No Time to Waste 
by Martha 
marthalgm@yahoo.com 
 
 
"Come on, Byers.  Get that skinny ass of yours in gear, or we'll be 
too late." 
 
Becca was standing in the doorway of the main office of the Gunmen 
headquarters, pulling on her gloves. Their cream color matched her 
scarf and the beret perched on her head, marking a deep contrast to 
the blackened curls that cascaded down her back.  Byers was trying 
to put away the paperwork that he had collected over the last few 
days in anticipation of taking some time off for the upcoming 
holidays.  But she was not making it easy by standing over him and 
tapping her foot with impatience.   
 
"So, where is the fun couple going tonight?" Langly asked, with a 
slight hint of sarcasm.  "Moonlight skating?  Caroling in the 
park?" 
 
"Leave them alone," Frohike whispered from the back of the office. 
 
"Actually, we're going to drive by some neighborhoods and see the 
decorations," Becca explained. "Can't let all that electricity go 
to waste." 
 
Langly's expression changed to one of sudden interest.  He started 
staring at Byers with wide eyes and making small throaty sounds, 
like that of a small puppy trying to get someone's attention. 
Byers closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that he would probably 
give in to Langly's begging and stole a glance over at Becca.  He 
would rather be alone with her but left that decision up to her. 
 
She caved in.  "Well, if we're all going, we go NOW." 
 
Langly let out a hoot and grabbed his jacket.  "Aren't you coming?" 
he asked Frohike. 
 
"No, I've got some things to work on." 
 
Becca started to walk towards the back of the office.  "Come on, 
Moe and Larry would never go anywhere without Curly.  Get your 
stuff, and let's go." 
 
Frohike looked up at Becca and noticed a twinge of pity in her 
expression.  He then shifted his view towards Byers, who turned to 
avoid his stare.  Obviously, Byers' pillow talk had included some 
of Frohike's more recent personal problems. 
 
"OK, I'm in."  <<It's not like I can't do this over Christmas.  I'm 
not going anywhere.>> 
 
Frohike turned off all the lights and locked up while everyone 
piled into Becca's car.  They were waiting for him just outside the 
front door, and Becca gunned the accelerator before Frohike could 
get settled in the back seat.  He sat himself back up and started 
fidgeting with the seatbelt.  "Where's the fire?" 
 
Becca shifted gears as she approached the freeway.  "The best times 
to view the houses are right after sunset.  That way you get to see 
all the lights and still have the full effect of the house and all 
the other decorations in the background." 
 
"Don't some neighborhoods discourage the drive-by traffic?" Langly 
asked. 
 
"Discourage, I don't know," Becca replied.  "As long as we don't 
cause a traffic backup and are somewhat discrete about it, there 
usually isn't a problem.  Besides, if they didn't want people to 
come and see the decorations, they wouldn't have gone to so much 
trouble to put them up in the first place." 
 
"Can't argue with that logic," Langly said, looking back out at the 
surrounding traffic.   
 
"Can't argue with *her*," Byers echoed.  And immediately regretted 
it. 
 
Becca stole a glance at her companion in the front seat and roughly 
shifted gears. 
 
"OOPS," whispered Langly and Frohike, from the backseat in unison. 
 
Roughly forty minutes passed - forty quiet minutes - while Becca 
weaved through the late afternoon traffic on her way into some of 
Virginia's better subdivisions.  She had done this every year, 
driven for miles out of her way to see the large houses decorated 
for Christmas and taken all the tours of those historic mansions. 
It was the fulfillment of a dream, kind of like her version of "The 
Miracle on 34th Street" where you go to see a beautiful house and 
all of a sudden realize that it is yours.  She had hoped that Byers 
would be as fascinated with this fantasy as she was.  She would get 
him there yet. 
 
The first subdivision that they drove through had some pretty, but 
not quite remarkable, offerings.  Becca fiddled with the radio dial 
while pulling into the next area and settled on some non-stop 
Christmas music. "This should get you guys in the mood." 
 
Frohike tried to suppress a smirk.  <<I'm not touching that line.>> 
 
This neighborhood had gone all out with its ornaments.  Becca 
shifted down into a slow crawl so that they all could view the 
houses. 
 
"Damn," Becca muttered under her breath, "look at that one." 
 
It had evergreens circling down along the columns of the front 
porch with golden bows secured every few feet.  Red and yellow 
poinsettia plants lined up between the columns, and there were 
candles - real candles - lit in each window on the first floor. 
 
Becca spoke first.  "Understated, but elegant." 
 
"Less is more," agreed Byers. 
 
The next several houses of Federal and French Neoclassical styles 
had varying degrees of lighting - from the small twinkling kind 
snaking through the trees to a cool ice blue that framed the 
windows.  All had the traditional wreaths with red bows hung on the 
doors and on many of the windows.  Special kudos went to the house 
whose sidewalk lighting was made to resemble miniature Christmas 
trees.  The conversation in the car was carried by Becca and Byers; 
very little was forthcoming from the occupants of the back seat. 
 
Until the house at the end.  Becca nearly hit the brakes in horror. 
It was garishly lit with red and green bulbs, and there were 
inflatable snowmen in the yard.  On the roof were plastic reindeer 
and a fake chimney, with a fake motorized Santa halfway stuffed in 
it with its legs shifting back and forth as if signifying being 
stuck.  It was something that Becca might have found funny as a 
child, but as an adult and a serious grader of seasonal 
decorations, she was slightly repulsed and embarrassed for the 
neighbors. 
 
"Whoa, cool," exclaimed Langly.  "I bet kids live here." 
 
Becca could only reply, "I wouldn't be surprised," and looked to 
Byers. 
 
"That's our boy," Byers muttered under his breath.   
 
They toured one more subdivision in the area before deciding that 
some hot chocolate would really be appropriate to top off the 
evening. 
 
Becca drove them back towards DC and stopped off at a roadside 
diner just before hitting the beltway.  Hot chocolates were ordered 
all around, and small talk about the upcoming holidays followed. 
 
Byers had spied a Christmas tree vendor across the street and made 
a mention about getting Becca to pick out one for her place.  "Why 
don't you go ahead and narrow down the choices for me?" Becca 
suggested. 
 
"Me, too," added Langly as he gulped down the last of his drink. 
"I haven't done this in a long time."  He raced Byers out the door 
and into the tree lot. 
 
Becca ordered another round of hot chocolates, two to go and two 
for herself and Frohike.  She noticed that he had been very quiet 
during the evening and barely said three words since arriving at 
the diner.  Something was on his mind, and she thought she knew 
what it was. 
 
"So," she began, "are you one of those people who really hate the 
holidays?" 
 
Frohike shrugged.  "It's not *hate*.  I just don't get as worked up 
over it as others do." 
 
Becca went fishing.  "Unpleasant childhood?" 
 
"No.  Ordinary childhood;  real quiet."  <<What is she getting 
at?>> 
 
"So, you don't like being alone over the holidays?" 
 
Frohike emptied his mug and placed it somewhat noisily on the 
table. "Perhaps we should join the others to help pick out your 
tree." 
 
"In a few," Becca replied.  "I figure Byers has about another seven 
minutes of narrowing down the candidates before we have to go out 
in the cold.  So, how about answering the question." 
 
Frohike eyed Rebecca Foster for a minute.  <<She just doesn't get, 
does she?  Someone who looks like her, with that confidence and 
position, would never be without company.>>  "I'm used to spending 
my free time alone.  Holidays aren't that much different for me." 
 
"Perhaps they should start to have some meaning for you."  Becca 
was not sure if she should go forward with this, with someone she 
did not know as well as she knew Byers.  But since she had already 
stepped in it this far . . . "Pick up the phone and call her." 
 
Frohike looked back down at the table.  <<So, Byers had told her.>> 
He just closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment.  "There's 
more to this than can be fixed with a simple phone call.  It's just 
not going to happen." 
 
Becca halfway leaned over the table, trying to make her point. 
"Picking up the phone is the first step.  Talking to her is the 
second.  How many years have you wasted by not picking up that 
phone?"  She settled back in the booth, almost expecting him to 
berate her for not minding her own business.  She did not have to 
wait long. 
 
"You don't know anything about me, Rebecca.  And calling her would 
not even begin to resolve anything."  He began to pull on his 
jacket.  "We should go join the others." 
 
"Not yet."  Becca fought the urge to grab his arm to keep him in 
his seat.  "Just stay for a minute, and hear me out.  And then I'll 
shut up, and we can go, all right?" 
 
Becca shuddered and let out a small sigh.  Reliving parts of her 
past, especially that time five years ago when she did not know if 
she would ever see another Christmas, were not easy for her.  She 
had made some smartass remark to Frohike around Labor Day about the 
mysterious women in his past, not realizing that on that day that 
kind of comment sent him into a slight depression.  Byers would 
later explain to her the sketchy details that he knew about one 
woman in particular and begged her not to pursue the subject.  But 
over the last several months, watching Frohike when she visited the 
Gunmen offices and hearing his voice on the phone when she called 
to talk to Byers, she could not keep silent.  She wanted to grab 
both arms and shake him and yell at him, anything to make him 
understand that wasted time was an enemy.  It was something to be 
dealt with harshly and cut out - like the cancer that had been 
removed from her breast.  For wasted time would just as surely kill 
him, was killing him, as the cancer would have killed her if left 
alone.  And she had vowed from the moment of her recovery and 
counseling that she would never let another moment just simply 
pass by. 
 
And so she told him.  About the circle of her friends from high 
school with whom she had lost touch.  About her mother who made 
some phone calls to gather those friends for her hospitalized 
daughter.  And how they had arranged their schedules to visit with 
her, accompany her home, look after her while she recovered and got 
her to physical therapy.  The friends who made sure that she got 
back to work and went with her to the support group.  And without 
whom she knew, just knew, that she would have never found the 
strength to continue.  All because her mother had picked up the 
phone when she herself was too full of self pity to care. 
 
"You don't see how it hurts him," Becca continued, "to watch you 
day in and day out and not be able to do or say anything because he 
doesn't know what to say.  Fortunately, keeping my mouth shut is 
not something that I do well." 
 
Frohike let out a small laugh, and Becca joined him.  Maybe she had 
gotten through to him.  Maybe she would try a little reinforcement 
later.  But she had gotten him to relax a bit, and she would accept 
that for now. 
 
"Come on," Becca said as she started to slide her way out of the 
booth, "we should go and rescue Byers.  I can see Langly running 
like a maniac up and down the aisles of the trees like a five year 
old.  And seriously, I know that you guys have your sources, but if 
you need some help in tracking down a personal phone number, I have 
some contacts who can get it for you." 
 
Frohike followed her out the door and into the parking lot.  Too 
late, he thought;  I've had it memorized for months. 
 
end