Al was his near twin; near twin because the person in the mirror looked just like Al’s sister…if he had ever had one. It was only just then that he realized that the person staring back at him WAS him…or rather her.

“Tirchio…” that voice had called to him and spoke to him and moved him. The Spirit that not only cried for the families they witnessed but also cried for Al… for the wasted life; misspent in self-hatred and shame. The shame barely covered over with the cracked veneers of anger and mistrust and self-doubt. Something had changed in their time together and Al finally realized just who the Spirit had resembled.

“When you came to me and cried, it was like I was able to believe finally that my best friend had hope. That the fear we both shared and that you held onto was finally gone,” Mary said, touching Al’s face.

“And I...I…remember you held my hand.”

Even as Al spoke the voice sounded odd; a tremble of humility rather than the former stammer of self-loathing and hatred. The timbre was relaxed and the pitch was higher somehow and the tone was almost soothing, like the soft words of a favorite grandmother reading a bedtime story.

“Alphonso…ready for a fight, but it was always with yourself!” Ricky laughed softly.

“And look at you now…Alessia….” Fredo put his arms around his….Aunt.

“Defender!” Mary clapped her hands and joined her son-in-law in hugging the woman.

“A…lessia….”

“And you changed your last name….you took your mother’s maiden name, right? Abbondante!” The voice sounded oddly familiar, but still it was foreign if pleasant; a memory that she never quite had experienced before but reached back into her past now.

“Pietro?” She found herself asking a question that seemed to not require an answer. The old man walked up to her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Alessia…I’m so glad I came. Have you thought about what I asked?” She looked at the man and the familiarity grew even as the old faded from view. The same feelings that stirred so long ago and pushed her just the opposite into a life she never really wanted for herself became alive once again in that moment. The old man kissed her with a little more energy and zest; a seventy-one year old with the vitality of a young man in love. Alessia Abbondante…Living again…Beginning again...

I will make sure
That my tale comes to conclusion
That a giving and receiving life
Is no longer an illusion
And I'll thank the world
And remember when
I was able to begin again
I'll begin again!

La Fine dell'inizio de Alessia Abbondante, Si?
Grazie a tutti e un felice anno nuovo a voi.

---

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All music adapted from songs from the motion picture Scrooge; words and music by Leslie Bricusse

Christmas Children
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqWZBS2r7I

I Hate People
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GEhGeNmGAY

Happiness
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLUIwCUAHso

You...You
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Pje6A9SlZ0

I Like Life
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYaa6I6gWzk

Beautiful Day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6hiR0p2e5s

* I decided that Leslie Bricusse's original lyrics for the song, Beautiful Day , would be appropriate here instead of anything I could write. The reprise features my own lyrics...

Thank You Very Much
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnoqzFrQ_aY

I'll Begin Again
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTymu4aJK28