He Sees You When You're Sleeping

skating was as natural to her as breathing, and lately it had been the only thing that eased the hurt that filled her chest and throat.

The music changed, and without thinking she adjusted to the new, softer rhythm, a waltz. For a moment she pretended she was with Daddy. She could almost feel his hand linked with hers, could almost see NorNor, her grandmother, smiling at her.

Then she remembered that she really didn’t want to skate with Daddy or even talk to him, or to NorNor. They had gone away, hardly saying good-bye to her. The first bunch of times they phoned she had pleaded with them to come back or to let her come visit them, but they had said that was impossible. Now when they called, she wouldn’t talk to them.

She didn’t care, she told herself.

But still, she closed her eyes whenever a car she was in happened to drive past NorNor’s restaurant; it hurt to remember how much fun it had been to go there with Daddy. The place was always crowded, sometimes NorNor played the piano, and people always asked Daddy to sing. Sometimes they’d bring over his CD and ask him to sign the cover.

Now she never went there. She had heard Mommy tell Roy -he was Mommy’s husband now- that without NorNor, the restaurant was really struggling and would probably have to close soon.

What did Daddy and NorNor expect when they went away? Marissa wondered. NorNor always said that unless she was there every night the place would fall on its face. “It’s my living room,” she used to tell Marissa. “You don’t invite people over to your house and not be there.”

If NorNor loved her restaurant so much, why did she go away? And if Daddy and NorNor loved her like they said, why did they leave her behind?

She hadn’t seen them in almost a whole year. Christmas Eve was her birthday. She would be eight years old, and even though she still was very angry with them, she had promised God that if the bell rang on Christmas Eve and they were standing at the door, she would never be mean to anyone as long as she lived and would help Mommy with the babies and stop acting bored when Roy told the same stupid stories over and over. If it would help, she’d even promise never to skate again as long as she lived, but she knew that was a promise Daddy wouldn’t want her to make, because if he ever did come back, he’d want to take her skating.

The music stopped and the skating teacher, Miss Carr, who had brought twelve students to Rockefeller Center as a special treat, motioned that it was time to go. Marissa did one final pirouette before she coasted to the exit. The minute she started to untie her laces the hurt came back. She could feel it growing around her heart and filling her chest and then rising like a tide into her throat. But though it was a struggle, she managed to keep it from pressing against her eyes.

“You’re a terrific skater,” one of the attendants said. “You’ll be a star like Tara Lipinsky when you grow up.”

NorNor used to tell her that all the time. Before she could help herself, Marissa’s eyes began to blur. Turning her head so that the attendant wouldn’t see that she was almost crying, she looked straight into the eyes of a man who was standing at the fence around the rink. He was wearing a funny-looking hat and coat, but he had a nice face and he was sort of smiling at her.

“Come along, Marissa,” Miss Carr called, and Marissa, hearing the slightly grouchy tone in her teacher’s voice, began to run to catch up with the other kids.

“It seems familiar and yet so different,” Sterling murmured to himself as he glanced around Rockefeller Center. For one thing it was far more crowded than the last time he was here. Every inch of space seemed to be filled with people. Some were carrying shopping bags laden with gifts, hurrying about, while others stood gazing up at the big tree.

This tree seemed taller than the last one he had seen here-forty-six years ago-and it had more lights on it than he remembered. It was magnificent, but so different from the otherworldly light he had experienced in the celestial conference room.

Even though he’d grown up on Seventieth Street off Fifth Avenue, and lived most of his life in Manhattan, a sudden wave of homesickness for the celestial life swept over him. He needed to find the person he was supposed to help so he could complete his mission.

Two young children came racing toward him. He stepped aside before they ran into him, then realized he had bumped into a woman who was admiring the tree.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I hope I didn’t hurt you?” She did not look at him or indicate that she had heard a single word he said, or even that she’d felt the bump.

She doesn’t know I’m here, he realized. He had a moment of total dismay. How can I help someone if that person can’t see or hear me? he wondered. The council really left me to sink or swim on my own.

Sterling looked into the faces of the passersby. They were talking to each other, laughing, carrying packages, pointing to the tree. No one seemed to be in any special distress. He thought of how the admiral said he never helped an old lady cross the street. Maybe he should try to find one now.

He walked quickly toward Fifth Avenue and was appalled at the volume of traffic he saw. He passed a shop window, then stopped, astonished when he saw his reflection gazing back at him. Other people couldn’t see him, but he could see himself. He studied his image in the window. Not bad, old boy, he thought admiringly. It was the first time he’d seen his reflection since that fateful morning when he left for the golf course. He noted his salt-and-pepper hair, in the early stages of recession, his somewhat angular features, his lean, muscular body. He was wearing his winter outerwear: a dark blue chesterfield coat with a velvet collar, his favorite hat, a gray felt homburg, and gray kidskin gloves. Noticing the way other people were dressed, he realized that his clothing must have gone out of style.

If people could see me, they’d think I was heading for a costume party, he decided.

At Fifth Avenue, he looked uptown. His best friend used to work at American President Lines. The office was gone. He was aware that many of the shops and firms that he remembered had been replaced. Well, it has been forty-six years, he thought. Now, where is the sweet old lady who requires assistance?

It was almost as though the council had heard him. An elderly woman with a cane began crossing the street as the light was turning red. That’s too dangerous, he thought, even though the traffic was barely crawling.

Taking long strides, he rushed to assist her, but was chagrined to see that a young man had recognized her plight and was already grabbing her elbow.

“Leave me alone,” she screamed. “I’ve gotten by for a long time without the likes of you trying to grab my pocketbook.”

The young man muttered something under his breath, dropped her arm, and left her in the middle of the street. Horns blared, but the traffic stopped as, without any indication of haste, the old lady made her way to the curb.

Clearly the council didn’t send me back to earth for her, Sterling decided.

There was a long line in front of the Saks Fifth Avenue windows. He wondered what they were looking at that was so special. Nothing but clothes was ever displayed in those windows, he thought. From the corner of his eye he could see the spires of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and he felt his sense of urgency deepen.

Let’s reason this out, he thought. I was sent to help someone, and I was placed in Rockefeller Center. That certainly suggests that I’m supposed to begin my task there. Sterling turned and retraced his steps.

With ever-increasing care he studied the faces of the people he was passing. A couple walked by, both wearing skintight, black leather outfits, both also appearing to have been scalped. Pierced noses and eyebrows completed the fashion statement. He tried not to stare. Times sure have changed, he thought.

As he moved through the crowd, he sensed he was being drawn back toward the majestic Christmas tree that was the heart of the holiday season at Rockefeller Center.

He found himself standing next to a more traditional looking young couple, holding hands and appearing to be very much in love. He felt like an eavesdropper, but he had to hear what they were saying.