It was Christmas Eve. I'd nowhere to go having no family in town, so I drifted, following my instincts. The streets were dark with almost no traffic as I walked the last few blocks of that night. It was a lonely walk, past homes with lights on, smoke rising from the chimneys and the murmur of talk or laughter echoing down deserted halls. I gathered in my overcoat as I thought about my loneliness; bent my head down and continued on my way.
Approaching the old hotel I chanced to look up, for no reason at all, and was entranced. Through the light rain and dirty smog I saw the only star visible in the sky. It was bright, and somehow hovering above our little town. Funny, as I think about it, but the light shimmering through the tiny raindrops were casting an iridescent beam along the path I had taken. Aimlessly and without thought, I found myself before the old wooden doors of the inn's tavern. I walked in.
The inn was very crowded, and I just found myself wondering through the lobby, when I saw Him. Quietly drinking alone, sipping a sour wine - those calm eyes, His hands, everything just the same after all those years. As He looked up, He saw me and smiled, so I joined Him, trying hard to remember... His name.
We talked awhile; mostly about old times, when He was a kid in that humble carpenters shop. Then about the time He went off into the wilderness tempted by Sin, even about the scars on those powerful hands. You know, where the nails had been driven through.
We talked late into the evening, of simple things; He was never one for the complex world we live in today. We talked about joy; and fear, and about love, as the crowded bar quieted around us. A few acquaintances came by to say a word or two, then melted away just far enough to listen. I talked about my parents. He, only about his father. I always knew the carpenter wasn't his real father, but I never let on.
We were silent for a while, and the world seemed to fade, like the slow gathering darkness before nightfall. Finally, in that gentle voice that seemed to have been carved from the oldest trees in the world, He said it was time to go. I lowered my eyes; there was nothing more I could say. No one could, for He had spoken, and the truth of it was plain to see.
Thus, it was only as He got up to leave that I remembered His name. He passed me His wine glass and broke some bread in that familiar gesture I'll always remembered.
"I must be about my Father's business," he said, and slowly walked away, His footfalls, sounding like polished ebony, reverberated through the silent hall as all the customers had stopped to listen. "Of course, of course, no problem," I called out, as the great oak clock struck midnight, and His image faded into the smoke filled lobby. "See you later, Pinocchio."