A House of Lights

By Ian Osborne

    Mr. McConner lived alone without anyone to share his beloved world with.  Oh yes, he did have someone, as everyone has had someone.  Now, this certain someone was a big-city woman who always wore the classiest of clothes, the finest jewels and diamond earrings that hung behind a set of jade eyes, perfectly complimenting her charm and sparkle.  At first glance, one couldn't even begin to understand why she could find comfort with such a mundane man as Mr. McConner, an average man who lived in an average house and would probably die the same age as the national average.
But then, within a few sustaining moments, adverse opinions could be turned around to an understanding.   In fact, Mr. McConner was indeed a jewel himself.  He had the warmest inviting smile that I have ever seen, and brown eyes, like warm mocha on a cool winter's day.
Mr. McConner had always put pride in his wife's nobility, her high-class presence, and when seen together, Mr. McConner would always have one arm around his wife's waist and keeping her slender frame in front of his gutsy body.  It was a scene like that of a happy vender displaying his finest piece.  That's not to say she was for show, no there was a deep-rooted love involved, for her gentleness spread over him and changed his outlook over everything.  Once a recluse and somewhat of an uninviting fellow, he was now seen attending the Sunday services and carrying on like any other would in the town of Charlottesville.
When she passed on, one could note that although it must have deeply affected him, he pretty much kept on as he had after he met her, almost as if it were her wish.  But, when in conversation with Mr. McConner, you could tell there was an underbelly for what he was talking about.  He would pause occasionally when talking, and you could tell as he'd divert his eyes, that his mind must've been thinking of something else, something that's gone, something forever lost, just something.     
The months passed after her death, and when they did, Mr. McConner's facial expressions had become more a subject of repressed thought than that of an inviting smile.   His warm coffee-brown eyes become dulled and grayed.     
A few more winter-seasoned months went by and it was now Christmas time. Mr. McConner had been bed-ridden in his house for a few weeks after Thanksgiving.  Yuletide, with the lights and glow, had swept across the town, accentuating the freshness of the Christmas season's dusting of snow. Along sidewalks one could hear the carols as they faded in, faded out, and became hollow ghosts throughout the streets. 
    Late-night processions of roaming well-wishers and carolers made their pass through the town, singing proudly as their red-cheeks and rosy noses gave way to the cold chill of night. 
    The carolers that night went from house to house, and on their last stop they took their carols and their joys to the shanty of the ill Mr. McConner.  The outside of the house was lit up, and on the feathery snow, a glowing opalescence emanating from the many strands of lights along the house. 
    I hadn't seen Mr. McConner since he came into my utility store for some extensions to his lights.  He was wearing a plaid overcoat and a hunter's cap with the bills flipped out on the sides.  He knew his appearance wasn't the greatest and that his health was failing, but he had the greatest puppy smile on his face.  But, even on that encounter it was just a good-day-to-you type of thing -- somewhat casual. 
    I followed the carolers into the house where they found Mr. McConner asleep.  The leader of the pack hushed the group up and then grinningly gave a one, a two.  They started into a harmonic rendition of O, Holy Night.  Thank God it was a tune I knew, for I would have looked like a bumbling fool coming in out of nowhere.
  Mr. McConner had awoken at the very first line.  He looked frail and weakened, but the entertainers before him gave him motivation to push his body into an upright position against the posts of the bed.  After the last line ("O, night divine!  O, night, O, night divine!") had cleared their throats, the pack patted themselves on each other's backs and made their way to the door.  Up, and with the same old joker inside of him fully awake, he said, "But please, won't you sing: 'Tell Santy I live in a Shanty'?"  The thinning group of ladies and their men let out a chuckled laughter as they went out through the door, and the leader protested, "Oh, Mr. McConner. Always the joker.  God bless you, good sir." 
"God bless you as well," he said as his frame slid back down into a rested state and his words dissipated into a mumble.  
"And you, my boy," he said as I made my way following the group out the door. "It's nice to see a familiar face again." "Yes, I work at the utility shop.  I saw you not too long ago."  I said like a small boy being questioned by a figure of authority, and not just some man who had the gentlest face, in all of town. 
He must have felt my awkwardness.   After having stopped me from leaving, and now having nothing more to say.  But, now I see at my age, with faces coming and going, how wonderful it is to see something that at least would give the slightest comfort in your heart. 
Mr. McConner seeing the conversation slip, and knowing that any minute I would give him God's blessings and be out the door like another passing face, took hold and broke the silence.
"She would've loved it you know."
"She would have lovedÖ"
"The lights, my boy.   She always loved Christmas lights.  Bright glad I am that I got them up in time this year." 
He mused and poked at the words as he made an emphasis of his current state. 
"Don't get me wrong though, I have had the best years of my life. The best yearsÖ"  His words became broken off, as if saying them conjured up some past sensation in the poor man's mind.
"Oh, the lights."
"Do you think she can see them?"  He said this as he glided his frail body back into an upright position, crossing his legs underneath the sheets. Not giving time for me to answer the question, he said, "she would've loved them."  His face gave the smug grin of assurance as if the words were mine.  "You see that glass ball over there?  Well, when you shake it, all the snow comes back down onto that house in there.  Do you see all the sparkle of lights inside the ball?  That's the house; A house of lights.  She had always loved the idea of it.  And now I do as well.  That house is like magic, the way it glitters, but there's no mystery to this magic.  Kind of like true love.  The way it makes you feel like a million bucks. 
"So that's why you've made your own house of lights?"
"Bingo, kid."
"And, you think she can see us?"
"Oh, I know she can see us.  She's up there, looking past those sheets of clouds, the stars in the night, just like she did when she was here with us, just looking at a house of lights."
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