The Christmas Eve Blues It was 11:15 on Christmas Eve. Gabriel was drowsily pushing things around on his desktop til 12:01 when he could go home. Another uneventful Christmas Eve. That’s why he was startled when the intercom buzzed. He regained his senses but his hand trembled a bit as he lifted the receiver. “Yes sir?” He said hesitantly. “Gabe, step in here for a minute, will you?” “Yes sir.” Gabe’s suspicions were confirmed. It was Him. He started to return the receiver to its cradle. But before he could His voice came back once more. He sounded tired. “.....and Gabe....” “Yes sir?” “Bring The Horn.” A lump formed in Gabriel’s throat. This was it. “Yes sir.” He said again. His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the alabaster cabinet. Absently he reached for the golden key hanging at his waist. He turned it in the lock and heard the resonant click that echoed back to him. He started to open the cabinet door but remembered suddenly what he had forgotten. Last time he looked at it directly, the bright glare had given him headaches for years. He reached into the pocket on his robe and donned a new pair of Ray-Bans. Just then a cherub appeared and said, “Here, let me buff that up for you.” He took it from the cabinet, gave it a sad if redundant polishing with his wingtip, and handed it back to Gabriel. Nodding thanks, Gabe took the horn, and started his long walk down The Hall. The Door opened for him as he approached. The Old Man was at his desk in his swivel chair, facing away from Gabriel, looking out of his window, the one with The View. Gabriel had never seen a sight quite like it. The Old Man did not look up but beckoned him to approach. Gabriel did not feel worthy of the moment, for through that window, he could see everything. Absolutely everything. The Old Man drew a long shuddering breath. The shudder spoke of a depth of sadness that brought tears to Gabe’s eyes. This was going to be it, Gabriel thought, he fingered the valves on The Horn nervously. “Look down there.” The Old Man said. “It is hard to look at these things and rejoice, even though the season to do so is upon us.” Gaining focus through the window a montage of horrible images appeared. Scenes of war and famine, acts of violence, crying children, sobbing mothers. “It doesn’t seem a very happy place.” The Old Man said. “No sir. It doesn’t.” Gabriel knew he should stop there. He was just the side man on this gig. The Old Man did not call him in to seek his counsel, just to blow the prophetic horn. But The Old Man’s sadness penetrated the depths of Gabe’s soul. He was moved to speak, despite the potential consequences. “There are other scenes though too, aren’t there?” He ventured. The Old Man glanced up at him for the first time. Lightning danced in his eyes. As if by magic the images began to transform. A young couple gazed into a clear forest pool and dreamed about their future. Workers in a soup kitchen fed the hungry. A man pushed his toddler on a backyard swing to her delighted giggles. A baby slept. “Yes.” The Old Man admitted. “There are other scenes.” The image transformed once more to a snarled traffic jam under a polluted exhaust cloud. The Old Man’s shaggy head shook slowly once more. Gabe felt he had been presumptuous. He fingered the valves once more and licked his lips. “So what would you like me to play?” Gabe asked. The Old Man sighed deeply one more time. It was a sigh of calm. “I hadn’t really thought about that yet.” The Old Man nearly smiled. The View below shifted to an Appalachian fall, full of vibrant color and dew crossed meadows. “I suppose we can give it another year or two.” He said. “Maybe they will learn.” Gabriel smiled. He knew one day he would be called upon to blow the horn, but was relieved that this would not be the day. He started to leave. The creak of the swivel chair stopped him. The Old Man faced Gabe now, His head still bent in thought. “I know it’s not in your job description but, since you’re here, would you mind playing something just for me?” “Of course not.” Gabe licked his lips in anticipation. “What would you like to hear?” The chair swiveled once more as The Old Man gazed back down over creation. “I don't know, Gabe” He sighed. “Why don’t you just play me some blues?”