The New Millennium - People Are Worried
The snow was falling out on the world beyond the porch. The milky whiteness had already covered the grass and was now beginning to slowly consume the blacktop of the town’s main street. It was a gentle snow with big, light flakes that seemed to float and hover before landing. The mountains were changing from a muddy brown to a pure, radiant white right before his eyes. The skiers will be happy. He smiles. A perfect ending to a perfect day he thinks.
In Bombay, India it’s 12:01 in the morning – New Year’s Day, 2000. Fireworks are going off and people are dancing in the street. Everywhere there are people celebrating. It’s been the new millennium in Singapore for 2 hours now; 13 in Australia. Television is providing live coverage 24 hours around the clock.
Here, sitting on the long open porch of the Red Lion Inn, it was still 1999. It would remain 1999 for at least another 12 hours or so, he wasn’t really sure and didn’t care. He had come to the Berkshires to get away from the ‘Millennium’ craziness and didn’t care if he never heard the term ‘Y2K’ again. He wanted solitude; escape from all the talking heads … the silly lists - “The Year’s Best”, “The Year’s Worst”, “The Century’s Most … Worst … Top … Bottom …”. He couldn’t take any more.
He’d been to Stockbridge and the Red Lion before … it had been such a peaceful visit that he’d came back two more times, which is why he chose it now. He knew he could never get completely away from the hoopla around the changing of the calendar from 1999 to 2000. Even the Inn was getting into the mood with special events and a huge party planned in the Main Dining room.
While he believed the true millennium change wasn’t until December 31, 2000, he understood the hysteria of the people – after all, everyone from the government, Bill Gates, and every person with an idea of how to earn a dollar from the hysterical population had been harping about it for two years now.
Midnight now in Pakistan – the camels still have two humps - thank God, the TV reported. Yes, the man silently agreed.
Sitting in one of the rockers far to the left side of the porch, he watched the other guest come and go. Most were middle-aged couples, out for a stroll in a Norman Rockwell painting. He’d seen that painting at the museum. In it the Inn stood dark. Empty. Alone.
At six P.M. he motioned one of the outside waitresses and ordered a hot chocolate and asked for a blanket… it was beginning to get chilly. The sun had gone down long ago and the holiday lights provided little real warmth. He had a coat in his room, but it wasn’t time to go quite yet. She brought a comforter from the Country Kitchen collection along with his hot chocolate. She had put marshmallows in the hot chocolate instead of whipped cream. He liked that. He signed the check with his room number.
At nine she came back with a fresh cup. He smiled at her and she walked away with a feeling of contentment.
At eleven-fifty he stood up and shook out the comforter. He folded it gently and laid it on the seat of the rocker. Beside the empty cup he placed a single item. He turned and listened to the sound of the revilers coming from within the old building. Not seeing the waitress for a while he knew she was busy and had not forgotten him. Walking slowly, with precise, measured steps, he walked down the wide front steps of the Inn and stepped into the swirling snow.
Inside, the waitress remembered her rocker-sitting patron and glanced out the door to see if he was still there. It was almost midnight and she’d thought to wish him a Happy New Year and new Millennium. She wasn’t surprised to see the empty rocker. Maybe he had come inside, she thought. It was time – the ball was falling – then she thought no more about him until much later in the night.
After the party had died to a dull roar - sometime after 3 A.M. - she went out to clean up the porch. She picked up the comforter and put it under her arm. The cup she lifted by the saucer and she began to walk away when she spotted the item he’d left. It was a key. The key had no room number on it. It was of the Inn's plastic room keys and beside it a note scribbled on the napkin. The note read, “Dearest Mary, I loved the marshmallows, they were quite tasty. I leave my key with you for safekeeping. I will not need it tonight. Keep it for me, for I shall return. I have been refreshed. Regenerated. My spirit renewed. When my soul becomes heavy and my faith in man sags, I shall again visit your porch and partake of your service. Until then, do not be concerned with that which plagues man. Do not lose faith in your god, for he is with you. Always.”
When Mary inquired at the front desk about her customer she was not surprised to learn that the Inn was full, no one had new checked in for one night. Finding his check, Mary went out the side door and around to a small side entrance near the rear of the Inn. There she came to a door of a room, a small room, with light spilling from around the door. Using the key, Mary opened the door and entered the room. It seemed to glow with it’s own internal light. On the bed was the indentation of a person lying at rest.
Mary pulled out the key from the door where she’d left it and placed it gently on the nightstand. She pulled one of the comments cards from the holder and folded it, blank side out. Using her lipstick, she wrote three words on the card and sit it gentle beside the key. She left the room, closing the door silently behind her. Ten feet from the room Mary had forgotten all about the note, the room, even the man on the porch.
Somewhere in the Red Lion Inn there is a room - a small room - one that has a bed that has the shape of a man indented on it. On the nightstand is a card with hand written lettering that says “GOD RESTS HERE"
