...And Other Stories, part 4

Free time came sooner than I expected. Enjoy!

Letters for Santa

Friday, December 21, 1:49pm

Dear Santa Claws,

I have been very naughty this year. I hope you put me on the naughty list. That sounds really cool. I bet all my friends are on it too. I am mean to my sister 9 times a day. I have eaten 6 bugs since Carl started the bug eating contest, which means I am in second place since Sam has eaten 7, but I will eat 2 tomorrow and then I will be in first place.

I don't think you're actually real. (My friend Jared just said that, so I wrote it down). I think you're a fake. I don't know why your're not in jail. You break into people's houses a lot.

I want a Super Spearman transformer action figure that comes with a parachute and ninja flying disks that shoot out of his hands. Then I can hide in the fake potted tree at the bottom of the stairs and shoot people who go by. I really want to hit Katie. She's my sister. I like to be mean to her.

Please bring me my present whether you're a fake or not.

Your Friend, (I'm not really your friend, that's just the only way I know how to end a letter other than 'love' and I sure don't love you)

Your Friend, (see explanation above)

Lewis, 5th grade

***

Saturday, December 22, 7:18am

Dear Santa Claws,

The letter I wrote you yesterday was a letter I wrote at school because the teacher told us to. My friend Jared sits next to me. I'm pretty naughty, but Jared is naughtier than me. I like to be naughty. At school and at home. All the time. But sometimes I'm a little naughtier at school than I want to be 'cause Jared sits next to me and he comes up with ideas for things for us to do.

I meant everything I said in the letter I wrote you yesterday. Except that I ate 6 bugs because I've really only eaten 5 but I told Carl and Sam and Jared that I ate 6 because it sounded better. I do think the naughty list sounds really cool. All my friends are probably on it too.

I want a Super Spearman transformer action figure that comes with a parachute and ninja flying disks that shoot out of his hands. I want to use it to hit my sister Katie because she's an annoying little crybaby and probably the dumbest little kid in 3rd grade.

I might want some other presents too. Like maybe a tiger. Or something like that.

I still think you're probably a fake, but it doesn't matter 'cause you bring presents. You should bring me presents. Even though I'm naughty. Kind of.

Your Friend, (remember the explanation from the last letter)

Lewis, 5th grade (Actually yesterday was the last day of school before Christmas break so it doesn't matter. But, wait, I'm going back to 5th grade after break. So I'm still in 5th grade. And it really doesn't matter. Never mind.)

***

Sunday, December 23, 10:22am

Dear Santa Claouse, (my mom kind of saw the top of the letter I sent you yesterday before I hid it from her, and she said I spelled your name wrong, so I'm trying a different way this time)

My friend Jared is a lot naughtier than I am and sometimes I don't want to be naughty at all and he just comes up with ideas for things to do and most of the things are really fun. And sometimes I feel kind of like if I don't do naughty things with him he won't like me anymore.

I think it's really funny to get Katie mad at me. She screams a lot. I think it would be really funny to hit her with ninja disks from Super Spearman. That would be sure to get her to scream. She screams a lot though. Sometimes I don't really try to make her mad. I just do it on accident. She screams anyway.

I still sort of want a Super Spearman transformer action figure that comes with a parachute and ninja disks that shoot out of his hands. I want this other present more, though. I told you I might kind of want a tiger. I do want a tiger. A lot.

I don't know if you're a fake or not. I guess if I thought you were a complete and total fake, I wouldn't have written you any letters in the first place.

Your Friend, (remember the explanation)

Lewis, 5th grade

***

Monday, December 24, 8:31am

Dear Santa Clause, (did I spell it right?)

I'm only ever naughty on accident at school unless I'm doing something Jared told me to do. Sometimes I'm naughty with him because I want to. But sometimes I don't want to be naughty with him. One time I told him that and he said I was a sissy. I am not. I just didn't feel like being naughty with him that day. Most days I do want to be naughty with him, though.

And at first I told you I ate 6 bugs and then I told you I really only ate 5, but the real truth is that I only ate 3. I know I lied. And that makes me naughty. But I had to tell Carl and Sam and Jared something better. Otherwise they wouldn't want to be friends anymore.

I don't really want a Super Spearman transformer action figure that much. Sam said that's what he wants for Christmas so I figured it would be a good thing to ask for. I really want, well not a tiger exactly, but I want a big cat with orange stripes and big teeth that growls at people. But no growling at Katie 'cause that would make her scream. She already screams way to much because of me.

I kind of hope you're not a fake.

Your Friend, (maybe I do want to be friends, but just a little bit)

Lewis, 5th grade

***

Monday, December 24th, 4:17pm

Dear Santa Clase, (is that one right?)

I don't really like to be naughty at school. I just like being friends with Jared, and I'm afraid he won't be my friend anymore if I don't be naughty with him. It seems like all my friends want to do is prove how tough and bad they can be, though. I'm not sure I really like that.

I really want you to bring me a big, mean cat. A really big fuzzy one with big feet and big teeth. I want one that stands on its back legs and growls through the screen door at my neighbor's dog. Katie probably wouldn't want a mean cat, though. So just make sure it's not too mean.

I want you to be real.

Your Friend,

Lewis, 5th grade

***

Monday, December 24th, 10:48pm

Dear Santa, (I'm sorry I can't spell your last name right)

I have to tell you the truth about everything before it's too late.

I always try not to be naughty at school. I hate being in trouble. I hate to see Jared or any of my friends get in trouble. I tried to tell them that we shouldn't do things to be naughty anymore, but Jared called me a sissy and said I had to be naughty with them or we couldn't be friends anymore. And I'm afraid that if Jared isn't my friend then Sam and Carl won't want to be friends anymore and then everyone in my class will think I'm stupid and no one will want to be my friend. I'm sorry I'm naughty all the time. I wish I could change it. I don't really want to be on the naughty list. I need you to bring me my present.

I also lied about the bugs. I know I said that I finally told you the truth, but the real truth is that I didn't eat any bugs. I just told my friends I did. I wanted them to think I was cool. I wanted them to want to keep being my friends.

I don't really like to hit Katie. I'm usually only mean to her by accident. She's mad all the time because of her bad grades and she gets in a bad mood about other things too. It's not really her fault that she has bad grades, though. It's not her fault she has something wrong with her eyes that makes her see things backwards. It's not her fault that she still can't read. I wish she was happier.

That's why I need to tell you the truth. I need you to be real and I need you to bring me my present. Because it's not really my present.

Katie wants a cat. But not a big mean cat with sharp teeth. She wants a little orange kitten. I heard her telling my mom that she wanted to ask Santa for a kitten, but I know Katie didn't ask you. She can't write a letter by herself. So I'm asking for her. Please, please bring my sister Katie a little orange striped kitten.

I know I've been naughty and I'm probably on the naughty list and don't deserve any presents. But I promise I'll try to be better. Just please bring my present. Katie's present.

I really really hope you're real. I'm counting on it.

Your Friend,

Lewis, 5th grade

***

Tuesday, December 25th, 2:09pm

Dear Santa,

Thank you so much for bringing Katie her kitten. He's little and orange and stripey and he even growled for a minute when he was trying to jump on a pile of wrapping paper.

Katie loves him. I like him a lot too. Katie said I should name him because she couldn't think of a good one. I named him Claws. Katie thought I was naming him after Super Spearman's evil enemy Dr. Claws, but I really named him after you. I just can't spell it right.

Thank you so much for making my sister so happy. Merry Christmas.

Love,

Lewis

***********************************************

Ok, you will definitely have to wait until after Thanksgiving for the next installment. I don't have a teaser yet...You'll just have to hope it's something good, not Twilight fanfiction or anything like that. :)

...And Other Stories, part 3

The Christmas Train

"...And I'll see Santa, and I'll tell him I want a good day to play trains. More than anything I want a good day to play trains. And then I get to ride the train because I love trains." Andrew said.

"Andrew," I said as I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, "We've talked about this. I understand that this is what you want, but when you talk to Santa you ask for a toy or a present. Can you try that again? Tell me what you're going to ask Santa."

I could feel Andrew scratching out a word with the tip of his finger on the back of my seat. He remained silent. He was probably tired of us going over the "procedure" for our trip today.

"What are you writing?" I asked my son.

"B-O-X-C-A-R," Andrew recited as his finger formed each letter. "I'm going to ask Santa for a new train because I want a good day to play trains. And I want to ride the train"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, "Thats just the thing to ask for. I'm sure Santa will bring you a new train. We'll have an wonderful Christmas." I pulled into the mall parking lot, glad to see that it was mostly empty. "We're here, Andrew," I said.

"No, Mama!" he screeched, "One more!" He was impatiently drumming his finger on the back of my seat.

"One more, real quick," I allowed.

"C-A-B-O-O-S-E," Andrew spelled out. "Okay. All done. Let's go. I want to ride the train." He unbuckled his seat belt and carefully opened the door of the car. I exited the vehicle as well, locked up, and tried to match my smooth gait to Andrew's uneven one as we headed toward the mall entrance.

We came in near the food court, the scent of stale chicken nuggets hanging in the air.

"We're going to see Santa and have hot cocoa at Starbucks and ride the train," said Andrew, reciting the plan I had made for our adventure at the mall today.

I glanced at my watch. It was 10:27. According to the mall website's event calendar, Santa's village was supposed to open at 10:30 on Monday mornings.

"Almost time for Santa, Andrew," I said. "Shall we head downstairs?"

"Yes, downstairs. We'll see Santa downstairs. And I'll ask him for a good day to play trains. We'll have hot cocoa and ride the train," Andrew said as he walked toward the escalator.

"Remember what we talked about?" I reminded, "About asking Santa for a toy?"

"Yes."

"So what should you say to Santa?"

"I'll ask him for a train so I can have a good day to play trains," Andrew said. He was tracing letters on his thigh with the tip of his finger as we rode down the escalator.

"That's a great way to ask," I encouraged.

"E-N-G-I-N-E-E-R, " Andrew answered.

We arrived at on the first level of the mall right in front of a large red and white sign reading "Santa's Village." A little ways behind the sign was a roped off area of red carpet and piles of fluffy "snow" decorated with glittering Christmas trees. In the center was a green and gold velvet throne. To the right of this area was a second section, this one surrounded by a fence made of giant striped candy canes. Inside was a large play train, about waist height, with an engine and four red and green cars equipped with child sized seats.

"We'll see Santa," Andrew pointed at the area with the throne, "And have hot cocoa," he pointed at the Starbucks a little ways to the right of the village, "And then ride the train!" he pointed to the train area and jumped around to face me. "It will be a good day!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, a very good day," I affirmed. Andrew and I walked toward the entrance to the throne area. A small sign near the roped off entrance showed the hours that Santa's village would be open that day. However, a piece of paper was taped over the original message. It read "Santa will not be here today."

Six years of raising an autistic son had taught me not to swear, but I wanted badly to let loose a few curse words. My plan for the day was ruined, and I was betting that Andrew wouldn't take kindly to a change in our carefully discussed adventure. I glanced around, looking for something, anything to help with, or at least distract from, my crisis.

I spotted the customer service desk a little way past the train area. Someone was there manning the counter. Maybe I could get this figured out. "Hey, Andrew," I said, "Before we do the stuff in our plan, I need to ask the customer service lady a question. Let's go over there for a minute."

"But-- Santa, Starbucks, train," Said Andrew.

"Yes," I said. "That's still the plan. Just question first, then Santa, Starbucks, train." I led the way to the customer service desk. Once we arrived, Andrew immediately began to trace letters on the front of the counter.

"Good Morning," I said. The girl behind the counter couldn't be older than 19 or 20, and she had piercings in her lip, nose, and eyebrow. She looked up from the counter and quickly pushed the magazine she'd been reading under a stack of papers.

"Um, how can I help you?" she said.

"I was wondering when Santa would be in," I said, "I noticed he's running a little late."

"Did you read the sign?" the girl asked in a bored voice. "He's not coming."

"But he's Santa," I said in a forcedly cheerful voice, "and it's almost Christmas."

"Um, actually he's Doug, and he has a girlfriend and three kids. Sometimes stuff comes up." She shrugged and gestured as if to say "and it's no big deal." "Try coming back tomorrow. He'll probably be here then."

"P-I-S-T-O-N," Andrew said from beside me.

"We can't come back tomorrow; we made special plans to come today," I said seriously. "The mall website said that Santa would be here at 10:30 today, so that's when we came. My son--"

At that moment Andrew began to kick the counter and yell, "Santa, Starbucks, train! That's the plan!"

I bent down to Andrew and said, "I know Andrew, this is taking longer than it should. The plan might have to change a little bit."

"No, Mama, I don't want to change the plan!"

"Let's calm down Andrew, take a big breath with me," I coaxed. He gave one more kick, then took a deep breath in unison with me. "I need to keep talking to this lady for a couple of minutes. How about you go stand by the train and wait for me. You can look at all of the cars and parts. Think about how much fun it will be to ride it." Andrew kicked the floor with his toe, but nodded and headed toward the train. I straightened up and adjusted my position at the counter so I could keep an eye on him as I spoke to the girl.

"My son is autistic," I explained, "He doesn't take to change very well, as you probably figured out."

"Oh," she said, "my cousin has epilepsy." I smiled, but thought, how stupid can this girl get?

"We can't come back tomorrow. We came today because we always go out on Mondays. It's the least crowded day of the week for public places. It's part of our routine," I explained, trying to stay patient and pleasant.

"Um, O-kay," the girl said, twisting her lip ring between her fingers.

"Is there no way Santa is going to come today?" I asked.

"Yeah, no way he's coming. He called in early, so all the elf people aren't coming in either," she said cooly.

"Okay," I breathed. "So no Santa. At all."

"Yeah."

"What about the train?"I asked. "My son, he loves trains more than anything."

"That's the elf guy's job. I can't work it," the girl said snappily.

"But if he could just ride the train, it might still be a good day for him. He really wants to ride it," I begged. I could see that Andrew was beginning to kick the candy cane fence that surrounded the train. There wasn't much time left before a tantrum would start.

"I can't. I'm not trained. Plus, he can't ride anyway if he's going to have a seizure. The mall isn't liable for any accidents--"

"My son doesn't have epilepsy," I interrupted. "Please, just open up the gate. Let him sit in a seat and walk around a little. I can't let him down all the way."

"Gotta teach him that it's a cruel world some day," the girl snarled.

"I know that," I said, "but not today. He's six years old. And it's almost Christmas."

The girl took a lanyard from the desk beside her and started toward the gate to the train area.
"He can only stay for a few minutes. I'm really not supposed to be doing this," she sighed.

"Thank you so much," I said as I followed her. "My son and I are going to get drinks at Starbucks after this. Can I get you something too? I really appreciate this."

"Grande white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and caramel drizzle instead of whipped cream," she said.

"Sure thing," I answered. We reached the gate to the train area. As the girl unlocked the door, I bent down and faced Andrew.

"Andrew," I said, "The plan isn't going to work out the way we thought."

"Santa, Starbucks, train," said Andrew.

"I know, but it's going to be more like train, Starbucks today," I explained. "Santa can't come to talk to you today. Sometimes things just get in the way. I'm so sorry this isn't working out like we planned."

"But how can I tell Santa that I want a good day to play trains?"

I didn't bother to correct him this time. "We can write him a letter when we get home," I said. "Because Santa's not here today, the train isn't going either, so you can't ride it, but--"

"NO!" Andrew shrieked. He kicked the fence, and the customer service girl, who was standing next to the unlocked gate, gave me a nasty look.

"Andrew," I said, trying to gain his attention, "you can't ride the train, but you can go inside the fence and look at it and sit in the seats."

He kicked the fence two more times, then walked through the gate spitting letters as he went. "P-A-S-S-E-N-G-E-R -C-A-R, W-H-I-S-T-L-E, C-O-A-L, T-R-A-C-K."

I let out a deep breath and retreated toward the Starbucks tables. Maybe Andrew could calm down and enjoy himself enough with the train and cocoa to still make this a good day. I noticed an older man and a teenaged girl sitting at a table nearby. The girl was drawing, a box of colored pencils open in front of her. The man was drinking coffee and watching Andrew examine the train. He glanced at me, then said to the girl, "I'll be right back, Steph." He set down his coffee and came up beside me.

"He's your son?" the man nodded toward Andrew in the train area. As he moved his head, a jingle bell on the top of his baseball cap where the button usually went made a sparkling ring.

"Yes, he's my son." I felt the need to explain Andrew's poor behavior. "He's--"

"Spectrum?" The man asked. I nodded. "My daughter," the man pointed, "Stephanie, she's Aspergers. Drawing's her thing."

"Andrew's a classic," I said, "Trains."

"Ah," said the man, "I thought so. He's also very good at spelling for...How old is he?"

"Six," I answered, "He loves to read, especially the instruction manuals for toy trains. We keep them in a big binder on his bookshelf at home."

"Now, I'm sure I don't know as much as Andrew," the man started as he tugged on his scrubby salt and pepper beard, "but I'm a hobby collector. I've got a few trains of my own. Would it be alright if I struck up a conversation with him? Maybe he'd like to talk to someone else who likes railroads."

"He'll probably try to push you away," I said.

"Don't worry, I won't be offended. I've had plenty of experience," he gestured to Stephanie, who was choosing another colored pencil.

"Well, it's worth a shot," I agreed, "He may enjoy a good chat."

"Thanks," the man said as he started toward the gate, "I won't be too long." He entered the train area and slowly approached Andrew, who was examining the way the train's wheels rolled on the track. The man bent down to Andrew's level, just as I always did when I conversed with him.

I watched as Andrew looked towards the man, then back at the wheel. I heard the man ask a question, and I was surprised when Andrew answered him in a calm voice. I retreated a little toward Stephanie's table. I caught a glimpse of her drawing as she chose another pencil. I could see the outline of the train and the candy cane fence.

I looked back to Andrew. He was now facing the man, giving him his full attention. Both were gesturing at different parts of the train, and I caught a few words here and there, "How do you think that works?" and things like that.

After about five minutes, Andrew's attention span began to expire. I could see him tapping his toes on the ground. The man noticed too, and I heard him say goodbye to Andrew. Then he left the train area and came back to me.

"Wow, thanks so much," I said, "He seemed to get along really well with you."

"It was a pleasure to talk with him," the man said, "You have a very smart son, Mrs..." he trailed off.

"Oh, no, I'm Beth," I said.

"Nick," the man introduced himself, tipping his jingle bell topped hat.

"You're amazing, a real saint." I had an endless sense of awe for the way he had managed to connect to Andrew in just a few minutes.

"Well, thank you," said Nick. "Andrew loves you very much. Now I really need to get going now, but I do hope I run into you again sometime."

"I hope you have a wonderful day," I said. Nick nodded and smiled, then he returned to Stephanie and helped pack up her pencils. I turned my gaze back to Andrew, where he was fingering the lamp on the front of the train's engine.

Nick and Stephanie passed me again on their way to the escalator. Stephanie stopped beside me. "Here," she said, "for you." She held out the drawing she had been working on. I took the paper. She had done a perfect likeness of Andrew sitting in the train and Nick standing next to him. They were surrounded by the candy cane fence and the bright Christmas trees.

"Oh my goodness, thank you!" I exclaimed. "It's so beautiful."

"You're welcome," Stephanie said to my feet, then hurried to join her father. Nick turned and waved, then they headed upstairs.

I was still looking down at the picture when Andrew appeared at my side. "All done with the train?" I asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "Starbucks?"

"Sure thing," I said

I bought cocoa for Andrew, coffee for me, and the fancy five dollar mocha for the girl at the customer service desk.

"Want to walk and drink?" I asked Andrew.

"Yes," he said.

I placed the mocha on the customer service desk as we passed by. The girl was back to reading her magazine. Then Andrew and I started toward the fantastically decorated department store at the end of the mall.

"You know that man at the train?" Andrew asked.

"Yeah," I said, "His name is Nick."

"He's Santa," declared Andrew.

"Oh really?" I said with a slight laugh.

"Mama, he's really Santa."

"I believe you," I said. "How did you find out?"

"I told him what I wanted for Christmas. And then he gave it to me," Andrew said seriously.

"What did you ask for?" I inquired. It took Andrew a moment to answer, because he had noticed Stephanie's drawing in my coffee-free hand. He slowly took it from me.

"A good day to play trains," Andrew said. He carefully ran his finger down the length of the Christmas train in the drawing. "And now I can remember it forever."

******************************************

Look forward to the next installment:

Letters for Santa

...And Other Stories, part 2

Ballerina Julio

The children's faces were starting to run together in Cynthia's mind. Most of them had the same copper toned skin and glistening dark brown eyes, lit up with the excitement of their Christmas wishes. Cynthia ran a hand through her thin graying hair as she set down her pen and placed the gift tag she'd just finished writing in the decorated box at her side. She looked up and smiled as the next child in line took a seat in the chair across from her. "Hello, dear," Cynthia said cheerfully.

"Hi," the young boy replied. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. Cynthia noticed the chipped pink nail polish decorating his small fingernails. She took a fresh gift tag from the stack and picked up her pen.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Cynthia asked.

"Julio," said the boy. Cynthia wrote the name on the top line of the gift tag.

"And how old are you?"

"Seven," said Julio, "I'm going to be eight in January."

"Wow," Cynthia remarked, "Christmas and then your birthday so close together! Must be a fun time of year."

"Yeah," answered Julio. "I like my birthday best because we order cupcakes from the bakery and I get to pick whatever color I want. I like pink cupcakes. I like those ones better than the Christmas ones."

"That sounds lovely," said Cynthia, "But we need to talk about Christmas some more right now." Cynthia pushed the gift tag toward Julio for him to inspect. "Look here," she said, "I wrote down your name, age, and I circled 'boy' because you're a boy. Does that all look good to you?" Cynthia looked carefully into Julio's face for affirmation. He nodded and smiled.

"See all these blank lines at the bottom?" Cynthia pointed to the bottom section of the gift tag. Julio nodded again. "Now you get to tell me what you want for Christmas, and I'm going to write it down on the lines. Then I'm going to send your tag and all of your friends' tags up to Santa, and he'll know what to bring all of you for Christmas," Cynthia explained.

Julio smiled excitedly. Like most of the children in the overcrowded foster system, he hadn't had much contact with Santa. "Will he bring me exactly what I want?" Julio asked.

"Of course," said Cynthia.

"Last year, he messed up," said Julio. "I wanted a Cinderella dress. But he gave me a soccer ball. And a penguin. Well, I guess I kind of like the penguin. She has a purple hat. But I don't like soccer." He wrinkled his nose.

"Well, that must not have been fun," Cynthia said, "I bet your tag just got mixed up with someone else's. A lot of other kids live here with you, don't they?" She knew it was a poor excuse. "This year, I'll be sure to put your tag right on top, so it's the first one Santa sees when he opens the box."

"Okay," Julio said. "I know exactly what I want! I saw it in the big Toys R Us catalogue, and it's exactly what I want," he exclaimed. Cynthia nodded, her pen poised over the gift tag. Julio took a deep breath, then said, "I want a ballerina Courtney doll! More than anything else in the whole world!" Cynthia carefully copied down the wish and capped her pen.

"You got it, Julio," said Cynthia with a smile, "I got it all written down. I'm sure Santa will have it all ready for you on Christmas." Julio smiled, showing a childish gap-toothed grin. Cynthia tried not to let her own smile waver. Julio stood up, neatly pushed in his chair, thanked Cynthia, and danced away down the hall.

Cynthia listened to the wishes of the last three children in line, then began to pack up her things. She sifted through the gift tags in the decorated box so that, as promised, Julio's was on top. Then she put on her coat and scarf, picked up her handbag, and nestled the box securely under her left arm. Cynthia walked a little ways down the hall and knocked on the door to the director's office.

The director of the children's home opened the door, smiling. "All finished?" he asked.

"Yes, I've got all the wishes here." Cynthia gestured to the box under her arm. "Someone, it may be me, I don't know yet, will be back on Christmas Eve to deliver the loot." She smiled.

"You don't know how grateful we, all of us, are for you and everyone at Angel Tree. The kids always love their Christmas gifts best of all the donations we get all year," the director said. If only that were actually true, Cynthia thought, remembering what Julio had said.

"Well, I'll be off to get these wishes to Santa," Cynthia said with a wink, "I'd best not keep him waiting."

"Take care," said the director, "And thanks again."

"Same to you," said Cynthia.

The drive to Toys R Us wasn't long. Cynthia's car heater had barely begun to warm the vehicle by the time she pulled into the parking lot. She turned off the car, but didn't get out yet. She was still thinking about Julio. There was a good chance he wouldn't get his wish if she didn't do something. Most people wouldn't want to buy a little boy a ballerina doll. They'd think they were doing good by purchasing him more masculine toys. They'd think he needed to be taught the proper way to be a boy.

Cynthia looked at the decorated box in the passenger seat. She could steal out Julio's tag and purchase his gift herself. But that would that be helpful, or would that be affirming that there was something wrong with Julio. It would be Cynthia saying that his wish was too strange, to embarrassing, to share with the world.

Cynthia sighed and got out of the car, carefully tucking the box back under her arm. She entered the brightly lit store, which contrasted greatly with the dusk outside. After blinking bemusedly for a moment, she headed for the customer service desk. The young woman behind the counter was blowing her nose as Cynthia approached. The woman looked up at Cynthia, and, seeing the Angel Tree logo on Cynthia's badge, said, "Oh, we've been expecting you." Her voice was raspy, and she began to cough as soon as she spoke. The young woman cleared her throat and continued, "I just put up the tree. I can take the tags." She gestured to the box in Cynthia's arms.

"Sweetie," Cynthia said, "You look like you need a coffee break. Really more like a hot honey lemon tea break." The young woman behind the counter raised a fresh tissue to cover her chapped red nose and lips. "I can put the tags out," Cynthia offered. "You relax for a minute. Ask the boss if you can go home early. You seem like you need a good, long sleep."

"I really appreciate it," the young woman rasped. "Thanks." She smiled as she coughed again.

"No problem, hon," said Cynthia. She headed back to the front of the store where the bare Christmas tree stood waiting. Some of the branches were still squished together from being in the storage box. Cynthia bent down to straighten them before opening the box of gift tags.

As she bent the branches, Cynthia's mind returned to Julio. People could be so closed minded and cruel. His wish wasn't likely to be granted. Perhaps she could add a little curly tail to the "o" on the end of his name and turn it into an "a." Someone would certainly buy "Julia" a ballerina Courtney doll. But the word "boy" was already circled on Julio's gift tag. Maybe she should just buy Julio's gift herself.

That would be cruel of me, though, Cynthia thought, not to give society a chance. Cynthia knew perfectly well that she would probably still have the rigid "dolls are for girls only" beliefs if her nephew hadn't run away to Vermont last year to marry his husband and adopt their baby daughter. Maybe someone would want to buy Julio's gift. I'll keep thinking about it, Cynthia thought.

She began to place the tags on the tree. Although she'd promised Julio that his tag would be the first to be seen, Cynthia moved it to the bottom of the stack. She just needed more time to consider if she wanted to put it out and risk him getting a gift he didn't want.

Cynthia had three more tags in the box when the automatic door opened and a gust of cold air entered the store along with two people. There was a little girl, perhaps eight or nine years old, with a short bobbed blond hair and dressed in dark green athletic sweats. She was accompanied by a stern looking elderly woman in a deep purple sweater and a pearl necklace. "Oh look, Grandma, they're putting out the angel tree!" exclaimed the girl. "Can we do one, please, Grandma?" She looked up at the elderly woman for permission.

"Of Course, Samantha," said the grandmother. They approached the tree and began to examine the tags. Cynthia slowly put another tag on the tree. Now only one to put on before she got to Julio's.

"Lauren, she's three, and she wants a Sesame Street farm," read the grandmother.

"Or Josh, he's nine, and he wants a spy kit," suggested Samantha. Cynthia added the next tag. She paused for a moment before picking up Julio's. Now that she was being watched, she had only one choice. Cynthia took a deep breath, then added the tag to the tree.

"Marisol, who's five, wants Candyland," said the grandmother

"Sarah, she's four, wants a baby Rapunzel." Samantha wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

Cynthia retreated a few feet away and leaned against the counter at an empty cash register. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her handbag and pretended to be filling out paperwork so she could continue to watch Samantha and her grandmother. Maybe once they were gone she should go retrieve Julio's tag.

"Anthony, he's ten, wants a basketball. That could be a good one," said Samantha.

"Or Susan, who's seven, wants a tea set," said the grandmother.

"No, I don't want to pick out a tea set," responded Samantha. "Hey look, Julio, he's seven, wants a ballerina Courtney doll. That's--"

"A boy wants a doll?" interrupted the grandmother, "The person writing them down must have made a mistake."

Cynthia looked up from her paper. Her hands were sweating a little.

"Boys don't play with dolls," declared the grandmother. Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut, praying that the grandmother would let it go and choose another tag.

"Some of them do," said Samantha. "I was gonna say, that's neat. It's the same way I like to play with legos and basketball stuff, only backwards."

"But, Samantha, you don't actually want to buy a boy a doll," said the grandmother with a slight shake of her head. "We could get Candyland for Marisol."

"No, I do want to get the doll for Julio. That's the one I want. I bet he's a ballerina boy. I'm a basketball girl, and that's okay. It's okay if he's a ballerina boy. He'll be really happy to get a ballerina Courtney doll." Samantha took Julio's tag from the tree. "You thought ballerina Courtney was cool when we were looking at the catalogue," Samantha reminded her grandmother with a grin. The grandmother looked down at Samantha's excited face and reluctantly smiled back.

"I suppose you're right. If that's really what this little boy wants, he will be happy to get it for Christmas." The grandmother followed Samantha toward the doll aisle of the store.

Cynthia let out her breath in a great puff of air. She could barely believe what she'd just heard. Julio was going to get his wish after all. And this miraculous little girl was making it come true. I should have had more faith, thought Cynthia.

Cynthia crumpled the sheet of paper back into her handbag, then returned to the tree for a last straightening. She moved some tags around so they were evenly spaced, and she couldn't help smiling as she did it. When she was finished, Cynthia headed back to the customer service desk to let someone know that the Angel Tree was all set up. As Cynthia approached the counter, she noticed that a thin man with a manager badge was now manning the desk. She was glad to see that the coughing woman had gone home.

Samantha and her grandmother joined Cynthia at the counter, and Samantha handed over a plastic shopping bag with the ballerina Courtney doll peeking out from the top. The manager took the bag, stapled Julio's tag to it, and thanked Samantha and the grandmother for their donation. As the two walked toward the exit, Cynthia heard Samantha say, "I'm glad he's going to get just what he wants for Christmas."

"Me, too," Cynthia whispered.

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Enjoy!

And to whet your appetite for next week, here's the title of the next story:

The Christmas Train

...And other stories

Hi all-- Sorry no update for a while. Ironically, I find myself with the spare time to write in what is generally the busiest time of the academic quarter. I've finished all of my early assigned final projects, and my late assigned final projects haven't been assigned yet, so I officially have no homework at the moment (except reading for my Russian class, but that's such a constant that it hardly counts as homework anymore).

I'm starting a new series called ...And other stories. It's basically my Christmas treasury. I will be posting a new holiday themed short story hopefully every week (give or take, based on my free time) until Christmas.

Enjoy.

"The Hearth"

It was difficult to talk to my sister because I was being repeatedly hit in the head with a plastic candy cane full of M&Ms. I adjusted my four year old daughter on my hip with one hand and raised the other to deflect her relentless clubbing. "I know I didn't make much sense on the phone. Thanks for letting us come with such short notice," I said.

"Logan," my sister said, "What else would have I done? Come in, you must be freezing." She opened the screen door from the inside. I reached out to hold it open, and received a sharp whack on the side of the head with the candy cane. I stepped inside the warm entryway and placed my daughter on her feet beside me. I heard the soft pattering of feet on the stairs and saw my niece, Kendra, emerging onto the landing.

"Can Laura play?" the sweet seven year old asked.

I bent down and kissed my Laura on her pale pink cheek. "Go ahead," I whispered. She kicked off her pink clogs and ran up to join her cousin, noisily shaking her plastic candy cane as she went.

I turned to my sister. "Marie," I started, "I'm so sorry. It's the day before Christmas Eve. I don't want to be a burden on you. I just don't know what else to do. I just want Laura to have a Christmas, what with...everything else that's been going on..." I rubbed the side of my head that had been bludgeoned with the candy cane. Marie's hand came down on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her and let a few tears fall into her thick dark brown hair.

My wife, my beautiful wife Julia, had walked out of our beautiful family the day after Thanksgiving. Not even a month ago. And then today... I had got off work, picked up Laura from daycare, and taken her home to our apartment building to find it releasing plumes of black smoke into the sky and surrounded by fire trucks.

I had stopped just long enough to confirm that our home and all of our belongings were likely destroyed with the building manager, who was standing on the side of the road, before taking my now crying daughter to the grocery store. I let Laura roam the candy aisle and choose a treat while I decided what to do. I had the slacks, polo, and sweater on my back, a briefcase full of papers and an empty chip bag, a temperamental 1998 Toyota Corolla, a pink flowered lunchbox with a few crumbs inside, and my beautiful Laura. At least my beautiful little daughter was safe. But her Christmas was gone. The presents I'd gotten for her, the gifts sent from my mother, everything Laura had asked for had been tucked safely in the back of my closet. And that had been destroyed in flames.

Our cozy little home had been destroyed. It was two days before Christmas, and I didn't have a home. I watched Laura's pale blonde head bobbing up and down the aisle, searching for the best candy treat as I scrolled through the contacts on my cell phone. My sister Marie and her husband Don lived about forty minutes down the highway. We could stay with her. Maybe. I dialed the number and rubbed a hand over my forehead. I wished I'd taken off my coat before I'd made the call; I was sweating profusely. "Marie?" I said as soon as the line picked up. "Our apartment... is on fire... We, me and Laura, need to spend Christmas..."

As soon as I'd been given an affirmative from Marie, I collected Laura from the next aisle over where she'd been trying to lift a ten pound bag of sugar, purchased one adult and one child toothbrush, one adult and one child toothpaste, a gallon of milk, a new yellow sippy cup, a takeaway fried chicken and mac and cheese dinner, and Laura's chosen plastic candy cane full of M&Ms. Then I patiently waited in line at the store's cafe for a much needed cup of coffee. I took a great swig, burned my tongue, loaded the groceries and my daughter into the car, and left for Marie's.

"I just want Laura to have Christmas," I whispered into Marie's hair.

"Don't worry. She will," Marie said. "Here, come in and sit down. I'll make you some coffee."

"I've got groceries in the car," I suddenly remembered.

"Logan, you didn't have to. I've already got dinner started," Marie exclaimed.

By the time I'd brought in the bags, Marie was standing in the entrance to the living room with two steaming mugs in her hands. "I didn't know what flavor you'd like, so I made gingerbread mocha," she explained.

"Fancy girly coffee," I scoffed. I tried to smile as I took my mug, but my eyes got teary again.

Marie led me to sit down on the sofa. "Everything will be okay, Logan," she said, "Just focus on right now. We'll have a happy Christmas together. Then we'll get you back on your feet, okay?" I nodded, staring into the hearth. Three stockings hung from the mantlepiece. They were large, red, and embroidered with names: one each for Kendra, Marie, and Don.

I took a sip of my coffee. It tasted so good; my body was craving caffeine, fat, and sugar. I downed the rest in a huge gulp. "Looks like you enjoyed that fancy girly coffee," Marie joked.

"I was hungry," I confessed.

"Oh, I should get dinner. Don will be home soon," she fussed.

"I got chicken. And mac and cheese," I supplied.

"From Safeway?" Marie asked. "Really Logan, you know how packed with fat that crap is. You really shouldn't be giving Laura stuff like that..." She began to lecture me, but soon trailed off. I guess she remembered that my wife just left me and my apartment burned down. I remembered again that my wife just left me and my apartment burned down.

"Marie?" I asked, "Can I have a glass of wine?" She brought me a short glass of chardonnay, then turned to the oven and popped the bread inside to warm.

I took a long drought of wine, voiced my primary concern. "I need to go Santa shopping," I sighed, "All of my gifts for Laura...they're...gone." I wanted to cry. Instead, I finished my wine.

"I'll give you Don's number," Marie said. "Tell him what she wants. He can stop by Toys R Us tomorrow on his way home from work."

"You'd do that? Buy Laura's presents?" I asked.

"Of course. You shouldn't have to worry about that," Marie said, splashing more wine into my glass.

"Wow," I mused. "That's so kind of you. But no, I need to do it. I want to do it. I'll go tomorrow. You can watch Laura while I'm gone?"

"Logan, of course. I'll do anything you need right now."

"I need a backrub, a bottle of wine, and a new house," I said jokingly.

"You know what I mean, Logan." Marie smiled at me across the bowl of salad she was tossing.

"I know. And thank you, Marie. So much."

The night passed quickly and mostly happily. Don arrived home offered his condolences and my choice of his pajamas, jeans, and sweatshirts. We enjoyed a nice meal of my chicken and mac and cheese along with Marie's bread, salad, and green beans. Kendra exclaimed her delight over having a cousin to play with during Christmas. Hot chocolate was drunk, the day of December 23 was officially crossed off the calendar, and Laura and Kendra headed off to bed in Kendra's bedroom. Marie hugged me tightly and made up the pull out sofa for me. I lay down to sleep thanking God for my sister and her wonderful, caring family.

When I woke the next morning, I could hear Marie and the girls having breakfast in the kitchen. I sat up on my sofa bed and stretched. I rolled my neck, and as I looked toward the hearth, I saw that two more stockings had been added. Both were made of dark green felt with neatly stitched edges. Names were written on them in gold glitter-glue. One for Laura and one for me. I stood up and headed into the kitchen. I saw Marie standing behind the counter, leaning on her elbows. To her left was the coffee decanter. To her right was her sewing basket.

"Marie, you didn't have to make us stockings," I said, "How long have you been up?"

"I wanted to," she said. "And I haven't been up long. Just long enough to make coffee and cocoa and put bread in the toaster." The toaster beeped at that moment, and the bread shot up. Marie turned around to retrieve it.

Laura began to tug at the hem of my shirt, or rather Don's shirt that I happened to be wearing. "Daddy," Laura said in her thin, sweet voice, "Aunt Marie said we're going to make fresh cookies for Santa today. And I get to crack the eggs!"

"Wow, that's an important job," I said, pushing the ever-present plastic candy cane of M&Ms to the edge of the table. Marie brought around plates of toast.

"Do you want to help us make the cookies?" Laura asked me.

"Well, I would love to help baby, but I have to go out and get some things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Well," I started. Marie shot me a look. "Just underwear and socks," I said.

"Oh," said Laura, no longer interested. Then she began to tell me the names of Santa's reindeer. "There's Fancy Dancy. And Elizabeth. And Spot Horn..."

I really did go buy some underwear and socks. Laura and I needed clothes, after all. But afterwards, I went to Toys R Us and re-bought all of the toys that Laura had wanted. I savored the time it took to choose the exact best veterinarian's playset with the perfect chocolate brown puppy and spotless purple doctor's bag. I smiled as I added the sheep counting game to my basket, then the set of plastic tea party dishes decorated with blue and yellow flowers. For a few fun extras and some variety, I added two purple and yellow matchbox cars. Finally, I added a children's illustrated Bible. With everything that had happened in the past month, it seemed to be the right time to start taking Laura to church again. I imagined Laura's face as she would unwrap each item tomorrow morning. Laura was going to have Christmas.

I arrived back at Marie's house just as Laura was cracking the eggs, so I was able to sneak the gifts into Marie's bedroom and wrap them without detection. I emerged into the kitchen and congratulated Laura and Kendra on their fantastic cooking skills. I showed Laura the Big Bird socks I'd chosen for her as proof that my shopping trip really had been a boring one.

We passed the afternoon happily eating nuts and chex mix and trying to finish a Christmas jigsaw puzzle. Don arrived home from work with hugs and kisses for all, we ate a spectacular ham dinner, and took off for Christmas Eve church. Kendra sang in the angel choir, and my little Laura fell asleep on my lap during the closing hymn. Before we left, I said three special prayers. One for my sister Marie and her wonderfully caring family. One for my wife Julia, who I still loved and hoped was safe. And one for my beautiful Laura, who I loved with all my heart, and who was going to have Christmas.

We got home and bundled the girls off to bed. Laura sleepily told me that I must go to bed right away so Santa would come. I put on Don's pajamas and lay down to feign sleep long enough to placate Laura before I could go into Marie's room and retrieve the presents. I wanted so desperately to place the little toy cars in the toe of Laura's stocking and set her wrapped vet playset under the tree.

I heard a rustling from the hall, the patter of little feet, and an odd shaking sound. I was sure I was about to hear, "Daddy, are you sleeping?" but I didn't. The little footsteps grew closer and closer. I closed my eyes, sure that Laura and Kendra were peeking on me. The shaking got louder and more frenzied. I opened my eyes a crack and peered through my lashes. My little Laura was now walking back towards the hall. She paused for a moment and whispered, "I love you Daddy." Then she pattered back upstairs. I turned over in bed and looked into the hearth. There were the four stockings. My stocking was at the very end of the row, my name glittering in gold. And peeking out from the top of my stocking was a plastic candy cane three quarters of the way full of M&Ms.

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Wow, I haven't written prose in a long time... too many research papers...