a Christmas ghost story
It was Christmas time and the theatres were filled with audiences eager for pantomimes, romances, comedies. And the greats.
The Great Actor was sitting in his dressing room waiting for the start of the great play, King Lear. He was King Lear.
As he applied makeup to accentuate the wrinkles in his face, dusted his hair to make it even greyer, he thought, “I don’t need this make-up. Look how old I am.” He stared at his image before him.
All he could think of was the disappointments, lost opportunities, a failed marriage, children he didn’t recognize. All he could see was the diminishment of all his powers. He was beginning to forget lines. Sometimes, he would stand in his home uncertain of what he was doing, where he was going.
Worst of all, he no longer felt the thrill of walking before an audience, causing a spell to be woven, wherein a world was created between the stage he stood upon and the great arch that framed him and his fellow actors.
There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said. A young girl came into the room. Confidently. “Who are you?” he asked, somewhat bemused. “What are you doing here?”
“My name is Little Cheese Sandwich.” The great actor struggled to contain a laugh, but she continued without a pause, ”At least that’s what my family calls me, because apparently, the first thing I said when I was just a little baby was “little cheese sandwich” which I think has to be a bit of a fairy tale because I can’t imagine a baby being smart enough to say that, and how would I say that without teeth?” The great actor raised his finger gesturing to the little girl to stop but she paid no attention and continued, breathlessly, “but I digress, I’m here to let you know I think you’re the greatest actor on Earth and I am here with my parents because I insisted they bring me to see you in Lear.” The great actor’s eyes widened. “When I grow up I want to be an actor just like you. I am always acting. When I take a bath I’m Ophelia, when the wind blows I am Prospero commanding the wind, but most, when it storms, I want to stand on the stage and say,
“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!”
“That’s all. I just wanted to let you know I ‘m here and hope you have a great performance tonight. Bye!” and with that, the little girl skipped from the room.
The Great Actor sat before his mirror, then turned and ran to the door. He looked both ways, There was no little girl. He called out “Little cheese sandwich!” A stage hand asked him, “You hungry boss?”  
The great actor asked, “Did you see a little girl go this way?”
“I didn’t see anyone sir,” replied the stage hand.
The actor returned to his room. What had happened? Could that really have occurred? The actor laughed. Maybe it had. Maybe he’d been treated to a magnificent performance for one, by one, an entire world arriving on his doorstep, causing a spell to be woven in his room. This very room.
He turned to the mirror and wiped off his make-up. Shook the powder from his hair. There, those wrinkles, that grey is enough, the great actor told himself.
That night, the Great Actor strode upon the stage with a fury and anger, a dreadful weariness, and a majesty that Lear possesses, but few actors can manage. That night he roared against the storm and bemoaned his bitter fate. That night, a great tragedy occurred.
When he came on stage to take his bow, the audience rose as one in thunderous applause. As he strode forward for another round of applause, the great actor scanned the audience for Little Cheese Sandwich, but didn’t see her.
Later, in his dressing room, there was a knock on his door. A couple stood there with a bouquet of flowers. “Hello?” the actor asked.
“We wanted to thank you for your performance tonight,” said the husband.
“Those are beautiful flowers, thank you,” replied the actor.
“We didn’t intend to come to your performance, but now that we have, we’re happy we did. I know that must be a strange thing to hear from someone, how a tragedy might make them happy. Sometimes, tragedy can be soothing,” burst out the woman.
The actor thought her cadence was familiar. The way she spoke, what was it? “Why did you come if you initially didn’t want to?” he asked.
The woman took out her handkerchief and quietly began to cry. The man put his arm around her. “It was our daughter’s wish to attend your performance. She always told us you’re the greatest actor in the world. We’d already bought the tickets. She died recently. A brain tumour, Inoperable.” The man closed his eyes and sought to control himself.
“What was your daughter’s name?” quietly asked the actor.
“Victoria,” said the man.
“But we called her Little Cheese Sandwich,” said the woman, “It’s silly isn’t it? We always told her it was her first words. It was our little family joke. Small things make a difference.”
“Small things make a difference,” the great actor repeated, looking at them both. They stood there, looking at each other without saying a word. He broke the silence. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I hope, in some small way, tonight’s performance brought you some respite from your grief. I’m sure she would have been a great actor as well, if she had lived.”
“Why do you say that?” said the man.
“A guess?” the actor replied.
“She told us over and over one day she would be a great actor,” said the mother. She began to cry again, then stopped herself. “We apologize for burdening you with our loss. We just wanted to stop by and thank you, we truly admired your performance tonight.”
He shook the man’s hand and gently kissed the woman on the cheek. “I hope it was a performance worthy of your daughter,” the actor replied.
They left him with the bouquet. It was exquisite. Its composition, colour and fragrance made a very plain dressing room beautiful. The air was redolent with its perfume.
The great actor stood alone in his room, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.  Who was it who had performed, he or Little Cheese Sandwich?