Kris Miss

By Richard Shoupe

This is a story of Christmas rediscovered. In the world of 2100, technology has brought beneficial change to the entire world, but at a price. Most people feel their fast-paced everyday lives no longer have room for
"frivolous" rituals and traditions of the past. Young Marissa Stevens begins a campaign to change that.

At ten years of age, Marissa has a brief encounter with a mysterious old character named Chris. He tells her a story. He teaches her a song. She will never be the same again. Marissa begins a search for all she can find relating to Christmas in the past. She is enchanted with what she discovers and wishes to expose all she has found to the world. The response is profound, if not immediate. The adoring attention she eventually receives nearly overwhelms her.

This is also a story, primarily a story, of how Marissa, her family and friends attempt to cope with the crazy situation Marissa has created for them. Shocks, revelations and changes come in waves for everyone. Chris appears unexpectantly twice more, cryptic and befuddling to Marissa's elders, but never to her. Marissa ultimately longs for a return to the sanctuary of anonymity, an impossible dream now. She is "The girl who saved Christmas" in the public mind now, and must learn to accept it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Shoupe
• Release date: Dec 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465701275

Richard Shoupe

I am sixty-two years of age, a lifelong resident of the metropolitan Detroit area in Michigan, and presently employed at our local international airport.

Book preview

Preface

December is a time of splendor and excitement for all Christians in this first year of the twenty-third century. Cities and towns celebrate the birthday of Christ with laser-powered Stars of Bethlehem. The retail centers outdo themselves with new festive holiday displays. Songs of the season rise from street corners and doorsteps. Holographic holiday scenes ranging from whimsy to piety adorn the lawns of our neighborhoods. Dazzling light displays grace our houses and landscapes. Families are transforming their tasteful interiors into riotous color schemes of green, red and white. They are hanging ornaments on their evergreen trees, making gift lists and planning elaborate dinners. Did you know that it was not always so?

There was a time when Christmas nearly disappeared, dismissed as a useless relic of the past, unacknowledged year after year by most of the population. The few who continued to celebrate Christmas did so behind closed doors, fearful of social disapproval. There were no Christmas dinners, decorated homes, gift exchanges or laser-powered stars. There was work to do and frivolous archaic customs no longer had a place in society.

Now, do not rush to judge our ancestors. They were no more cruel or heartless than us. They simply belonged to a culture of misplaced priorities, to a world that rejected the wisdom of the ages as irrelevant. Those times were not so long ago. The oldest among us were children then. Marissa Stevens Rivera was a child then. This story is about her, and about Christmas, and about change. Shall we begin?

Kris Miss

Chapter 1

The year of 2100 was fast approaching, riding the tail of a vicious arctic storm. All air traffic throughout the Chicago-Detroit corridor was at a standstill and the roads were impassable to wheeled vehicles, but occasionally an air-cushioned land-skimmer could be seen slicing through the wind and stinging snow.

Marissa Stevens stared forlornly at the scene from her second-story bedroom window. After two days of constant snow, she was beginning to wonder if it would ever stop. She felt trapped by the blizzard, but fascinated by it too. There were countless entertainment options to amuse her in her modern home but none of them could draw her attention. She was lost in the hypnotic effect of the swirling storm and began to imagine a world covered in eternal snow. She blew a strand of hair from her rapidly glazing eyes and absently tapped her fingers on the windowpane. A sudden rap on the bedroom door broke her light trance.

It's bedtime, her mother announced as she entered the room.

Marissa clasped her hands together, theatrically pleading, Can I please stay up just a few more minutes? I can tuck myself in tonight.

Her mother grudgingly consented and quietly closed the door behind her as she left. Marissa returned to the window for one last long look at the storm. Finally tiring of her vigil, she ordered her computer to close the drapes and dim the lights. She crawled into bed and patiently waited for the sandman to arrive.

Chapter 2

Marissa awoke the next morning from a fitful night full of strange disjointed dreams. She seemed to glide in the air, guided over bleak winter landscapes to isolated homes awash in bright color and song. As the dreams faded from her mind, she slid out of bed and groggily stumbled to the window. The snow was slowing at last and her neighborhood seemed like a fluffy dreamland. No tracks or footprints marred the view. It was astounding! She wanted to burst outside and dive into the nearest snowdrift, but class came first.

Her mother called from the hallway, Breakfast is ready. Marissa turned from the window, threw on her blue jumper, and tromped downstairs. In the kitchen, the computer was showing visuals and announcing details of the storm. She watched intently for a while but the adults blithely went about their usual routines.

Even back in those days, storms were just a minor annoyance and most Detroiters ignored them. However, they sometimes disrupted the shipment of goods, an option many households relied upon. Some shoppers picked up their purchases at the LDC (local distribution center) to save on delivery charges, but most folks found that too bothersome. If delivery services stopped for more than a couple of days though, an army of panicky consumers was sure to invade the distribution center.

After breakfast, Marissa rushed upstairs to tidy her room before school. She took most of her classes at home through a visual cyber-link connecting the teachers with their students. A messy room always drew derision from fellow classmates. Who needed that? The children worked until recess at eleven o'clock, and returned at eleven-thirty for two more hours of study. Some hands-on classes met late in the afternoons at the Education Complex (re-named The Funhouse by the children).

Marissa's parents, John and Laura, were in their offices when she peeked in on them after class. She knew not to bother them there, and went in search of her grandmother. Grangie was usually easy to find. If not world traveling on the Virreal hook-up in the game room, she would be reading in the solarium. Marissa found her in the solarium lying on a couch with a large book in her lap (before the computer age, books were printed on paper and bound in durable covers). Jonny, her little brother, was sprawling on the floor nearby, playing with his holographic toys.

In the ten years of Marissa's life, she had never known anyone else to actually open and read a book. Most book owners used them as mere ornaments and quaint conversation pieces. Angela, her grandmother, still enjoyed reading them - aloud! Marissa would occasionally listen to her intently. It was pleasantly odd how her mind conjured images from the words issuing from her grandmother's mouth; they were often more interesting and colorful than those projected by her video books. Her grandmother was fond of telling Marissa, There is nothing more wondrous than the imagination, our own personal Virreal machines.

Marissa listened for a minute, and then interrupted. May I go to the LDC, Grandma?

She received the standard reply: As long as you're back in time for dinner.

Marissa bolted for the door, slipped into her boots, and threw on her coat as she bounded out into the sterile wilds of suburban Detroit now buried by twenty-seven inches of white powder. The solitary tree in the park was a wondrous study in contrasts, white upon black. It seemed somehow softer and warmer while clothed in its mantle of snow. The entire landscape was softer and without corners or edges. Marissa passed her best friend Glenna's home and saw a choir of snow-angels in the front yard. She noted the irony of that, and sped up her pace as the wind began to kick up and chill her. She hurried past countless snowmen, dodged snowballs tossed by some boys near the LDC, and rushed into the building.

The local distribution center consisted of four shining stories of glass and metal covering hundreds of acres. It was the only remaining large retail outlet in the area and it served the entire west side of Detroit. More than half a million customers relied on its services. Goods of every kind flowed in through its doors and filtered out to the shoppers. It was a magnet for the children, who never tired of wandering through the countless showrooms. Most adults preferred to scan the showrooms remotely from their home computers.

The children used the LDC as a central meetinghouse. There were game rooms, food shops, a gymnasium, swimming pools and skating rinks. There were media screens and live musicians too, but the strongest attraction was that few grown-ups were ever around during weekdays. On weekends, people of all ages visited the various dining and recreational facilities.

A crowd had gathered on that day in the main seating area at the meeting point of four great corridors in the center of the complex. Curious, Marissa headed straight for the crowd and stood upon a nearby bench to see better. At the center of the crowd sat a fat old man with a great white beard who she recognized immediately. He had enchanted Marissa with his rambling stories on several previous occasions. She had never before met anyone so oddly captivating. The children knew him only as Chris. He was dressed in the style of the day (dark slacks and a collarless shirt under a lightweight robe, all made from space-age materials), but his jovial nature set him apart from other adults.

He often spoke of the old days and many of his stories were about Christmas, which was no longer widely celebrated in Marissa's time. The Fourth of July was the only official holiday in the United States then. On that holiday, families gathered in droves to visit the local carnivals and to see high-tech fireworks. Other holidays had all but vanished due to the demanding nature of contemporary life.

Chris was beginning a story of a ten-year-old girl who had grown up in Detroit twenty-five years earlier. When he told the hushed crowd that the girl's name was Laura, Marissa came to full attention. Laura was her mother's name. "What a coincidence," she thought.

The old man said, Laura was a most inquisitive girl who often wandered all over town. She was a little social butterfly, a rare thing to be in those days, and she would stop to chat with anyone who had time for her. Marissa pictured a butterfly with her mother's face flitting around and talking to people in a tiny voice. She giggled at the silly thought.

Our little friend happened to love old nearly forgotten songs and her ear was always cocked for ones she'd never heard before. Chris paused, chuckled quietly to himself, and then went on. One day as she was scooting through the park, Laura passed a woman who was sitting on a bench and humming a lovely tune. The little girl stopped to listen, hoping to pick up the melody. After a short while, the woman noticed her and fell silent. She smiled pleasantly and waved for Laura to come closer. Laura rushed up and told her how beautiful she thought the song was. When she asked the woman to teach it to her, the woman looked down sweetly and mentioned that she knew other songs too. If Laura wanted, she could learn one song a day until she knew them all. Laura was delighted and quickly agreed to the plan. That first day in the park, she learned the melody easily but had trouble with the words. The woman patiently repeated the song until Laura finally knew it all. Its name is 'Silent Night.' Would you like to hear it?

The children clapped enthusiastically and Chris began to sing in a low voice. When he ended the song, he told the children that it was their turn to sing. He nodded and began the song again. At first, the children were shy and barely audible, but they soon gained confidence and the hall rang with the voice of song. Some curious and amused adults stopped to watch, nudging and pointing, as a growing stream of young faces converged to swell the crowd.

When the song ended and quiet had returned to the hall, Chris proceeded with his story. The woman's name was Carol and she once sang in a famous choir. She knew many lovely songs and she was happy to pass them on. Laura followed Carol to her home to learn the way, and the two shared a plate of sugar cookies and became better acquainted. Laura came back often until she learned every song that Carol knew. On her last visit, Carol gave Laura a small music box that played 'Silent Night' when she opened the lid. 'Take it with you so you'll never forget the tune,' Carol said. Laura thanked her and scooted home with the music box under her arm. She never saw Carol again. Chris then lowered his voice to a whisper, And that music box is still stashed away at her home in some forgotten place, waiting for her to remember it.

Chris slowly rose. The story was over. As he turned to wave good-bye, he subtly nodded and winked in Marissa's direction, or so she imagined. "What an odd little man," she thought as she prepared for the cold trip home.

Chapter 3

The song seemed haunting and familiar to Marissa. She was sure she had never heard it before, but it seemed to stick in her mind. She sometimes found herself humming the melody during idle moments. One morning, Marissa bounced downstairs for breakfast while humming her tune. Her father turned in his chair and began to tease her, What a sweet little song for a sour little girl. Where did you pick that up?

Marissa punched him in the arm and pretended to pout. I'm not a sour little girl and a funny old man at the LDC taught it to us last week.

John tickled her until she broke away laughing and went to her chair. Laura was preparing breakfast, but set down her butter knife and turned her head when she heard Marissa's melody. When her girl stopped humming, she returned to her duties. Marissa noticed the odd look on her mother's face as she turned, but quickly forgot about it when her dad