It was supposed to be a quiet, romantic New Year’s Eve until Patrick brought a friend home—well, not actually a friend—just someone he met on the subway platform. Ella sighed. It wasn’t like her husband to bring strangers home unannounced, but apparently, an end-of-year law bonus made Patrick feel more magnanimous than usual.
“Marcus seemed lost,” Patrick explained, introducing the stranger to his wife. “He missed the last train and was going to camp out at the station. I just thought being a little generous to mankind was a good way to start the year.”
Ella nodded and gave Marcus a weak smile. Dressed in a too-tight tux with sweat trickling down from his temples, the man looked a bit like a penguin emerging from the ocean to molt. But his eyes sparkled, and his face radiated a warmth that lowered Ella’s defenses. She looked around for a suitcase but saw only a white plastic bag, the kind used in kitchen garbage cans. Scraps of torn paper peeked out from the top. “Odd,” she thought, “For such a well-dressed man to travel like a homeless man.”
As if reading her mind, Marcus spoke up. “Oh, I travel light. It’s so easy to get bogged down with unnecessary possessions. Just take what you need. That’s my motto.” He smiled and lifted the bag up to show how light it was.
Ella glanced sheepishly around the living room. Toys littered the carpet, romance novels gathered dust on the coffee table, and the parts of a model ship lay strewn on the sideboard, competing for attention with her collection of Lladro figurines. Yes, she thought with embarrassment. Too many possessions. She felt guilty about it, but sometimes she dreamed of living a free and unencumbered life.
Before Ella had a chance to lead Marcus into the guest room, Billy emerged from his bedroom awe-stricken. “Are you Santa Claus?” he asked, eyeing the large man with his plastic sack. Marcus laughed. “No, but maybe I can find something for you in here later.”
While Marcus freshened up, Ella gave Patrick the evil eye for ruining their romantic evening. She blew out the candles and reset the table for four with their everyday dishes. But how would she divide the two chicken cutlets and parse out the rice pilaf? Little Billy wouldn’t eat much, but she hadn’t planned for a third adult. And Marcus wasn’t a small man. No, he was at least six feet tall and rotund. Jolly, actually.
Preoccupied with organizing dinner, Ella had not realized that Billy had turned the contents of Marcus’s bag upside down. Colorful photos clipped from magazines lay scattered across the floor, and Billy seemed intent on organizing them into piles that only a three-year-old could comprehend.
“Ah,” said Marcus, emerging form the bedroom. “I see you have discovered my treasure trove of New Year’s intentions and desires. Well, why wait? Let’s start our collages now.”
“Collages? Intentions and desires? But dinner…” Ella was nonplussed.
“Ah, dinner,” Marcus said, realizing he had upended her plans. “Why don’t you let me handle that?”
Ella was not used to a man taking charge in her kitchen, but Marcus whipped on an apron and started slicing the chicken into bite-size pieces. “Please, sit down, all of you,” he said, gesturing like the maître de of a fine restaurant. “Let’s dream a little.”
Marcus gathered the scattered pictures and brought them to the table, along with several scissors and glue sticks. Then he handed Ella, Patrick, and Billy each an 8 x 11 piece of thin cardboard. On the back, write down or draw three things you want for the coming year. But don’t share it with one another just yet.”
Ella wasn’t sure where this was going, but she had to admit—it was nice to be off her feet and let someone else take charge for once. She watched as Marcus whispered and giggled with Billy, helping him with his three wishes. She wondered what her son’s list would be before considering her priorities and dreams.
When they had each come up with three things, Marcus said they should use those as context for their New Year’s collage. “Be creative and playful,” he said. “Like you were as a child. There are no rules, no right or wrong ways to do collage.”
For the next hour, while Marcus whipped up dinner, they sifted, snipped, and pasted until their boards were covered with colorful, overlapping images. “Now,” he said, as they enjoyed steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup, “it’s time to share your creations and what they say about your dreams and intentions.”
Ella’s collage featured a bird in flight, painted toenails peeking out of sand, an independent bookstore in a small village, a cradle, a feather pen, bubbles, stained glass windows, and a forked river.
“Well,” she said hesitatingly, “I love my family and being a mother, so I’d like to have another child.” She expected Patrick to react, but when he looked at her and smiled, she went on. “And yet, another part of me would like to escape some of my day-to-day responsibilities, have some time to myself, and rekindle my passion for writing. I once dreamed of being an author, so having more time to read and write would be my second wish. Finally, I’d like to focus on my spiritual growth and discovering other forms of worship, maybe through meditation, study, or travel.”
Patrick put his hand over hers and squeezed it softly. He turned his board over to reveal a home library, an array of colorful vegetables, a park with children playing, camping equipment, and a train entering a mountain tunnel. “My desire is to spend more time with my son or children,” he said with a wink, acknowledging Ella’s wish for another child. Billy and I could go camping, giving you more time to write and relax. I could turn part of the basement into a study and put in some billable hours from home.” He turned to Ella. “We could do the same with one of the guest rooms, Ella; make it a place for you to write.”
“What do the vegetables represent, dear?” asked Ella, laughing. Her husband was a typical meat-and-potatoes man.
“Well, I’ve put on some weight the past year, and my last medical indicated high cholesterol. I’d like to practice more of the Mediterranean diet and go meatless once or twice a week. We could even grow some of our food in a garden out back. And, like Ella, I would like to travel and expose Billy to other cultures and landscapes.”
Marcus smiled but didn’t say anything. Things were unfolding quite nicely without his input. “Billy, did you fill in your board with pictures?”
They all turned to the three-year-old, who was still concentrating on gluing pictures in place. His sticky fingers picked up the board. There were pictures of toys—Legos, trucks, blocks, a tent—but the center featured a family holding hands and running in a meadow, the sun beaming down on their smiling faces. He didn’t have to explain.
“Billy, that’s wonderful,” said Ella. “I think many of our wishes and desires overlap.”
“I would suggest,” Marcus said, removing the empty bowls, “that you hang these somewhere visible so that your intentions turn to reality. Otherwise, life has a way of pushing them to the side.” He looked up at the clock. “It’s just a few hours before midnight. How about I occupy Billy with a book before bed and let you two enjoy some quality time together?” Reaching into the sack, he miraculously pulled out a bottle of French champagne.
Ella was not about to protest. Holding up a glass of the bubbly, she toasted, “Here’s to Marcus for helping us rediscover and share our joys and passions for the New Year!”
