Tomorrow in Baghdad

Despite her name, Mary did not really believe in miracles. She believed in love and in hope. She believed in God and her family. She believed in her country and her husband. But she didn’t really believe in miracles.

Even when she was a girl, Mary was too willfully pragmatic to believe in miracles. She patiently and politely listened to the tales of elves and fat men in sleighs pulled by flying reindeer but she never really bought into it. It was, she would realize once she was grown, something that always made her mother a little sad.

Mary went to church every Sunday and she believed in God though she reserved a more than a bit of skepticism about some of what she considered to be the more fanciful tales in the Bible. If God had ever been in the miracle business, she decided, he certainly wasn’t doing that kind of stuff anymore. This too made her mother a little sad.

Despite this, Mary did always love the holiday season. From Thanksgiving to Christmas the world was a brighter place and she liked that. She liked the music of the season and the aroma of her mother’s spicy sugar cookies baking on brisk afternoons; she liked the way her father thought that he had found perfect hiding places for the gifts he’d bought for her and her sister and her mother.

Christmas had been warm and cozy…her parents and her sister and her friends had gone out of their way to make it so…to distract her with the joy of the holiday…and as she finished washing the last dish from the scrumptious meal everybody had contributed to, Mary couldn’t help but smile gratefully.

But even though she couldn’t completely shake off the melancholy she felt deep down. She had dared to hope that her David would be able call…he told her it was not at all a sure thing but, despite knowing better, she had dared to hope just the same.

The days and nights since he had left were terribly, terribly long and lonely but she knew that they would be…she’d been through it before. The holiday season had come before she knew it and, being who she was, she threw herself into it though it felt more bittersweet than she would have liked.

Mary’s heart jumped expectantly every time the phone rang that Christmas Day and though the expressions of love and friendship were welcome she found herself crestfallen…it was love but it wasn’t David.

The hours passed and she made peace with the fact that David would have called on that Christmas Day if he could have…she knew that with all of her heart. But the Christmas night had almost slipped away…it was quarter past 11 PM as she dried her hands and shut off the kitchen light. It was still Christmas in America but it was tomorrow in Baghdad.

Mary slipped into the warm nightgown David had somehow managed to send along with other treasured gifts…she hoped that her box had gotten to him…she prayed that he was safe and well as he patrolled that faraway desert land…she wished, despite herself, that he had been able to call on Christmas Day.

Mary slipped into her lonely bed and was just about to shut off the light when the phone rang. Despite the disappointments of the day, she still dared to hope. Mary picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Howdy, ma’am,” a deep but chipper, faraway voice said.

Mary smiled and fought back a tear. “Hey, sergeant,” she said in a small, creamy voice.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” David said, “thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?”

“No,” Mary said, “I knew you would call if you could…but it’s not really Christmas for you anymore…”

“Yes it is, sweetheart,” David replied warmly. “It’s still Christmas where you are….it’s still Christmas at home.”

Mary sighed softly. “Yes it is,” she said, “yes it certainly is.”

Mary, despite her name, still didn’t believe in miracles…but she still believed in hope…she believed in love…she believed in her husband…she believed in God and her country…and, on that night, she believed in Christmas magic.