Spirit of the season

		(c) 2001, Wirewolf


  The only light in the room came from the small lamp on her desk and the screen of her 
telecomp.  The thin, flat screen of the `comp could have passed for a mirror, for the face 
showing on its screen was almost identical to her own.

  "I'm fine mom, really," she said.  "I'm doing well in all my classes.  My teachers aren't 
treating me much different from the other students.  I'm just, you know..."  She toyed 
briefly with the hem of her light blue terry robe.

  The thick, bristly whiskers of the genemorphic otter on the screen twitched in sympathy.  
"I know, honey.  I wish we could come see you.  Or that you could..."  Her mother's ears 
sank, and it was a struggle to keep her own up.  Her father's face appeared next to her 
mother's.

  "We sent you something in the mail Monday."  Her father's calm voice sounded hollow 
through the cheap speakers.  "You should get it tomorrow."

  "Cheff," her mother admonished gently, obviously glad of the change of subject.  "That 
was supposed to be a surprise."

  "It'll be a surprise when she opens it," he assured her with a warm smile.

  "Thanks," she said earnestly.  She hoped her dad hadn't been too extravagant in his 
choice of a gift.  He was always spending more than was wise, in her opinion, on little 
trinkets for his beloved daughters.

  "It's just a little something we made to help cheer you up, since we can't see you," her 
mother clarified, as though reading her thoughts.

  "Now who's giving away the surprise?" her father teased.

  For a moment, her parents gazed at one another, that oh so familiar expression of 
adoration on their blunt muzzles.  Then, as one, they turned their eyes to their eldest 
daughter, their pride sparkling in their dark eyes.  She felt a lump in her throat, wishing 
more then ever that she was home to see them, scent them, touch them.  She did her best 
to keep her expression calm.

  She grunted in dismay when a flashing red clock icon popped up in the corner of the 
screen.  Her allotted long distance vid-call time was nearly up.

  "Mom, Dad, my time's almost up.  I don't want you getting charged for any extra 
minutes."

  Her mother looked pained for a moment, then managed a smile.  "That's okay, Lillim.  
We can talk again next week"

  "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you next week then.  I love you both."

  "We love you, too, Squeak," said her father.

  She reached out and shut down the link.  The remaining light from the lamp reflected 
off the blank screen, showing her own face.  She closed her eyes and dropped her muzzle 
to her hands.

  For a moment, she just sat there with her eyes shut and her ears flat.  She didn't want to 
cry, didn't want to be weak.  But the separation from her family was getting harder to 
bear.  Hearing her dad call her Squeak brought it all out.  She'd loved the nickname he'd 
given her when she was a little girl.  She hadn't appreciated it as much as a teen, but now 
she'd have given anything to hear him call her Squeak in person.

  She felt tears forming and sat up, wiping at her eyes.  No, she told herself, I won't be 
weak.  I'll make them proud.

  She turned and stared out the nearby window at the driving snow that had covered the 
campus of Washington State University at Spokane.  Her parents were already proud of 
her.  It was her own pride that was truly in jeopardy.  She'd made it here by being strong 
and not backing down when things seemed impossible.  Being away from her family, her 
parents and her sister, was something she could handle.

  But being alone was proving to be tougher than she imagined.  There were only a few 
genemorphs going to this school, and the ones she saw on a regular basis were only 
casual friends, at best.  There were humans that talked to her, but most of them saw her 
as a novelty, something that had piqued their curiosity.  Even her room mate was little 
more than polite company when they were together.

  It hadn't been so bad at the start of the year.  Thanksgiving had been a little rough.  But 
now that the Christmas season was here and most everyone was gone, it was like she had 
been abandoned.  Classes were out, the dorms were nearly empty and she had no one to 
talk to but her family.  And she could only talk to them for an hour a week, during the 
limited free long-distance vid time the school's telecomps allowed her.

  The outside door at the end of the hall opened, and she heard someone come inside.  
She glanced over at the open door of her room, but decided it would be rude to get up 
and close it now.  It may only be the janitor, she thought.  It was rather late for him to be 
making rounds, though.  The sun was nearly down.

  She continued to watch the drifting snow outside.  Hopefully, whoever had come in 
wasn't looking for her.  She wasn't in the mood for company.  Her ears twitched when 
the slow, steady footsteps stopped by her doorway.  A single sniff told her it was one of 
the students who lived on her floor, a human male to whom she'd spoken once or twice, 
in passing.

  Lillim waited patiently for him to move on, but instead she heard him clear his throat 
and tap gently on the doorframe.  She did her best to keep her expression neutral as she 
turned to look at him.

  "And here I thought I was the only one still wandering around this dorm," he said with a 
soft Kentucky twang that rolled the edges of his consonants and tucked them under his 
vowels.  His friendly smile seemed genuine.  She could smell no alcohol on him, so he 
wasn't drunk.  There was no trace of the pheromones that might account for his being 
suddenly interested in her.  He was obviously coming back from music practice, judging 
by the snow-dusted guitar case he carried in one hand.  He had a worn backpack slung 
over the opposite shoulder.

  She wasn't too concerned about him lingering until he suddenly frowned slightly and 
said, "You OK?  You look like you've been crying."

  Her ears tried to fold in self-conscious distress.  Like most genemorphs, Lillim had a 
low opinion of human senses.  But all too often they could surprise her with keen insight 
that seemed to defy their actual abilities.  She supposed her eyes had gotten red from her 
brief wallow in self pity, and he'd noticed.

  "I'm fine," she said, trying not to sound defensive.  Her ears stayed up and she gazed 
solidly at him, her dark eyes glittering from more than the traces of her tears.

  He hesitated, sweeping his red knit cap from his head to reveal very short hair the same 
light brown color as her fur.  He stuffed the cap into the pocket of his jacket and gave a 
short nod.  "Ah.  Alright.  I'm Victor Mathis, by the way."  He cocked his head at her and 
smiled.  "And you're Lillim Dowis, right?"

  "Yes."  Knowing her name was no big deal.  She was one of two morphs in the whole 
dorm.  The other was a male skunk, so there was no chance of getting the two of them 
confused.

  Victor was apparently disappointed when she said nothing more.  He set his guitar case 
down next to him and tried to keep the conversation, such as it was, going.  "I'm just 
getting back from a practice with a few of the students who stayed.  We and a few of the 
locals are going to put on a little Christmas concert tomorrow night."

  She had a feeling she knew what was coming.  She was proved right when Victor asked, 
"Do you like Christmas music?  We sounded pretty good at practice and we'd love to see 
you there."

  Lillim really wasn't interested in the concert or his attempt at being friendly.  She didn't 
want anyone's seasonally inspired pity.  She tried to brush him off with a simple, "I've 
got a lot of work to do."  It didn't work, though.

  "Oh, well, if you get a break, come on down and see us.  It'll be great.  We'll have 
snacks and drinks and stuff, too.  It's gonna be in the school gym at eight."  He jabbed a 
thumb over his shoulder, as though she could see the gym from her seat.

  Lillim said nothing, and neither did he.  She waited for him to take the hint and let her 
be, but instead he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms as though he had all 
night.  "So, how come you didn't head for home like everyone else?"

  With a small exasperated sigh, she retorted, "Why didn't you?"

  Victor seemed blind to her hints, for he just smiled and shrugged.

  "Hmm," he replied, his gaze losing its focus as he thought of a way to phrase his 
answer.  "Let's just say my family and I get along better with a few hundred miles 
between us."

  Lillim looked Victor over, scrutinizing the details of his appearance.  It looked as 
though he were getting no more help with his schooling than she was.  His clothes were a 
little worn and faded.  The backpack and guitar case were equally scuffed and scraped.

  He wore no jewelry, but she did notice something puzzling.  He had a mark on his left 
wrist, a two inch circle of pale skin.  She'd never seen such a mark before, but she had 
heard of them.  If it was what she thought it was, it didn't fit with the rest of his 
appearance.  In fact, it made him something of an imposter.

  Victor interrupted her thoughts with, "Look, I know I'm being rude and all, but it seems 
to me you could use a bit of company.  You mind if I come in?"

  She couldn't help it.  She frowned slightly at the thought of a prolonged visit from this 
unwanted guest.  He had to have noticed, for he assured her it would be `for just a 
minute.'  She hovered on the brink of telling him outright she wanted to be alone.  But 
when she thought of what her mother would say of her being so unfriendly, she couldn't 
bring herself to run him off.

  "Sure," she said.  "For a minute."

  He picked up his guitar and stepped inside the room.  He sat at the only chair available, 
the one parked in front of her room mate's desk, and set his case next to him.

  Lillim's room was fairly clean and well organized by most dorm standards.  That was 
mostly her room mate's influence.  She preferred a more casual setting to live in.  As her 
visitor glanced around at the room, he seemed mildly surprised by her tidy environment..  
Then his eyes lingered on the pictures that were perched on the only set of shelves in the 
room.  One side of the shelves had pictures of humans, all smiling and happy.  The other 
side, Lillim's side, had one picture.  It was of her family before the layoff.

  "So," Victor drawled slowly.  "Who's your roomie?"

  "Paige Gleason."

  "You get along?"

  "Well enough.  She's quiet, doesn't bother me."

  Yet another hint missed the mark.  He nodded and said, "Lucky.  I'm in a triple with 
two loudmouths."  He chuckled and added, "One's majoring in business and the other in 
humanities.  They never stop arguing."  He poked at a few lingering snowflakes that 
hadn't yet melted on his jacket and waited for a response.  When she gave none, he filled 
in the silence yet again.  "I've thought about asking to be moved to another room, but the 
RA told me almost everyone argues, and that I'd best just make do."

  Victor looked up at her suddenly and asked, "What's your major?"

  "Architecture."

  He nodded again.

  Lillim drew a breath to drop a more direct hint, but never got the chance.  Victor 
reached down to open his guitar case and quietly asked, "Do you like Christmas music?"

  This was really getting awkward, and Lillim wasn't sure where it was going.  She still 
couldn't detect any scent clues to suggest he was being anything other than friendly.  She 
watched him settle back in the chair with his instrument, thinking maybe she was just 
going to have to ride out the encounter to its end.

  He looked up at her with a grin and asked, "What's your favorite carol?  `Jingle Bells?'"  
He began picking at the strings, sounding out harsh single notes that would have 
reminded almost anyone of a child's first attempt at the song.  She cringed and cocked 
her ears half back.  He laughed at that, enjoying his little joke.  "`Deck the Halls?'"  This 
time he worked two strings but produced only a vaguely improved sound.  His grin faded 
a bit as he wrung a few notes out, then paused.

  "Maybe something a bit more melancholy?"  His expression became more serious as he 
began strumming real chords, a much more soothing sound in comparison.  "Perhaps 
`White Christmas?'"  The familiar tune he played sounded like he had some practice at 
it.

  Lillim was baffled by this odd display of his.  More so when he looked directly at her 
and said with a warm smile, "Nah.  Something calm, I think.  Peaceful."  Then, without 
looking at his hands, he began the opening refrain of `Silent Night.'

  It was one of her favorites, and the way he played it now was a far cry from the noise 
he'd made before.  Now he *played*, coaxing out the most soothing notes she could 
imagine a guitar could make.  It was truly beautiful.

  Then he sang.

  She was startled at first.  She hadn't expected him to sing.  The instant she realized he 
was singing, she wondered if that, too, would start off as a joke.  It didn't.  He *sang*, 
with as much passion as he now played.  All traces of his Kentucky accent were gone.  
Most surprising of all, he sang the words as if he meant each and every one of them.

  Lillim closed her eyes and let his music paint the old, familiar nativity scene in her 
mind.  She could imagine the cold, clean air, the new mother with her infant son bathed 
in the radiant light of a single, brilliant star.  When he came to the line, `holy infant, so 
tender and mild,' he sounded as though he were describing his own beloved son.

  The effect was so mesmerizing, Lillim wished it wouldn't end.  When Victor strummed 
the last chord, he smiled at her with such warmth she couldn't help but smile back.

  "That was beautiful," she told him.  He continued to finger the strings, not letting them 
go completely silent.  The notes gave the impression of rambling yet held onto a ghost of 
a melody.

  "Thanks," he said.  "Five years of professional lessons can come in handy sometimes."  
He was paying no attention at all to his hands as he drifted into a gentle version of `God 
rest ye merry gentlemen.'  "I've always liked playing Christmas carols, but I never got to 
play for any of my friends until I got here."

  He may not have been watching his hands, but she was.  They moved like they were 
independent of him, doing only what pleased themselves.  It took a few moments for his 
last statement to sink in.

  "Why not?"

  He shrugged carelessly, glancing down at his hands for a second.  "Never really had any 
friends until I came here."

  That jarred a bit.  She looked at him skeptically.

  "It's true," he insisted.  He continued to play as he explained.  "I grew up in a rich
family.  My parents are control freaks.  They decided everything for me.  Even who could 
be my friends."  He grinned, as though letting her in on an elaborate joke.  "No one met 
their criteria, though.  My brothers are a different story.  They do whatever my folks say.  
You know, to protect the safety of their inheritance."  He laughed.

  Lillim found it hard to believe.  "But not you?"

  "Nope," he said, still grinning.  "Never was very materialistic.  In fact, all I brought with 
me when I came here were my clothes and my guitar."

  Now Lillim grinned, thinking she had caught him.  "Not very materialistic, huh?  Then 
why did you get an IC?"

  Victor looked at the circular scar on his left wrist and grimaced.  "That wasn't me, that 
was my parents.  They had it put in when I was seven and I had no say in the matter.  
They said everybody who was anybody had an implanted computer, but I hated it.  I 
didn't want it, and besides that the damn thing itched all the time.  Lucky for me the anti-
rejection medicine didn't work, and they had to take it back out."

  "Oh," said Lillim quietly.

  "I was so glad to be rid of it, and it drove my dad nuts.  He didn't want anyone to think I 
was `financially needy.'"  Victor noticed her expression and added, "Don't get me 
wrong, I love my folks and all, but they're just too serious about money, you know?"

  Thinking about her own difficulties, she said, "Some people have to be serious about 
it."

  "Well, sure," he conceded while he smoothly shifted the notes to form `Oh Christmas 
tree.'  "I mean, *I* have to be serious about money, because I don't have any of my 
own."  He gave a lopsided grin.  "But I don't let money run my life or make my decisions 
for me, you know?"

  Lillim nodded, thinking Victor was more interesting than she'd expected.  She listened 
to him play and he watched her listen.  Nothing was said for a minute or two.  Then he 
asked, "Really, what's your all time favorite carol?"

  He sounded so earnest and seemed so friendly that Lillim let her guard down a little.  
"Little drummer boy," she said softly.

  "Ahh," he said, as though she had revealed a long kept secret that had puzzled him.  
And without skipping a beat or bending a note, he moved into `Little drummer boy.'  "A 
classic," he declared, his voice gentle enough that it didn't clash with the music, but 
seemed to accompany it.  "The tale of the smallest and poorest giving more than the 
richest and mightiest ever could."  He started singing the lyrics to it while tapping his feet 
to simulate a slow drumbeat.

  She was again struck by the marvelous sounds he could make, with both his instrument 
and his voice.  Despite his being uninvited, his company was easy to take.  He sang her 
favorite carol with as much heart as he had `Silent Night.'

  Lillim was reminded of the last time she'd heard Christmas carols played by musicians 
rather than coming over speakers.  It was at the last Christmas party held in her father's 
office, six years before.  Two months before the layoff.

  Her family had moved to Spokane when she was young.  They hadn't celebrated the 
holidays before then.  When their new neighbors and friends had urged them to `get into 
the spirit of the season,' her father listened.  Her family adopted the human traditions that 
seemed so important to their acceptance.

  Once her parents, who'd both worked for the same media company, lost their jobs in a 
merger, Christmas became a painful reminder of how things used to be; when they'd had 
a nice home, two good cars and any distraction or trinket they could want.  Practicality 
had replaced tradition, and the `spirit of the season' saw gifts yield to thoughtful gestures 
and acts of kindness.

  "I have a small confession to make," Victor said, pulling Lillim from her brief reverie.  
She wasn't sure how to take that.  She pulled her robe tighter around her.  "I didn't just 
happen to pass by tonight.  I came looking for you."

  She stiffened.  The idea that he had deceived her did not sit well.  He was still not 
sending any signals that hinted at his being dangerous.  That was no guarantee, however.  
She knew that there were humans who could control themselves well enough to fool 
unwary genemorphs and their keen noses, at least briefly.  Since he was still idly 
strumming his instrument and smiling at her, she was willing to hear him out.  But she 
was not happy.

  "Why?" she asked sharply.

  Victor had wandered into `The First Noel' and had cocked his head, as though listening 
to someone else play.  "A couple of reasons."  He glanced at her with an unexpectedly 
shy glance.  "For one thing, I think you're very impressive."

  "Impressive."  Lillim relaxed a bit, but was confused by her visitor's confession.  She 
wasn't ready to believe what she was hearing.

  Victor nodded.  "I read about you in the campus newsletter.  You made it here on your 
GPA, not the GFA."

  Her ears twitched, recalling how unwilling she had been to sit for the interview for that 
short article.  Just because she'd had the highest test scores for a genemorph applying to 
Washington U at Spokane didn't mean she wanted everyone in the school to know about 
her.  And the Genemorph Fairness Act Victor referred to was about to be overturned in 
the Supreme Court as unconstitutional, anyway.  She stared at him silently, her dark eyes 
glittering.

  "I know you had a hard time getting a scholarship and a grant so you could pay for 
tuition, despite your grades.  I know you fought hard for a chance to come here and take 
classes."

  Still she watched him, not speaking, wanting to know where he was going with this.

  He finished `Noel,' and finally let the guitar go silent.  He was staring at her, meeting 
her eyes without flinching.

  "I came here with nothing because I wanted to do this my way, to prove a point to 
myself and my family.  But you don't have the luxury of deciding to get a degree by 
having someone plunk down the cash or working your butt off and scraping by.  Me..."  
He shrugged modestly.  "...I could have everything paid for if I wanted.  But then it 
wouldn't be *mine*, you know?"  He just stared a moment, and she could see it in his 
eyes, could tell it from his scent.  He was completely serious.

  "I am really impressed by you, and I was hoping we might get to be friends.  When I 
realized yesterday that you were still in the dorm with me, I thought it would be my best 
chance to meet you."  He twanged his guitar again, letting the soft notes fill in the empty 
spaced between them.  "And besides," he added, his voice softening, "no one should be 
alone during the holidays.  This whole crazy thing is supposed to be about coming 
together, you know?"

  The gentle words he spoke and the soft, passionate music he'd played framed the truth 
he was speaking, but in the end it was his scent that convinced her.  She could smell a 
tiny trace of fear from him.  She blinked, surprised by what she learned from that subtle 
clue.  He was worried she would turn him away.

  Lillim smiled for the first time that night, her round ears perking.  "Would you like a 
soda?"

  Victor relaxed a bit and said, "Sure."  He set his guitar across its open case.

  The mini fridge held only a few slices of leftover pizza and some cans of store brand 
lemon-lime soda.  She handed him a can and took one for herself.  She watched him take 
a few swallows and set the can on his knee.  "So," she said slowly, "is this how you 
usually make friends?  With singing and playing and shameless flattery?"

  Victor blinked, caught by surprise.  He wondered if he had said something wrong until 
he saw the laughter dancing in her eyes.  She was teasing him.  He relaxed again.  
"Well," he said softly.  "It is if the person I'm interested in happens to like those things."  
He took a sip and raised one eyebrow.  "Of course, it's a gamble.  Some folks would 
rather just be alone, ya know."  He emphasized his accent for a moment, sounding like 
one of the `country bumpkin' stereotypes she'd seen on the telecomp.  "They'd rather 
jus' waller in their self pity, an' all."

  She grinned and licked a drop of soda clinging to her whiskers.  "Good thing I'm not 
that type, eh?"

  Victor's grin was replaced by surprise as he remembered something.  "Oh, hey, would 
you like a sugar cookie?  I forgot I had them."  He set his soda down carefully and 
rummaged through his backpack until he had a small plastic bag in his hand.  He opened 
it and laid it on her desk, spreading it open to reveal a dozen or so Christmas cookies.  
"One of the girls who live on the top floor got a big box of them from her mom.  She's 
been spreading them around as much as she can so she won't eat them all herself."  He 
nibbled on a tree shaped cookie while Lillim bit the hat off one shaped like Santa's head.

  The genemorphic otter would never have suspected that she could enjoy talking to a 
fellow student while munching sugar cookies and drinking soda as much as she did.  She 
had to wonder if it was nothing more than loneliness that made Victor's unplanned visit 
so enjoyable.  She doubted it, though.

  She found in him someone much like herself.  They talked for several hours about how 
different it was living on their own.  They shared opinions of the campus cafe's food 
(edible, but no where near as good as home cooked food,) fraternities (over rated boy's 
clubs,) and the whole holiday craze.

  Finally, Victor sighed and looked the clock on Lillim's desk.  "Well, I hate to say it, but 
I have to go.  I promised the folks I'd call them tonight.  If I don't, dad will call the local 
police and try to have them hunt me down to find out what's wrong."

  Lillim flicked an ear.  "He wouldn't," she said, disbelieving.

  "Well, no, he wouldn't actually do it, but he'll tell me he was going to."  Victor 
shrugged.  "Big drama king, my dad."  He gathered up his guitar and backpack and 
moved toward the door.  "So, will we see you at the concert tomorrow night?"

  She blinked, thought for a moment.  "Will you be doing any solos?"

  He grinned.  "As a matter of fact, the director was nice enough to suggest I do one.  I 
have been trying to decide what to play.  Although I think I know what I'll play, now."

  "In that case," she said, "I will definitely be there."

  Victor's grin widened into a pleased smile.  "Great!  School gym at eight.  See ya later."

  For a long time after he'd left, Lillim stared at the chair where he'd sat.  A simple little 
visit from a new friend, some music, food and drink.  Nothing out of the ordinary, for 
most people.  An everyday occurrence.

  And yet she felt like something very important had changed.  She felt like she'd been 
given a gift.  A precious gift, at that.

  She smiled to herself and got up to clear away the soda cans and the empty cookie bag.  
When she finally sat back down, she turned to watch the snow falling outside.

  That's what it was, she realized.  The universe at large had given her a gift of a new 
friend when she'd needed it most.  She didn't know if it really had anything to do with 
the time of year, but she was willing to accept it at face value.  Her parents had taught her 
to accept gifts graciously, and return the favor whenever possible.  As the snow drifted 
down, she thought about Victor and his gift of friendship.  The words came to her 
instantly, and she sang quietly.

 `I played my drum for him, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum,
  I played my best for him, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum
  rum-pum-pum-pum
  rum-pum-pum-pum
  then he smiled at me, pa-rum-pum-pum-pum
  me and my drum.'

  Christmas, she decided, wasn't so bad after all.  Not when you had friends to share it 
with.


**************************
This text is (c) 2001, Wirewolf
It may be downloaded and printed only with copyright information intact.
It may not be distributed without author's permission.
Comments or other responses should be addressed to:

wirewolf_66@yahoo.com
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