Through Indigo's Eyes (25 page)

Every year on Christmas Eve, Brian and I opened one present, and it was always pajamas. Then we had a pajama party and watched a movie, complete with treats that my mother put on the tiered silver tray that she used only at Christmas. This year, it was my turn to pick the movie and, of course, I chose
Labyrinth
.

“Nice choice,” said Brian. Then he whispered, “Just so you know, it's not a Christmas movie.”

I went to bed by midnight but awoke at 4:44
A.M.
and sat up, wide awake. I always woke up at exactly the same time every Christmas morning—it was the one time I was not afraid of the dark. My movement disturbed Cedar, but I patted her gently and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

Barefoot, I tiptoed out of my room, by my parents' room, and into the living room, where our majestic Christmas tree stood. After I turned on the tree lights, I sat cross-legged on the floor and stared at the tree and all the shimmering, twinkling colored lights: blue, green, red, and yellow. Then there were the white ones that to me seemed to dance and wink.

I inhaled and exhaled. Over and over.

My breath slowed, and I could feel my blood calming inside me. For as long as I could remember, I had snuck down on Christmas morning to sit in front of the tree. Of course, when I was little, I would always wait in my room until Santa had arrived and left, and the cookies were gone, the milk glass emptied, and the sugar cubes licked by reindeer.

I inhaled again and slowly exhaled, my breathing loud but peaceful. I loved the serenity of the lights and the joy of brightly wrapped presents perfected with ribbon and bows, all ready to bring excitement to people. I picked up a present, shook it, then put it back under the tree.

I glanced up at the angel on top of the tree. We'd had the same angel since I was little, and she had white wings, a burgundy dress, and a little light inside that lit her halo and wings. I smiled. I knew that angels didn't look like that. Real angels were massive golden beings that vibrated energy—they glowed like a flickering light. Or at least that's what I had seen. I knew my body couldn't move that fast. Angels had this golden energy that surrounded them; it looked like huge wings circling their entire body. I got why people always drew them with wings or created ornaments that had wings.

To me angels were peaceful beings, and I always felt they could take me under their golden energy and protect me. Whenever they appeared, I was immediately bathed in a warmth and tranquility.

“Protect me,” I whispered.

I shivered. Why had I said that? What did I need protection from? With John I had everything I wanted. All the warmth I had been feeling suddenly changed, and a chill surrounded me. I drew my legs in to my body, hugging them, resting my chin on my knees.

I glanced upward again.

“Protect me,” I whispered again.

Then, quietly, through the serenity of the tree and the magic of Christmas, I heard the man's voice inside my head, and he said,
Nathan
.

Nathan?

You're like a butterfly
, he had said on the bus.

Light and free to fly in the summer sun from bush to bush.

My body started to quake, and I felt as if I were trapped outside in a huge snowstorm, wearing nothing but my Christmas pajamas. I couldn't sit under the tree any longer. I was freezing. I got up and tiptoed down the hall, heading back to my bedroom and the warmth of my bed.

When I heard the doorbell ring, I ran down the hall and flung open the door. A cold draft flew into the house, but I sure didn't feel it. All I felt was heat from John. Once he was in the door, I hugged him, and he hugged me back.

“Merry Christmas,” I said, nuzzling my lips on his ear.

“Same to you,” he replied.

Then I took his hand and guided him to the living room and our Christmas tree. Under the tree were the gifts that were already unwrapped from the morning and a few that were yet to be opened. I crouched down and pulled out a large rectangular box that was wrapped in gold paper and topped with a red bow. I grinned and held up my finger. “This is present number one.”

“Present number one?” He arched his eyebrows. “I only bought you one thing.”

I clapped my hands. “They're all little. Open it,” I said eagerly.

The sound of paper tearing made me beam. As soon as he saw the sweater, he held it up. “I like it,” he said.

“It will look so good on you. I loved the color, and blue will look good with your coloring.”

He leaned over and kissed me, hard—a daring move, as my parents could walk in at any minute. Tingles ran the length of my body. Even after being together for months, his touch made me quiver.

The touch lasted all of about a second, and then he winked at me. “You want your gift?”

“Yes!” I clapped my hands together.

He handed me a little box, covered in silver paper, the wrapping job a bit messy and so obvious that he had done it himself. That made me smile even more. I held it in my hands for a moment, then I shook it, as I did with every present I received.

He laughed at me, shaking his head. “You're crazy. Just open it.”

I tore off the paper to see a small, very distinct, blue Birks jewelry box. I gasped. Birks was real jewelry, not costume stuff like I had purchased for my friends. I held the box in my hands as if it were a treasure and stared at it for a few moments. We'd only been going out since September. Honestly, I'd been expecting a T-shirt or a book of some sort … or nothing at all, because of how John felt about the extravagance of the season.

Once my heart rate had settled, I carefully lifted the lid on the box. A beautiful butterfly pendant necklace, hanging from a silver chain, sat on a white satin backdrop. The turquoise and orange enamel on the wings of the butterfly dazzled. For a moment, I couldn't believe that he had bought me something so breathtaking.

“It's beautiful,” I whispered.

“It reminded me of you,” he stated softly. “So light and free and beautiful.”

I fingered the chain, then held the necklace up and stared at the butterfly as it fluttered and almost danced in the lights from the Christmas tree, casting streams of color throughout the room.

Did he really think I was beautiful?

He had never said I was beautiful before. Ever. His words made my head spin. I was so used to him spouting off about his beliefs, never saying anything so personally meaningful. I stared at him standing in front of me, and my entire body felt as if it were basking in the direct heat of the sun on some tropical beach. Our eyes connected, and I held his gaze. He loved me. He had to. He'd never told me so, but this necklace proved that he did.

I wanted to be with him forever.

To say my heart fluttered would be trite. It thwacked, over and over, happily, the pounding sound strong in my ears, my head, and my entire body.

“Do you want your other gifts?” I asked.

“Let's put your necklace on first.” In one smooth movement, he was behind me. He took the necklace from my hand, strung it around my neck, and tenderly pulled my hair off to the side. I could feel the tips of his fingers brushing against my skin as he did up the clasp, his breath on the nape of my neck.

I turned to look at him.

“It looks good,” he said.

I put my hand to my throat to touch the necklace. “I love it,” I said. Then I reached out to take his hand in mine. “Thank you,” I said. I reached down and pulled out the little gifts I had purchased for him. “Here.”

“Indie, I think the sweater would have been enough,” he said. “You know how I feel about Christmas.”

“Just open it. Christmas is about giving, and I want to give. To you.”

We left a few hours later to go to my grandparents' for Christmas dinner. John, Brian, and I piled into my dad's Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, a big car with a cushy, roomy backseat. Of course, being the smallest, and the only girl, I was squished in the middle. My grandparents lived in Maynard, a little town about an hour from Ottawa, in an old house that I loved. I wanted to show John the house, wanted him to meet my grandparents and enjoy our wonderful traditional turkey dinner.

As usual, my dad took the back road, Highway 31, until we hit what I called River Road, which traveled along the St. Lawrence Seaway. The roads were snowy and slick with ice, and my dad drove slowly, but I didn't mind; to me the world outside was beautiful, especially the sight of the seaway, frozen in parts but also majorly flowing in other parts. Chunks of ice floated with the moving water.

No one spoke in the car, as we were all enjoying the tranquility of a Christmas drive. I held John's hand under my coat so no one could see. I loved the feel of his warm skin, and he made me feel cocooned and protected from the cold outside.

We were all so quiet and serene that it was almost a shock when Brian shouted, “Look at that car!” He pointed out the window.

My dad slowed until we were almost crawling, and we all craned our necks to see a car that had obviously driven off the road and was sitting precariously on the riverbank. A massive pile of snow had, luckily, stopped it from toppling into the river.

The car looked abandoned, as if someone had just gotten out and left it there. So weird. Did the people run out of gas? Or did they hit ice and skid off the road? Once we were by the car, my father picked up his speed. I had just leaned back, snuggling close to John, when I heard the male voice in my head.

There's a woman in that car!
He spoke loudly, instead of in his usual soft tone.

He was so loud he made me sit up and stare out the window. Without thinking, I said, “Dad, stop! There's a woman in that car.”

Dad looked at me through his rearview mirror. “Did you really see someone?”

I hadn't seen anyone, but I had heard the voice, loud and clear. “Yes,” I lied. “I for sure saw her.”

“You're positive?” he asked.

“I didn't see anyone,” said Brian. “And I saw the car first.”

I sat forward and tapped my dad's shoulder. “I'm sure,” I said. “Dad, you have to go back.”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Dad found a safe place to turn around as voices inside my head chattered.

What if you are wrong, Indie? You are crazy. There is no way you could see in the car. You are going to look soooo stupid if there is no one in the car. It's Christmas, and everyone just wants to get to Grandma and Grandpa's
.

I held my breath the entire way back. If there was no one in the car, I was going to look like a complete fool in front of John. When we were by the car, my dad cut his engine, and then instinctively, like a whirlwind, we all whipped open our car doors and jumped out. My mom started running. I followed right on her heels, and John, Brian, and my dad were right behind us.

When we hit the car, I saw the woman, wearing a blue winter coat and a blue and gray scarf, slumped on the seat, knocked out completely. My mom flung open the car door and immediately put her fingers on the woman's neck, and I knew she was in emergency room nurse mode.

“She's alive! Call the ambulance,” she yelled.

My dad made the call on his car phone, while John and I huddled around the woman's car, arms wrapped around each other, watching as Mom kept checking for a pulse and tried desperately to wake her up by talking to her and rubbing her skin. Brian found a blanket in the back of Dad's car and brought it over. Even with the blanket around the woman and my mom talking a steady stream to her, she didn't wake up. The voice? Who was he? I had no clue, but I was incredibly grateful that he'd told me about the woman. She could have died. He often said to trust him, and today I had.

Thank you. Thank you
, I said to him through my thoughts.

You're learning to trust. This is a good thing, Indie
.

I shivered under my coat. What was I trusting? Voices in my head? Visions? Snapshots of things that just appeared for no reason? No, this time there had been a reason. And a really good one.