A story written for Xmas Advent Calendar 2022 - third prompt - hosted by all participating profiles.
Prompt - Christmas is a time of joy and celebration, but accidents happen. Write about a Christmas accident that left you strong and more affectionate to the holiday.

The crisp breeze catches my hair in its wake. With a long sigh, I step out of the car, a blue suburban with sliding doors. I mumble goodbye and have fun to my friend and her boyfriend. They reciprocate the action brightly. I can tell by the tone of their voices.

After closing the distance to the first dip in the sidewalk, someone taps my shoulder, prompting me to give them my case and grab their left arm.

"I've got my case, thanks, Kara," I say. Curving my lips into a smile, I hold her arm and follow laterally.

"You know what I like most about you," Kara starts. The click of a door sounds. The ground becomes softer; it's a rug. "You always know how to make someone smile. I really love that."

"You have a knack for that yourself." My boots whine against the marble floor. The room smells of pine and cinnamon and chocolate, Two of which are questionable fragrances. I do recall the pine smell from the last time I was here. I think about a week ago, but no other times this year.

I exhale with unnecessary shakiness. It has actually been a year. I've spent so many hours here. It's jaw-dropping to me. Me? The antsy, can't sit still, girl with commitment issues? Me, committed to playing here? I wouldn't have dreamed of venturing back after what happened two years ago, but here I am, tooting my horn.

The venue isn't part of a park or auditorium where sound catches every essence of the space. I know I'm entering a stage that is box-like, small with dim LED lights that sometimes flicker when the weather gets rough. I know one side of the venue holds racks of chairs and tables that go up and down as holidays come and go. I know the site vaguely.

"Mia!" a small voice exclaims. The person sounds like Layla, a nine-year-old girl admitted here for similar reasons to me, but she isn't like me in more ways than one.

"Layla." I smile. "What's up?"

"The sky. JK. Paper snowflakes," she answers while crackling with laughter. "We made some just the other day."

"That sounds fun," I say with a chuckle.

"It was a blast, and Kara put up all these lights. Oh, and I have a super duper, awesome secret." I can feel Layla touch my shoulder, tugging my ugly Christmas sweater towards her. I bend down. She whispers, "I get to go home on Christmas."

"Tomorrow?"

"Shhh," Layla quiets me.

Is she glaring at me? I almost laugh again.

"Alright, alright, shhh." I press my index finger to my lips.

Layla continues babbling. I nod, listening. Listening to the other voices floating across the room and the melodies performed, possibly live, by a pianist. I recognize most of the voices. Layla tells me about the lights that are hanging across the ceiling and across the street, describing them in the most flowery language an average nine-year-old is capable of.

Magical, like a winter wonderland.

I remember how Mainstreet, just a block away from this hospital, was always decked out with lights and garland wrapped around every street light and how window shops sparkled with an assortment of lights. In fact, I remember my wonder clearly.

I shuffled behind my group. My mouth gaped open at the nativity scenes and Christmas trees colored green and red and white.

For a while, I had wished I had heard the car whizzing down the street, but now, I'm not so certain.

The lights were multi-colored and white and blue and red and green. They dazzled me. My group of Sophomores pushed forward, ready to evade the nipping air.

I shut my eyes. Kara guides me to a chair in the front, informing me that there are Christmas cookies and hot chocolate in the back. Layla enthusiastically offers to get me some, and I let her, but my mind is elsewhere.

The scene was enchanting. I wished my group would stop and look around, but they were trying to rush inside the auditorium to play.

A chair to my right scrapes against the marble. My case tips, making a sort of pingy, hollow sound when it hits. Someone sets it upright again, I thank the person, Layla, who also places a cup and plate on the table.

Before I heard the screams of my group, I saw a car, black with shiny chrome caps. It was too late. The picture of Christmas stayed fixated in my mind, wonderous, snowy, and bright.

My back presses into the chair, metal with a padded space on the top, a fold-out. Layla tells me a joke. I force a laugh and tell her one that causes her to spit her hot chocolate back into her cup.

The world spun into oblivion. It took me a good ten seconds to feel the impact. The ring of sirens became evident and rushed apologies came in flurries, whipping and whirling me like flakes caught in the wind.

I place my hand on my heart, feeling it race. I remember how the doctors said I would slowly lose my vision and how I would have to be closely monitored. They said my optic nerve was damaged forever. They said the damage was permanent. They said I would go blind. I was angry, more than angry, furious.

The magic ruined me. Is it magic or some false bliss that is Christmas?

My vision is fuzzy now. What happens when I can't see at all? My feet are under me, supporting the weight of my body. I take a step forward. What if there's a step?  What if I fall? I stumble a bit. I can't do this. Why now? Why me? Why? I can't do anything I used to do. I can't be normal if I can't see. Why me?

I cup the hot chocolate in my hands, allowing myself to smile.

Where would I be if that never happened? Certainly not here my Senior year at a children's hospital instead of the school Snowball dance hosted unconventionally on Christmas Eve. Even though it isn't Thanksgiving, which in my opinion is an overrated holiday. Mostly because the majority of the music pieces suck. Not like Christmas carols for band don't suck too. Where are the layers? What's with the boring repetition? Anyways, Christmas is a time for me to be thankful for the people who didn't leave me in a blizzard, and I don't mean DQ's blizzard.

The click of a pen echoed. I knew the nurse was coming. If she was even a nurse, I didn't know. I couldn't remember her name either, but she was the one who continually clicked her pen.

My grin grows wider. A screech from an amplifier fills the room. I have to assume that they are getting ready for some live music, maybe a keyboard instead of the piano or an electric guitar.

"Hey! Would you like to go down?"

I knew she meant to the ground floor. She looked hazy. I could tell she was wearing a set of galaxy-blue scrubs and had her blonde hair tied into a bun.

I didn't bother speaking. What was there to be happy about? I couldn't go home and I was about to lose the remainder of my vision.

"You look down. Is there anything I can do for you?"

I closed my eyes, wondering if my vision would look like that all the time. "There isn't anything you can do."

"You can't throw a pity party forever."

I snorted. " That isn't what I'm doing."

"Well, then why don't you quit feeling sorry for yourself and come down?"

"Again, I'm not feeling-"

I let out an audible laugh. Layla asks me why I'm cracking up. I simply tell her that I just remembered something funny.

The wheelchair bounced over the lip of a door. Good lord. How do people in wheelchairs tolerate those bumps on a sidewalk?

Four walls greeted me with lights strung in zig-zags. Chairs are pulled out in an array that would indicate a sort of celebration. The glow of the room sent a warm feeling through me, but my face remained stony. I will never get to see another Christmas, will I?

"Mia!?" Layla exclaims, "Which songs are you going to play?"

"Any song requests?" I tilt my head, gripping my hot chocolate tighter.

People danced and caroled, but I could only stare at the fuzzy lights. I will never see Christmas again.

"Mia, hey, you doing ok?" I could tell it was the pen clicker, Kara, as I had learned an hour ago, coming closer.

"I'm alright."

"You don't look it." She sat beside me, silently.

"I won't ever see this again."  I swept my hand over the room decorated head to toe in red and green and gold

She shrugged. "You don't need to see anything."

"Yeah, I do," I said, my tone bitter.

She knelt in front of me. "What if I told you I'm blind in my left eye."

"Walking in a Winter Wonderland," Layla immediately answers.

"Is that your favorite Christmas song?"

"Most definitely."

I stared at Kara intently, making out how her lips and eyebrows moved as she told me her story. "There is so much more to the," she paused, "Just close your eyes and listen."

A new song began. Why am I doing this? What's the point? A Cecilio enters the piece followed by the muted ensemble of a treble voice. The piece explodes with the rhythmic beat of a snare escalating the tune to a climax of all harmonies and melodies of alto, bass, and soprano. I can feel the vibration of each beat, at least 180 beats per minute. The track progresses, all instrumental. It's in E minor.

Layla taps my shoulder. "What is your favorite Christmas song?"

"Either Carol of the Bells or Silver Bells."

"You can't have two!"

I shrug. "And who made that rule?"

I kept my eyes shut long after the first tune ended. The world stopped moving. It was just me and the voices and tunes and...Christmas. "I get it."

"Umm...Simon Says?"

The whisper of carols circle the room, blanketing me in Christmas spirit. I entertain the idea of Santa Claus and elaborate on the idea of the Polar Express, believers, bells, and hot chocolate, inspiring a musical number from the movie.

"Hot! Hot! Ooh, we got it! Hot! Hot! Hey, we got it! Hot! Hot! Say, we got it! Hot chocolate!" the voices scream, oddly out of tune; nonetheless, the escapade makes me smile.

There's something about being able to just listen that makes me warm now. Not like how a cup of hot joe warms me up or how I can throw on thermals and get warmer. It makes my soul warm, like how music has always made me feel.

"Hey, you good?" Kara questions, nudging my shoulder.

"Perfect." I squeeze her hand. "Thank you for everything."

"Same to you Mia. I'm so, so glad you came."

"Thrilled to be here."

If there is one thing I learned, you definitely don't need to be sighted to do what you love. I still listen to music and can play my instrument as I did before. Christmas is more than flashy lights and ten-foot trees. It is love and generosity and kindness. It is beautiful, everything the people I have grown close to have shown me.

There is a commotion and the familiar chatter of band kids I know. I guess it's time. I take a deep breath, assembling my instrument. I hold my trumpet firmly, and I listen for a cue to begin.