A Time Lord’s Auld Lang Syne

The night is waning, the year is bidding farewell, her family is asleep, and her world is quiet. Until she hears it. On her back porch, that whooshing thrum that echoes through the New Year’s Eve air. Standing from her blanket cocoon on her couch, she makes her way to the back door, reaching for the handle, only to have the screen door open without warning, leaving her to jump back from the blast of cold night air.

And there he is, standing in the snow-swirled doorway like the proverbial bow-tied Peter Pan at her window.

“Happy New Year!” he crows.

“Shhh!” comes the retort and he instantly shrinks down, hand before his mouth, eyes wide with mirth.

“Happy New Year?” comes the greeting once more, only much, much quieter.

“You’re on the western side of the Atlantic, love. It’s not New Year’s quite yet,” she says with a smile at the mad man with the police box, reaching behind him to close the door and shut out the cold once more.

“Really? My timing must be off, though I’d get here right after they knocked the ball off. Oh, well, no matter! Time left then!”

“Shhh!” she reprimands again but, this time, he just smiles.

“How are you?” he asks, crossing his arms behind him.

“Seeing out the old year and welcoming the new,” she replies leading him through her small house and into a living room warmed by a small fireplace. She offers him a seat on the sofa, if he wishes.

“What brings you here on New Year’s Eve?” she then asks as she sits.

He doesn’t answer for a moment but then his words are soft and honest. “To say goodbye as well.”

Her face falls as she reads his. “This seriously is it, isn’t it? You are saying goodbye.”

This adorable maniac purses his lips and nods slowly. “Times change and so must we.”

She cannot help but glance down the hall towards the bedrooms where her husband and toddler daughter slumber peacefully. “We do change, don’t we?” she murmurs softly. “I remember the first time you and your crazy box came to me. Seems like so very long ago.”

A smile, sad and joyous all at the same time, curls his lips. “I do, too. The Girl Who Stayed Behind.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I get a title, now do I?”

“Well, of course!” he replies, “It’s a thing I do.”

Reaching out gently, she cups that cheek in her hand. So young that face but so old those eyes. Neither of them says anything for the longest time, though everyone knows that the most significant words are spoken in the space between. In the silences.

“Thank you for stopping for me that day,” she finally says, “Though I have not regretted not going with you.”

“I know you haven’t; you think I haven’t kept an eye on you? You’ve had some pretty amazing adventures of your own,” he says, “I wouldn’t have offset that destiny for all the stars in the expanse.” He stands then, moving through her home as if it was his own. Coming to her daughter’s room, he pauses in the doorway, watching the toddler dream in her crib.

“Never stop dreaming, little one. Your mum didn’t and look what it got her,” he whispers his blessing on a breath of golden stardust. He then steps from the door, closing it most of the way again before returning to the living room and her couch.

“You don’t forget, do you?” he asks, and she instinctively knows what he’s asking about.

“Not the important things, no,” she replies lowly, “And you are one of the important things.” Reaching out, she takes his hand gently. “Don’t you ever think that you’re not. You won’t be forgotten, not by anyone who has ever met or been blessed by you. It doesn’t matter where you go, what you do…what face you wear…you will always be the adorable mad man with a box. You will always be the Doctor to me.”

His smile is wobbly, his eyes limpid in the firelight, as he grasps her hand with both of his, lifting it to kiss it ardently. “Thank you,” he whispers, “Thank you for that.”

Suddenly, there comes a faint beeping from the arm of the couch. Her phone. It’s midnight.

“Happy New Year, Doctor-dear.”

“Happy New Year, my girl,” he murmurs in reply.

The moments pass and she is alone on her couch once more, her house locked up safe and sound, and there is a void in the snow on her porch, a square large enough for a person to stand in. The fire has burned down, the world is quiet. The New Year has begun.

May it be blessed.

Credit to Ashley Feiler on Pinterest

The End of the Eleventh (Twelfth?) Age

Thank you, Matt Smith, you clever boy!

I am not a die-hard Doctor Who fan, not what you would call one anyway. I have not watched the series from its inception, up through Nine and Ten to get to Eleven. I started with Eleven, with Matt Smith’s portrayal of a manic, adorable Doctor with more than a slight case of the disorganized savant. I am a fan of Eleven (or is he Twelve?), having enjoyed his three series, the 50th Anniversary, the Christmas Specials, and his runs of “Doctor Who at the Proms” immensely. Yes, I have somehow managed to catch them all, without cable for the past few years.

As I said, I am not a die-hard fan. I do not believe that you must watch Eccleston’s Nine and Tennant’s Ten to appreciate Matt Smith’s Eleven. But that’s just me. Remember that I said that: it’s just my opinion. Personally, I loved the stories woven into Eleven’s series: Amy and Rory (The Ponds, as in ‘Come along!’), the full story of the Doctor and River Song, and Clara the Impossible Girl. I also loved the emotion, the passion, and intensity that developed through Matt Smith’s portrayal of the Doctor. From episode one, that not-so-subtle “Hello, I’m the Doctor. Basically…run!”, I fell in love with this manic, centuries-old young man who “needed a proper shirt” to face an alien race that was prepared to exterminate an entire planet to get rid of one escaped inmate. A proper shirt to threaten an entire race. Talk about ballsy.

I was on pins and needles over the 50th Anniversary “The Day of the Doctor” set to star Smith, Tennant, and also John Hurt (beloved from his days as “The Storyteller”) as the Doctor. I wanted to be able to see in theatres but plans would not allow, so my wonderful, fabulous husband bought the dvd for me for Christmas. And a friend was kind enough to download the Christmas Special “The Time of the Doctor” and send that along my way, too. So, today, I closed the chapter upon Matt Smith’s lovable Doctor. There were heartstrings pulled, triumph experienced, and tears shed.

So, thank you, Matt Smith, for your blood, sweat, and tears (and hair) that you dedicated to this wonderful character. It makes my heart proud to say that you could not have gone out in any better way than with these words: (I feel compelled to put SPOILER ALERT here, just in case)



“Times change and so must I. We all change. If you think about it, we are all different people all through our lives. And that’s okay, that’s good. You’ve got to keep moving, so long as you remember all the people that you used to be. I won’t forget one line of this, not one day. I swear. I will always remember when the Doctor was me.”

And so will I. And I will visit, you clever boy, because the truth is: you make me happy. You make me smile. And that is no little thing.