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Another Christmas Carol

Part Two - Lo Spirito del Natale Passato

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by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

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Previously...Al Tirchio's home, Staten Island, Christmas Eve...
 

“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.”

One O'Clock on Christmas morning...

A loud click was followed by the sound of Andy Williams singing Sleighride 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,

"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.

"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:

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?"

"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…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. 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.

Next: Lo Spirito del Natale Il Presente

Happiness
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eYyjxaAI0Kw

You...You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvKZChZRM2s&feature=related