Chapter 38: Joy To The World

December 21, 1980

The Sunday before Christmas is big. Not as big as Christmas day, but big. The choir, which performed only occasionally, was in their full glory. The just-a-few-times-a-year attendees were here. The church, often at most half full, was getting near capacity. The pipe organ was magnificent, and we enjoyed singing the traditional songs.

I still had no idea what I believed. Being put back through time to live life again had no place in our branch of Lutheranism, or in any other religion I knew of. The other direction - reincarnation? Sure. But getting a second chance? Who believed that? Well, a Unitarian could believe anything, particularly if the facts bore it out. And I’d been a Unitarian. So, maybe, that. But that wasn’t an answer, just an invitation to ask more questions.

But, at Christmas, I could also believe that a baby had been born two thousand years ago, led a very special life, and, along the way, said a lot of things that were still wise today. I could believe that He had been divine, or had a connection to the divine, or had the divine within Him. I could believe that it made a difference if we believed in His life and what He taught. After all, if a nobody like me could have something happen that was so far beyond the reality we understood, why not a divine child?

There were many issues on which I could never accept the church’s teaching. Their teachings on sex, for instance. I also believed it would be wrong to make a point of that. Mom and Dad were true believers. It brought them happiness and joy and comfort. There was no good purpose in challenging that, or making them scared for my eternal soul, the existence of which was at least somewhat proven.

And I could believe many things. That faith, hope, and love were key. That love was the greatest of the three. That peace was the goal. That one should strive to fix their own faults rather than dwell too much on the faults of others. That no man should judge another’s faith or eternal salvation; leave that to God. Or the gods. Or the universe. Whatever.

So, I stood in the church of my parents and sang the hymns. And believed. And took joy in the season.

December 22, 1980

We arrived at Dr. Reynolds’ office around eleven. Things were even more efficient this time. We’d only just parked our butts in the waiting room chairs when the nurse arrived. “Steve Marshall?”

The three of us walked back to the exam room. Angie had asked to come along, and why couldn’t she? No school, nothing on the agenda. She said that she wanted proof that I had a brain. It seemed like a very sisterly thing to say, so I gave the brotherly response — that they should hook her up to the machine, too. Fair’s fair, after all.

I took my shirt off for the nurse who attached electrodes with the evil white putty. Angie winked, out of sight of mom. Angie looked curious when I wrinkled my nose at it.

“That stuff dries all hard and sticky, Ang. It’s difficult to get out of my hair later. I keep finding it later, and it causes little tangles.”

For some reason that had her covering her mouth and trying to not break out in giggles. I can’t imagine what white sticky substance she might have been thinking of. Oh, wait, yes I can.

Mom looked at me. “I’ve never heard that before.”

“About the goop? Yeah, it’s annoying.”

“No, not that. You calling your sister ‘Ang’. That’s new.”

“I’ve been doing it a while. Mostly just between us.”

Angie smiled at both of us. “I like it. It’s special, just for us.”

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re close like that. My brothers called me ‘Hel’ a lot, growing up. No one else did. Just them. Believe me, Sam and I have seen how close you two are.” No, they hadn’t, or we’d be getting some lectures. At a minimum. “I was close with my brothers, and he was close with his brothers, mostly, but we both had more sibling squabbles than you two do. It warms both our hearts. It’s the best Christmas present we could ask for.”

Angie and I traded looks. All that time looking for presents, and the best presents were ones we already had.

Electrodes in place, I sat and waited. “How’s it feel?” Angie wanted to know.

I shrugged. “Like wires stuck to me. I mean, they don’t feel like anything except sticky stuff and a wire. Even when it’s running, they’re just listening. They don’t do anything.”

She nodded. “It looks like it could shock you at any second.”

“Haven’t yet.”

Doctor Reynolds came in. She addressed herself to Angie first. “And who might you be, young lady?” she smiled to Angie.

Angie smiled right back and offered her hand. “I’m Steve’s sister, Angie. It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reynolds. Steve has said nice things about you.”

She squinted. “You look the same age. Or almost. Twins?”

Angie shook her head. “We’re a few months apart. Long story.”

Doctor Reynolds smiled. “Well, I know he’s adopted, so...” Of course, she did. It was on the medical records. I’d scrawled it in the margins in the Family History section. Medical forms — a lot of forms everywhere — often make no provision for adoptees. Especially in 1980. But even in the 2010s, we’d still run into forms and policies that made no provision for adoption.

“I am, too,” Angie said with a big smile.

“So there you go. I’d love to hear the story, one day. But not today. Today is just about making sure this guy,” tapping my forehead with a knuckle, “still has a brain that works somewhat normally.”

I shook my head, careful of the wires. “I think finals liquefied it, Doctor Reynolds.”

She laughed. “If exams caused that, there’d be no doctors at all. Now, I want you to lie back and close your eyes. You know the drill. Don’t meditate or anything, just relax. Whatever suits you. If you drift off, that’s fine. The two of you, come with me if you want, or you can stay and watch Steve snooze.”

They opted to stay, Angie positioning herself where she could watch the EEG needles record my brainwaves. Mom had been there, done that.

The lights went down, and the needles began their soft whispering.

A while later the lights came up. I blinked, sitting up.

Doctor Reynolds took the roll off the machine. “I’ll go give this a look-over and see what I see. I can report you have a brain. That much I’m sure of. And it’s not liquefied!” Laughing, she left.

I started picking at the white goop and removing electrodes. Angie hopped up. “I can help with that!” She joined me in the search for bits of putty.

Mom chuckled. “OK. The last thing I could’ve imagined is my daughter willingly going through my son’s hair looking for things to pick off his skull!”

Grinning, Angie looked back at her. “OK, put that way, it’s creepy, I suppose.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it. And I am cheaper than a trained monkey.”

After we finished, I pulled my shirt back on and we waited. Just a few minutes later, Doctor Reynolds came in. “We’re still looking good. In a way, I’m a little surprised. I expected a full recovery, but it’s not at all unusual for progress to vary. Steve is going right down the line, every visit a nice improvement. I’d say, keep up the good work, keep wearing the bike helmet if you bike...”

“They do, constantly,” Mom chuckled.

“ ... avoid other risks to your head, but you can go back to unrestricted PE and you don’t need to be hyper-vigilant. We’re past the point where a light blow to the head is a potential risk. You’d need a hard fall or hit to throw things off.”

Mom smiled and looked about ready to jump and up and down. “Oh, that’s wonderful news, Doctor Reynolds. Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me, thank your son. Or his ability to recover. Whichever. He’s doing the work. I just look at squiggly lines and make sure they’re not too squiggly.”

“Well, I still thank you for the good news. I’ll count it as a Christmas present!”

“You do that! Now, I’ll see you back in ... February.” She gave me a look. “Let’s avoid the 13^th. I hope that you’re distracted by Valentine’s Day, young man.” A grin. “How about the week after that?”

“Of course. And he’d better not be too distracted by Valentine’s Day, girlfriend or not!”

Everyone laughed.

We headed out, got an appointment card from the receptionist for February 18^th, and headed home. Angie and I chattered away about landmarks along the way. It was fun seeing the city I’d grown up with through her eyes. I’d never been through the Medical Center area with her before, except for the ride home from the hospital, and that was a very different experience.

Mom stopped at a little restaurant near Rice University for lunch. We had a great time. I don’t think we ever — once — stopped for lunch on a medical visit trip the first time through. I didn’t begrudge that at all. But this was better.

December 24, 1980

I dropped Candice’s present off with her parents, mid-day. She was out doing some last-minute shopping. I was sad to miss her, but we’d see each other in only a bit over a week.

At last, Christmas Eve was here! We descended on the church along with a mass of people. The building was packed. Everyone received a candle. We scooted in a little closer than usual to allow some extra people to share the pew. Angie snuggled up against my side. I wrapped my arm around her. Mom and Dad looked over and made happy faces at each other.

We sang carols and listened to readings from the Christmas story. Candles were lit, the lights dimmed, and we sang ‘Silent Night’ a capella.

Ang and I stayed close the whole time, and held hands walking to the car. Mom and Dad made more happy faces.

So did we.

A bit after we got home, the phone rang. Our phone, my ring.

“Hello?”

“Steve! Merry Christmas!”

“Candice! Merry Christmas!”

“Look, I probably can’t call tomorrow between all the Christmas stuff and all. And we’re flying out early the 26^th.”

“I opened your present. Thanks, my love.” She’d bought me a nice belt.

“Thanks. Think of me when you’re wearing it. Then I’ll be near you.”

“Did you open mine?” I’d bought her a necklace with a heart. I’d thought about one with an S but decided against. We both knew I’d given her my heart.

“I did! Thanks, Steve. It’s too sweet.”

“Have a great trip! I hope it’s a good one. I’ll see you on the 2^nd.”

“Thanks. I’ll have fun, I’m sure.” She paused. “I sent you a, um ... card. It’ll probably get there in a few days. It’s for New Year’s. Don’t open it until after New Year’s Day. OK?”

“OK, honey. And thanks. I wish I could spend New Year’s with you.”

“I wish that, too. You don’t know how much.”

“Bye, Candice. I love you.”

“Bye, Steve. You’re too good to me. I love you, too.”

Click.

By Marshall family tradition, we could each open one gift on Christmas Eve. There were two requirements. One: we opened them wearing our pajamas. Two: it couldn’t be a major gift. Gifts that were OK for Christmas Eve were located closer to the front of the tree.

We didn’t have mountains of gifts. Mom and Dad firmly believed that just one or two gifts weren’t right either, though. It was fun to have a few things to open, even if they were the same old gift every year. Aunts and Uncles sent cash which Mom and Dad put into envelopes. I gave Dad aftershave and soap-on-a-rope and Mom perfume every year. They went to good use, and if they were boring, sometimes boring is its own form of special.

Dad and Mom insisted on opening boxes that they knew were the aftershave and perfume. They ooh’d and ahh’d over them. Angie picked a gift from them that turned out to be her favorite perfume. “Oh! Thank you!” She grinned and hugged them both.