TRANSFER A Christmas fantasy © Elliot Richard Dorfman
Barry Carlin owned a successful car dealership, which wasn't easy to do in such bad economic times. Olivia, his wife, and Adam, his teenage son, were oblivious to the stress he was going through. Always involved in their own selfish interests, they ignored him - except when they needed money. It was almost as if he were living alone in that large white colonial house in Upstate New York.
On Sundays, his only day off, Barry had gone back to writing short stories, a thing he had shown talent in doing during his youth. This activity seemed to help him relieve the tension he had built up all week in his job. Locking himself in the den for a few hours, he usually came up with something fairly creative on his computer. Recently, a few of his stories had even been accepted by some ezines.
One November weekend, after having started a new story, Barry came out of the den for some lunch. He made it himself since his wife, as usual, was out attending one of her endless social events. Likewise, Adam wasn't home, so the only company the lonely man had was his faithful Irish settler, Cranberry.
During the late afternoon, he took the dog for a walk. It was cold and the streets were empty. They walked to the pond, a few blocks away. A tall, blond, and handsome boy who was crossing the field waved to them.
Cranberry, seemed to like him, for he wagged his tail when the friendly youngster came over.
“Hi, Mr. Carlin. It looks like snow today, doesn't it?” “I think you're right,” Barry replied, trying to remember where he had met this person before.
“Well, it's getting close to December, and before you know it, Christmas will be here. I sincerely hope you have a nice one.”
Barry thanked him as the youngster took off and disappeared behind a grove of trees.
“Gee, that kid looks like one of my characters from the last story I wrote,” he suddenly realized. “I wonder where I met him before.”
A gust of wind blew off Barry's cap just as it began to snow, and by the time he retrieved it, his thought was on getting home.
* * *
Barry always looked forward to Christmas. At least during this time of the year, his wife would soften up and enjoy sharing the pleasures of the holiday with him. Even Adam hung around the house and had some semblance to a devoted son. But this year when he took down the boxes of decorations, his wife's face seemed strained.
“Is something wrong, dear?” he asked her.
“I'm afraid Adam and I aren't going to be here for the holidays this year.”
Barry looked at her with dismay. “Are you serious? Just where are you two going?”
“To England,” she answered excitedly. “It's part of a cultural exchange program. Adam's school chorus has been invited to perform there for a week. It will be a wonderful experience for the kids. I volunteered to be one of the chaperons.”
“Well that sure ruins the holiday for me. As usual, you never asked me how I would feel about it. Merry Christmas, Sweetheart!”
He stomped out of the room and went into the den where he pulled out a pack of stale cigarettes from the back of a desk draw.
“Never thought I'd light up one of these cigarettes again,” he thought.
Olivia came into the room and shook her head disapprovingly. “Oh, Barry, don't tell me you've gone back to smoking. It's a dirty, disgusting habit.”
At that moment Barry couldn't stand to be in the same house with her. He rushed into the hall, put on his coat and grabbed the car keys.
“Where are you going?” his startled wife asked. “Since when did you start caring?” he snarled, slamming the front door behind him.
* * *
It was a misty evening. Barry turned his car down a dark, desolate side road when he saw someone standing right front of him waving his hands. He stopped and got out. It was the same tall teenager he had seen near the pond a couple of weeks ago.
“What's the problem?” he asked.
“ The old bridge straight ahead is weak. You can hear it creaking for miles. I strongly believe that it's about ready to collapse. Better turn around before you seriously get hurt or even worse.”
“Are you positive?”
“ Absolutely. I wouldn't be standing here on such a cold night if I wasn't.”
Barry shook his hand. “Well thank you very much for your concern.”
About ready to get into his car, the man realized that he still didn't know the name of this youngster. Turning back to ask, the boy was nowhere in sight. Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound ahead. Sure enough, the bridge had collapsed as predicted. If Barry had not been warned, he would have been a goner. The whole thing seemed so surreal.
* * *
Less than a week later, Olivia and Adam were gone and Barry was left to make due for what was seemingly going to be a miserable holiday. Oh, he attempted to cheer up by putting up the tree and completing the decorations, but it wasn't any fun without his immediate family there. On Christmas eve he sat in the den having one too many drinks. Around eleven, Cranberry needed a late night walk.
“At least you're with me, my best buddy,” Barry said to the canine Then giving him a kiss on his nose, he attached the leash to the collar and went outside with him.
The sidewalk was quite icy. Less than half way down the block, the inebriated man fell flat down on his rump. Immediately, he felt two strong arms lifting him up. There was that strange teenager again!
“We seem to be bumping into each other an awful lot recently,” Barry mumbled. “ Say, just what is your name anyway?”
“ I took it for granted you'd know, Alex,”
Barry's eyes widened. “ Alex? But that's the same name I used for a character in my last story, and what's even more amazing is that you look exactly like my description of him.”
The youth's eyes twinkled. “I know. We'll talk about it later, first let me get you home.”
Carefully, he took hold of the man's arm and guided him and the dog safely back.
* * *
Once in the house, they went into the living room where Alex admiringly looked at the Christmas tree as Barry drank a strong cup of coffee.
“It's a real beauty. Isn't there anyone else here to enjoy it with you?”
“No,” Barry said gloomily. “My wife and son are away on a school trip in England.”
“It seems kind of insensitive of them to leave you alone during this holiday season,” the teenager commented.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Barry replied, lighting up a cigarette. He glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall. It was already eleven-thirty.
“Gee, look at the time. It's getting late. I guess you're anxious to get home. Again, let me thank you for saving my life. ”
“And I want to thank you for giving me mine, “ the boy replied.
The aspiring author looked puzzled. “I don't understand what you mean.”
“Truthfully, it's not just a coincidence that I resemble the character from your last story, for I am that person.”
Almost choking, Barry put out his cigarette. “What the . . . ”
“Oh, please, don't think I'm a nut job. Strange as it seems, it's true. You became so attached to my character that you created in your last story, you actually willed me to live. It's sort of like Pygmalion. For you, it stems from a need to have a loving family after being rejected by your wife and son for many years. Somehow, someway, you were able to extract an unknown power within the universe to accomplish it.”
Cranberry, who was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace, got up and trotted into the kitchen. A moment later, an attractive woman came out carrying a tray with eggnog and placed it on the coffee table.
“Come on, guys, have some.” She then went to the piano and pleasantly began playing a Christmas carol.
“Oh gosh,” Barry stuttered, “she looks like . . . ”
“Like Lillian, my mom in the story,” Alex interjected. “Yup, you made her real too. Guess the transfer of your new family is finally complete, Pop.”
“Pop?”
Trying to make sense of this highly unusual situation, Barry sat down on the sofa. Alex and Lillian joined him. She poured the eggnog and then raised her cup.
“Here's to a good life. Merry Christmas and a happy new year, everyone.”
The drink was warm and delicious. Barry started feeling a surge of contentment, something that he hadn't felt in a long time.
“I guess miracles are possible,” he thought, “especially at this time of the year.”
Suddenly remembering Olivia and Adam, Barry jumped up.
“But what's happened to Olivia and Adam?”
“Go check your story on the computer,” Alex suggested.
The answer was there. The theme had mysteriously been altered. It was now about a dysfunctional mother and son named Olivia and Adam!
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