A new trimester had rolled in, and so did the frost. December brought bitter but expected winds, along with the heavy gray clouds that threaten to bring a blizzard. Yet, from this grim weather, the whole school, if not most of the town, had already set up long lines of lights from anywhere they could hang them from. From lamp posts to roofs and windows, walls and fences, people who found the time to decorate their trees and homes in colors of whites, golds, greens, reds, icy blues, and blinding violets.
In Canterlot High, paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and seemingly miles of shiny green fake garland draped above the lockers with red bows every so feet. Even in some classrooms on the desks of many teachers, there stood a tiny plastic tree, which the teachers decorated it however they wanted.
However, what was unusual this December, was that the teachers, and students who had been in Mr. Trotivari’s class or have known him, were invited an after-school meeting with Principal Celestia. The invitation made it clear that those who wished to help give their fellow teacher a Christmas he deserved must volunteer to it, and if they were interested, they were required to meet in the school’s auditorium to discuss it.
When the last bell of the day rang, a group of twenty students and a handful of teachers came by the time Celestia went up to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “Before we get started, I need to make it clear that what we’re asking here is a bit much. No doubt that all of you have obligations to your families around Christmas Break, and that’s completely understandable. After all, it’s a time when we drew close to those we know and love to celebrate a holiday that’s dedicated to that.
“However, for Harmonic Trotivari, who you may know him as a friend, coworker, or maybe as someone that has taught you, he doesn’t have that this year. About a year ago, his spouse has passed away, and his son is going to get married soon. Since his son is going to be away on the 25th, it will make it impossible to spend time with his father. This means, unless we do something, this will be a Christmas where he’ll be completely alone. He’s not expecting anything else as of late, not even doing the family traditions that he celebrates because to him, this year will be completely unreasonable.
“But this is where all of you come in if you’re dedicated to doing this, we will give him a Christmas that shows as a school, and as friends, how much we do care about him. As I’ve said, this has to be volunteer only, because it will all happen on Christmas day. If you have any doubt that doing this, you may leave now.”
Students and teachers alike turned to one another, many of them talked about whether or not they want to go with it.
“What ya think?” Lyra asked, “Do you think we could even do it, especially on Christmas?”
“Ah think it’s possible,” Braeburn thought aloud, “Mah family ain’t goin’ anywhere out of town.”
“Same here,” Bon Bon leaned back in her seat. “Although I might wanna check in with my parents about it, I do think I can do it. You?”
“I’m not sure,” her girlfriend admitted. “Other than opening presents and the whole dinner thing, that’s pretty much all we do.”
“Why not try convincing our folks to go with us?” Soarin suggested.
“Can we do that?”
“It might help a bit,” Braeburn rubbed his chin. “'Sides, even if it turned out that not many of these guys could come, what difference would it make if we celebrate it at our home, or at Mr. H’s?”
“He does have a point,” Sweetie Drops said. “Besides, even if nobody helps, at least we should step in. Heck, he helped all four of us out, so why not return a favor?”
The four of them agreed. A few minutes later, a couple of students had got up and left, but still leave behind a reasonably amount of students around. As for the teachers, not one of them had left.
“So, is everyone dedicated to doing this?” Celestia asked. Soarin raised his hand, “Yes?”
“Could we bring our families into this too?”
“I don’t see why not. The more the merrier.”
Spitfire asked, “Principal, what exactly are we doing anyway?”
“Well, I have spoken to Harmonic’s son earlier. He told me that each Christmas was Italian themed, in which that he would sing a carol in his native language, and get involved in cooking a meal entirely from scratch. So, I have a bit of a proposal, since I know your students have been in his orchestra class, perhaps I could lend to you guys a room at the school to practice one song. The idea behind that is that on Christmas morning, we’re gonna go over there to do a unique kind of caroling, that not only would you play your instruments, but I was hoping one of you would take up the task of singing that same song in Italian.”
Even with the murmurs in the room, Celestia wasn’t quite finished, “Also, but more importantly, we plan a surprise Christmas party where we bring the most authentic Italian food that we can bring to his house. Preferably, try to make something that has little or not involving anything that’s been canned.”
“Ooh boy,” Mr. Disc rubbed the top of his head, “To tell ya the truth boss, I can make things appear with the snap of a finger, but at least I have to have a good idea what exactly I bring into existence. I’m not saying that it’s impossible, I can do all the catering, but I have to do a bit of research first.”
“Fair enough,” she nodded. “So I’ll leave to you students now. Do you think you’ll be able to memorize a song in time?”
“What if we did something simple?” one of the students asked, “Something that we all know that we can play and this soon.”
“Like what?”
It was then, that Lyra snapped her fingers, “I think I have an idea.”
_*_
“…. I pronounce you, husband and wife,” the priest said before turning to Script, “You may kiss the bride.”
There was applause when Script and Page kissed, making their marriage official. Most of the guests were made up of friends and family of the bride. While on Script’s side, there were a handful of friends, plus his father that ranted the hotel Ball Room in cheers. Harmonic, however, only clapped his hands, but not cracking a smile.
Yet, all around the room, the labor of the Violinist was shown, from the tables to the tall evergreen, the catering, and even the bride’s gown showed off the amount of effort he put in for this wedding. Pine wreaths and lines of holly, garland, crimson ribbons, white lights, red and gold glass ornaments, and tablecloths of red cloths embroiled in golden threads were all over the room. At the very spot where his son shared a kiss with his wife underneath an arched gate, Harmonic added some fresh mistletoe as a nice touch.
Soon, the newly-weds were swarmed with congratulations from friends and family. When the couple came to Harmonic, Script said, “Thanks so much for this dad.”
He shrugged, “You’re quite welcome. I think that it turned out all very well.”
“I’ll say,” Page smiled, “This is all beautiful. We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
“All I did was pulled a few strings here and there. Still, I may not show it, but I’m very happy for both of you, and wish that your marriage will forever remain happy.”
His son frowned, “Dad, I think it’s obvious that you’re thinking about Pa. Just-”
“Son,” his father interrupted, “I’m going to give you both some advice that you need to promise me and each other you will keep.”
“And what’s that?” Page asked.
“Take good care of each other,” he said. “Treat the other as if they’re royalty. Hold on to every happy moment you both create because neither of you has no idea how precious your significant other really is,” Harmonic looked down, adding, “until you lose them.”
Script pulled up a seat next to his father, “Dad, I know you’re still hurt, well, so am I. But I’ve moved on. I mean, Page is my wife now and we have to think about what to do now that we’re together. Do you remember what Pa had asked you, the very last thing?”
“About moving on?”
He nodded, “He didn’t say to forget him entirely. I haven’t, but that shouldn’t hold either of us back. I know you’ve made progress with teaching, but what’s keeping you back from fulfilling that promise you made to him?”
“Script, I just don’t want to talk about this.” His father looked up, putting an arm around his shoulder, “This is your day. I don’t want the subject of Color to sour it all. So don’t worry about me. We still have an after party to set up before you two head off for New York. I’ll go tell them to bring out the food and cake, while you two go get my violin.”
Several minutes later, food was indeed brought out along with a punch bowl of floating lemon, lime, and orange slices. Small appetizers and desserts were brought forth from rolls to cookies. Yet, in the very center in three layers of candy cane lines of red and white was the cake itself.
Harmonic’s son did bring the violin case over to his father, who he sat it down on a platform where the microphone and speakers were being wired up while everyone else was starting to eat the snacks.
Once everyone has already settled down, the Violinist took out his instrument and rosin up his bow. Tapping on the microphone, he said, “Good afternoon everyone, I thank you all for coming to my son’s wedding. I’m quite proud of not only that Script has found someone, but has after several years of dating, have gotten the chance to marry the one he loves.” There was polite applause for a moment.
He continued, “While I’m up here, I want to take a moment to talk about the bride. Page has made quite an impression on my son over the years. She has been supportive of Script’s passion for writing as she is to begin a teaching career. Not to say that she’s the first critic that he faces as well his biggest fan when it comes to his stories. Page has a characteristic in which both my son and I admire, and that is she is optimistic about the future and is willing to work hard to make her dreams come true.
“So, if I can invite the newlyweds up for their slow dance, I would like to play for them a little something on this old violin of mine. To tell you the truth, out of all the things I have helped with setting this up, the song for the slow dance was for me the most difficult to decide. But then on the radio, I’ve heard a song that made me say, ‘Of course, that’s it!’ Because the very tune that they played is actually the oldest love song in the English language ever recorded. A timeless tune called, Greensleeves.”
The newly married couple made up to the space between the platform and the ring of tables. Harmonic lifted up his bow to play out a familiar tune in his own fashion of double-steps and trills. From the small, wooden instrument, a fantasy had played out while his son and his wife waltzed. From this ancient music, the Violinist dreamed of a similar time similar to this day. His eyes watched on the peaceful smiles and love-struck stairs of the couple, and mentally recalled of a similar time when he too was that happy.
For a moment, he thought he saw Color’s look of optimistic hope of the future on his son’s face.
With the last down-bow of the final note, the Ballroom applauded, both for the father’s performance and for the newlywed’s dance.
As time went on, the numbers of the wedding party had dwindled until all remained behind was the Violinist himself, and the couple. “Hey dad,” Script said, “Thanks for the music, and everything else.”
His father waved it off, “Please, I would gladly do it again if I had to.”
Page went up to Harmonic and hugged, “It was magical. We should repay the favor sometime.”
“Oh come, come,” her father-in-law shook his head, “You both know you don’t have to repay me anything.”
“Very well,” his son said, “Then I guess you won’t need your Christmas present after all.”
The Violinist blinked, “Pardon?”
“Oh nothing, since we’re not going to be home for Christmas, I thought I might wanna send you a little something while we’re away.”
His father tilted his head, “Like what? Did you buy me something?”
“Not exactly, but it is a present that we’ve got for you.”
“Where is it?”
“You’ll see,” Page gave a cocky grin. “Let’s just say that it’s on its way now.”
Harmonic tried to gain some kind of clue on what they were talking about, but it was to no use. As they walked out of the hotel, a car was waiting for them to take them to their home before going to the airport. They said their goodbyes and exchanged hugs before the couple left.
Sighing, the Violinist looked up at the sky of falling snow, ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘Here I go again.’
_*_
Harmonic woke up alone in his bed. Looking over to the nightstand, the clock told him that it was nine in the morning, the day was December the 25th, and all was quiet in his house. In front of him, was the shrouded portrait, which pale light of morning beamed thin lights from the shaded window.
Sighing, the Orchestra teacher rolled out of bed, and did his usual morning routine of a morning shower, a quick shave, and putting on his bath robe and slippers before he went downstairs. In the cool light, he spotted the decorated tree where all the lights were off that underneath were very few presents. It was almost that his Living Room was like an empty set on a stage, in an equally empty theater.
The first thing that came to his mind was the word: absent. For in that silent house, it was absent of everything that made this day so special. There was no family that was eager to open presents. No joyful music that was being played to the off-key laughter when a funny gift was opened. No unwrapping of candy wrappers that once filled the stalking. No huge mess to clean up after the colorful paper had been ripped apart. No son that had the excitement and anticipation of seeing the reaction of opening the gifts he gave him. And above all, the room was absent of his husband with a pot of hot chocolate that he prepared earlier, that waited for everyone else to come.
“Buon Natale, il mio più caro marito,” He said softly before slumping into his favorite chair. In the stillness, he glanced over to the fireplace, on the spot where Color had sat a year ago. He almost refused to believe that it really has been a year that he had come back home from his tour to spend Christmas with his family, only to be the last for his husband; for the next day to find out that he had only a few weeks to live.
For a brief moment, his mind daydreamed that the room was filled with light, the mantle with warmth, and his family was together once more. By the tree, he could almost see his son and his wife opening the presents he got for them. And by his side, Color sat, in full health and saying back to him, “Marry Christmas to you too Harm.”
Yet, he blinked a few times, and the fantasy had died away.
Deciding that he wasn’t going to just sit there all morning, he whipped the tear from his eye and headed towards the kitchen to make some an uneventful breakfast. After sitting back down in his armchair with a bowl of cereal in hand, he munched away in silence.
‘I should probably call Script in a few hours,’ he thought, ‘just to see how they’re doing over there. But… what do I after that? There’s no big dinner to set up, or songs to play much less to sing about. Not to mention that a good chunk of the town is shutdown… Perhaps I could treat myself to a movie or something. Maybe I could gather up the mental strength to visit Color’s grave, but I’m not sure what to bring him.’
He looked up from his bowl for a brief moment, looking at the tree that stood in front of the window. In this light, the colors on the tree were muted of its blues and silver glass orbs that hung from the dark green tree. Before he returned to his humble meal, his eye caught a glimpse of a dashing shadow from the drawn window.
Setting the bowl on his piano, he got up to investigate, tying his robe shut from the cold before opening the front door.
There was no one there.
“Hello?” he called out. But looking around from his line of vision, all he could see along the street was snow and a bunch of cars that lined up all along the sidewalk. “Weird,” he said to himself before closing the door.
But no sooner as he done that, Harmonic began to hear an unusual sound. At first, it started so softly that if he didn’t stop completely to take a listen, he might have missed it completely. At first, it sounded like violins and violas were playing, while at the same time were joined by a tiny choir.
“Astro del ciel, Pargol divin,” he knew that tune. Even in his childhood days in Italy, he knew exactly what that song was, “mite Agnello Redentor!” Harmonic turned around to open the door, in which the music became clear.
“Tu che i Vati da lungi sognar, Tu che angeliche voci nunziar, luce dona alle genti pace infondi nei cuor!”
Even when he looked around, he didn’t see anyone, but the sound was coming from near his garage. As he walked out to the unshoveled driveway, the instruments were joined with more violas and cellos.
“Astro del ciel, Pargol divin, mite Agnello Redentor!” as he walked out, he found that hid driveway wasn’t empty at all. To his stunned surprise, there was a small group of his students, made up of strings, including a waiting double bass, a clarinet player, a harp, and one had a pair of jingle bells. While those who weren’t playing instruments stood there in the cold singing the best they could to pronounce the words of his native tongue from the sheets of paper. “Tu di stirpe regale decor, Tu virgineo, mistico fior, luce dona alle genti, pace infondi nei cuor!”
Harmonic also noticed that he apart from the people he did recognize such as his bosses, a handful of teachers, Lyra, Sweetie Drops, Soarin and Braeburn, there were a couple of people that he had no idea who they were while they sang the last verse in which the double bass, clarinet, harp, and bells joined in.
“Astro del ciel, Pargol divin, mite Agnello Redentor! Tu disceso a scontare l'error, Tu sol nato a parlare d'amor, luce dona alle menti, pace infondi nei cuor!”
When the third verse was finished, there was a pause from both Harmonic and those who knew him. But the Orchestra teacher spoke first, “What’s going on?”
Mr. Disc stepped out, lighting his music sheet on fire for warmth. “Well, let me give it to you straight, both of our bosses felt sorry for ya that you’re all alone for Christmas so she sends us to help cheer you up.”
He looked over to the carolers for a moment, “By cheering me up you mean you all came over here just to sing me Silent Night in Italian?”
“Not exactly, we’re here for the party.”
Harmonic blinked, “Party? What are ya taking about?”
Julius turned to the group, “I’ll take that as a yes, now come on,” he snapped his fingers, “Get all the food out of my car! C’mon, they won’t stay fresh forever, let’s go!”
The group made for Mr. Disc’s car where they pulled out fresh tomatoes, salad greens, peppers, capers, spices, pizza dough, fresh noodles, pots, pans, spatulas, eggs, milk, Parmesan, mozzarella, knives, plates, forks, tables, chairs, tablecloths, cups, bottles of wine, bottles of Italian sodas, spring water, chocolate bars, chocolate chips, heavy cream, butter, salt and pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, tree nuts, strawberries, oranges, limes, lemons, bread sticks, apples, and a grocery store worth of ingredients.
Harmonic himself was helpless to stop the flowing river of people that entered his home with all the supplies and food, and most headed straight towards the crowded kitchen to begin cooking.
The Violinist caught up with his bosses, “Celestia, Luna, what is going on? What are they doing? Don’t any of them have some other place to be?”
“They all volunteered,” Luna said, “even some of them had dragged their families along for this.”
“But what are they doing?”
“Script said that you guys have done an Italian Christmas,” Celestia clarified. “So we’re pitching in so that you won’t be alone today when friends and family matter most.”
“So you invited the school over and probably their families over here?”
“Problem?”
Harmonic looked down at his bathrobe, “For starters, I’m not even decent, and secondly, I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“Who says we need permission to cheer you up? Now hold this,” Luna handed him a cheese wheel. “I think there are still a few more things in Mr. Disc’s car.”
“There’s more!”
“Hey Mr. H,” he turned to Sweetie Drops setting up and rearranging chairs in his living room, “Merry Christmas.”
“Excuse me, Bon Bon, but do you happen to know how many people are here?”
“Let me think…” she put her hand underneath her chin. “There were nine who played the instruments, and twenty of us that sang plus the Apples, Couldlines, my mom and Lyra’s dad and… three other parents so that makes…” she counted on her hands. “Forty if you included the principals.”
Harmonic couldn’t believe what he was hearing, so much so, that he gave the candy maker the cheese wheel and said, “I’m just gonna go upstairs for a while.”
_*_
“Hey, has anyone seen Mr. H?” Soarin asked. Although it took almost all morning, everyone was ready for the big feast as the impromptu party had finished setting up everything.
Braeburn looked around, noticing the absent teacher as well. “Now you’ve mentioned it, where is he?”
“I think he said something about going up stairs,” Bon Bon said. “Don’t know what for. Mind if one of you head up there and tell him that this whole lunch/dinner thing is ready?”
The farmer was the first to ascend the stairs as well as Soarin. In all the times they have been to their teacher’s home, never once have they ever venture to go upstairs. At the top, they heard a muffled conversation from their Orchestra teacher that was coming behind a closed door.
“-id this happen?” they heard Harmonic’s voice say, “A year ago, you were still here, I was having a great life with you. And then a year later, I found myself being invaded by my own students, bosses, and coworkers. Oh! And to top it off, Script somehow orchestrated this. I mean… what would you have said if you were still here?”
“Who the hay is he talkin’ to,” Braeburn asked what was on their minds.
“I know… I know… I should be grateful a bit here. They’re trying to make me happy again, trying to present a Christmas that we had on an industrial scale. They even went out of their way of singing, (okay, at least tried to sing) in Italian like how I used to. Clearly they’ve put all this effort into making this but… Color, it’s just… it’s not the same.” Their teacher sighed, “Why did you have to go? I mean, I understand you were not well and the doctors clearly said there was nothing they could do but… Oh, how do I say this without sounding selfish? Would it have been possible if you lived just a little longer? You were just gone too soon, your art had died too young, and I… I wasn’t ready to let go.”
Then, behind the door, they heard a sob, “I guess I’m still not. With you gone, what’s more to life to even contribute? What good have I done that could have brightened after your death? In the course of a year, I’ve done nothing! You made me a promise to be happy again by sharing it, and I’ve done nothing! I haven’t done a single damn thing, to spread that happiness you’ve given me! I’m no more different now than I was a year ago!”
For the farmer, he thought that this wasn’t a good time to even let him know that dinner was ready. His boyfriend, however, breathing in a sense of determination, walked over to the door. “Soar? What are ya doin’?”
He didn’t answer as he opened up the door. They found Harmonic on the bed, with one hand over his eyes and another on a framed picture. When Soarin opened the door, he said calmly but solemnly, “Mr. H, you’re wrong.”
Their teacher looked up, “Soarin, now’s not-”
“No! You listen to me,” his student cut him off. “Dude, I get that having Color gone sucks. I get that you’re really missing him. But you’re wrong that you’ve done nothing, because, in case you haven’t noticed, you have.”
“In what,” Harmonic questioned, “All I’ve done is teach music.”
“But if it weren’t for you,” Soarin pointed over to his boyfriend, “I and Brae would probably not be dating now. Not to mention that Lyra and Bon Bon wouldn’t have figured out the whole college thing, and I know this because that was the reason they’ve come here. I don’t know what you’ve been telling yourself, but believe it or not, you’re not just a good teacher, but we want to consider you as a great friend because you’ve helped us out when we’ve needed it. In a way, that’s what this whole party is about, we’re thanking you for all you’ve done, even when your spouse has died. So don’t give me all of that ‘I haven’t done a damn thing’ crap because you’ve been a huge help to us!”
Sighing, the blue athlete sat down next to his teacher, “Look, I’m sorry I yelled Mr. H. But even when the love of your life is gone, you’ve been so selfless when it came to us. I mean, it just seemed unfair that you would be alone on Christmas when you’ve given us useful advice at a time that we had nobody else to turn to. So, don’t think of yourself any less because even when you don’t see it, Brae and I are happier than ever. For that, I wanna thank ya for it.”
Harmonic whipped away the straying tears from his face, “You really mean that?”
“He’s right,” Braeburn entered the room. “Since that summer, not only Ah get to date who Ah love, but was able ta have a life outside of the farm, and be mah true self both at school, and in-front of mah family. We owe it to ya that if ya didn’t, there’s no tellin’ what would have to happen.” The cowboy spotted the framed picture on the bed that was lying face down. “What’s that?”
“Huh?” he looked over to the painting. Picking it up, he put it on his lap, “The last thing that Color ever made.”
Soarin and Braeburn looked over to the unfinished family portrait and gazed for the first time on the face of their teacher’s deceased husband. “Oh... So that’s what he looked like,” the Apple farmer commented.
Harmonic laughed sadly, “Indeed.”
“Who’s in the middle?” Soarin pointed to the sketch that was between the two figures.
“That’s my son,” he answered. “Our boy has grown up fast since the day we’ve adopted him. Come to think of it… tomorrow would mark his… has it been fourteen years now already? My… time has really gone by quickly. Yes, tomorrow would mark the fourteen years that Color and I have been fathers to him.”
“Ah recon you’ve done a good job at it,” Braeburn said. This got the Violinist’s attention and asked him what he meant by that, “Well, think about it, would yer kid really go out of his way to contact the Principal ta put this whole shindig together? If yer weren’t, he probably wouldn’t bother. Guess it’s his way of sayin’ thanks as well.”
“I…” Harmonic sighed, “You’re right. You’re both right. I guess I’m not used to spontaneous guests that come and cook dinner for me. Speaking of which, nobody’s burned down the kitchen have they?”
The two boys laughed, “Nah sir. If anythin’ it smells really good down stairs. Oh! Ah nearly forgot, we were comin’ up here to tell ya that we’re all ready ta go ahead and eat.”
“Thank you both,” their teacher stood up with the portrait in hand, “I’m come down with you shorty.”
After they left, Harmonic placed the painting back in its place before grabbing the black cloth. However, he paused for a moment before opening a drawer and sticking it in it. After a change in clothing, the Orchestra teacher went downstairs to spend Christmas with his friends, students, and coworkers.