“Merry Christmas, Jordan.”
I grab a chair perched uninvitingly against a back wall and scooch it next to his bed.
“How have you been?”
The ventilator exhales.
“It’s time for our annual holiday visits again. Can you believe a year has passed since I saw you last Christmas? Time flies, doesn’t it?”
The heart monitor beeps.
“My parents are missing another holiday season,” I say. “I turned forty this year.” I stop. “My mom’s last birthday was forty.”
The word forty echoes in the sterile room.
Two cardinals light upon a branch outside his window.
They’re here. My parents are here right now.
“I brought a book I hope you’ll like this year,” I say. “It’s a classic. I was going through my parents’ favorites, and this caught my eye. It just seemed perfect this year.”
I hold up the book.
“The Polar Express.”
I look at Jordan.
“Did you ever read it?”
Silence.
“Well, it’s about a boy who’s skeptical about the existence of Santa Claus. He is lying on his bed, waiting to see if his disbelief in magic will be proven. He doesn’t believe in things he can’t see. At five minutes to midnight, he spots a train, The Polar Express, waiting on his doorstep, bound for the North Pole. After some hesitation, he finally boards the train in his pajamas and is sent on a journey of friendship, courage and belief. He reaches the North Pole...” I stop. “I don’t want to give away the ending. I have so many readers who come into the bookstore and read the ending of a book. I’m still shocked by that. The ending of anything must be a journey of discovery. Shall we get started?”
I being to read the first pages.
After a few minutes, I stop and look at Jordan.
“So, do you think God is a pantser or a plotter?”
Silence.
“It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with for a very long time now.”
More silence.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Are you a pantser or a plotter? is a question most every author receives from a reader while on tour. Being a pantser as an author means that you write by the seat of your pants, letting the characters take you on their journey. An author may not know, day to day, where the story is headed, or even what the ending will be. A plotter meticulously plans and outlines their stories before they begin writing. Some authors may write a hundred pages or so for a novel before they even type the first word. Many approach the process of writing like screenwriters do a script, laying plots and subplots out on the walls around them so they can see how it unfolds.
“I can often tell if an author is a plotter or a panster during the first few minutes we meet,” I continue. “But God’s got me fooled. He’s a mystery. Do you think all of this was planned, or do you think it just happened accidentally?”
Silence.
“Tell me, Jordan!” I suddenly yell. “Tell me you’re sorry!”
My voice booming back to me in the room startles me, and I start to cry.
I hear a squeak. I wipe my eyes and turn.
A kindly looking woman in tennis shoes, scrubs and dark bags under her eyes is peeking into the room.
“Hello, there,” she says.
“Hi,” I say.
“I thought I heard someone in here,” she says. “It’s so nice to see Jordan has a visitor. You know the last of his family passed last year? His mom sure doted on him, but the rest of the family never visited. I’m just glad he has a friend.”
Friend?
“He used to come into my bookstore,” I say. “I read to him every Christmas.”
“What a sweet thing to do,” she says, clapping her hands together. “My goodness, you’re like a real-life Santa, spreading joy to strangers.”
I can only nod. When she leaves, I stand and hold up the book.
“So how do you think it’s going to end?”
I look directly into Jordan’s unresponsive face.
“I can’t give away the ending.”