Merry Christmas Indeed

TW: this story contains substance abuse, physical violence, and suicide.

"Merry Christmas!" they always say with those festive, carefree smiles. It's like they don't realize that sometimes a mommy runs away on Christmas day because Daddy came home drunk on Christmas Eve and beat her so bad she was too scared to stay. And then the next year you hear him crying and saying Mommy's name over and over while he sits in his worn out recliner and stares out the window. And then you wake up Christmas morning to a loud bang, and you run into the living room to find Daddy on the floor lying in a pool of his own blood.

Merry Christmas indeed.

I give the cheerful cashier a look to kill as she hands me the grocery bags, her smile withering beneath my glare. Pulling my hood over my head like I always do, I exit the store and head to the place I'm supposed to call home. I've been in and out of foster homes since that Christmas day four years ago, and this one is no different than the others. Without a word, I step into the rickety old house and drop the groceries on the counter in the kitchen. My foster parents are where they usually are, lounging on the couch watching TV while they smoke cigarettes and drink cheap beer. 

"Did you get what I wanted?" my foster dad hollers from the living room. I silently walk in and hand him one of the bags. He starts digging through it and then looks up at me, "What is this?"

"What you asked for," I mumble.

He swears and throws the contents of the bag at me.

"I asked for the other kind, not this crap!"

"What's the difference? It's the same thing." 

"Are you talking back to me?" he yells. "Pick up that trash and then go to your room!"

"Filthy, no good little brat…" he mutters along with a couple other insults as I scoop up the bag and its contents. Meanwhile my foster mom has been staring at the TV the entire time, ignoring the whole exchange. Biting my tongue, I head to my room and slam the door behind me. 

I've learned to deal with it and not say anything when the case worker comes to check on us. The only thing that comes from that is being moved to another home where I'm nothing but the means to getting a monthly check, as always. Better to just stay where I am and wait until I age out of the system and can step out on my own. I dig in my pocket until I find the granola bar I stashed there earlier in the day, and I open it to take a bite. Not great, but better than the cold, soupy oatmeal I had this morning.

I fall onto my bed and stare up at the water spot on my ceiling, thinking about all the smiling people at the store today. It almost makes me sick, how happy they were. I just wanted to take them by the shoulders and shake them, to let them know that not everybody gets a merry Christmas.

I swing up out of bed and decide to take a walk. Quietly, I open my window and slip out like I've done countless times since moving here. The icy wind makes me shiver and I zip up my jacket a little higher. Sure, it's cold out today, but it's better than being stuck in that sorry excuse for a home and mulling over the past.

As I walk, I have to admit that there's a certain beauty to this season…all the lights and decorations. I can see through the windows of some of the houses, and they're all filled with happy families laughing and spending time together. It makes me miss my mom. I can still remember the way her hair framed her face and made her look almost angelic. I can still see her eyes sparkle when I did something silly to make her laugh, feel her arms wrap around me in a warm hug. We used to curl up together on the couch and just stare at our Christmas tree together, silently sipping on hot chocolate. Then she'd whisper stories to me until my eyelids felt heavy, and I would wake up the next morning in my bed and smile, knowing she had carried me there. I felt safe and loved.

But then Dad lost his job and started hitting up the local bars. I shudder as I remember the first time he hit Mom. They were arguing again when all of a sudden he raised his fist and slammed it across her cheek. The way she dropped to the ground made my stomach drop too. I was so scared. And it just got worse as time went on. I watched as the life and joy that had filled my mom's eyes before was replaced by fear. Every noise made her jump, and lines starting etching themselves into her beautiful face. Some nights I could hear her softly crying in the living room, and my heart would break.

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, and I angrily wipe it away, annoyed that I've let emotion overtake me. I'm so caught up in berating myself that I don't notice the girl down the way until we collide. We both crumple to the ground.

"Watch where you're going!" I bark at her as I jump up and dust myself off.

"I'm so sorry!" she says as I glare at her. "My mom is always reminding me to keep my nose out of my books when I'm walking, but I can't help it." She chuckles nervously. Just the mention of the word "mom" makes me angry, and I step around her and continue walking, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. 

"Hey, wait!" she calls after me. I stop, but I don't face her. "I've seen you before…at school. You live at the old Peterson place, right?" I turn around.

"Yeah." 

She smiles and extends her hand. "Well, I'm Heather…Heather Bowman." I stare down at her hand for a moment before giving it a quick shake and returning it to my pocket, mumbling my name. I prepare to turn and walk away once more, but her voice stops me again.

"I know this might seem a little strange coming from, well, a stranger, but would you like to come to Christmas dinner with my family? Tomorrow at six? You don't have to bring anything…just yourself."

I look at her in silence, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, I hate Christmas and do everything I can to pretend it doesn't even exist. On the other, it would be nice to get a real meal for once. Maybe I can just stop in, grab some food, and go. Before I can stop myself, I respond.

"Sure."

"Great!" She smiles widely. "See you tomorrow then?" I nod. "Our house is just down the road, number twenty-seven." She flashes another smile before turning. "It was nice meeting you!" she calls back over her shoulder as she walks away.

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

I step up onto the porch of the Bowman house and stare at the front door for a moment. Hanging from it is a wreath that frames a wooden nativity scene cut out. I scoff and raise my fist to knock but then hesitate. I can hear voices and laughter coming from inside, and through the frosted windows on either side of the door I can make out people gathered together in what looks to be the living room. I'm suddenly feeling very out of place. This is stupid…what am I even doing here? I step back and start to turn around when the door swings wide and there's Heather, smiling.

"Hey, you're just in time! Come on in!" I have no other option but to step inside as she opens the door wider. "Wait here a moment," she says and then bustles out of sight.

A few people glance my way while continuing their conversations, and I feel heat rising in my cheeks. I've worn the nicest clothes I have, but I still feel so underdressed compared to this crowd. I contemplate just stepping outside again, but before I can act on that thought, Heather returns with a woman in tow. "This is my mom," she says when they have stopped in front of me. The woman smiles and as I meet her eyes, my heart seems to stop. They remind me so much of my mother's eyes. I feel a lump forming in my throat and I quickly swallow it down as I take her offered hand and shake it.

"So you're the one Heather has been talking so much about since she almost ran you over yesterday?" Heather's cheeks redden a bit, and she gives a shy smile.

"Yeah…I guess so," I reply with a forced chuckle.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," she says warmly. I can tell she means it, and I have to blink away some forming tears. "If you'll excuse me, though, I have a few final details to attend to before we can eat."

"Of course," I say, and she gives me a smile before she heads to what I assume to be the kitchen, leaving Heather and me standing in an awkward silence.

I start to feel self-conscious again and look down at my clothes to make sure there aren't any embarrassing stains or holes. 

"Hey." Heather's voice grabs my attention. "You look fine…don't worry about it." She softly smiles and I allow myself to relax a little. I don't know what it is about this girl, but she makes me feel at ease, and that's something I haven't felt in a long time.

As we all sit down at the table for dinner, I notice myself actually smiling, and for once, laughing. I don't remember the last time I laughed. I feel like my heart has been trapped inside a block of ice these past years, and now that ice is slowly starting to melt. One of Heather's older brothers tells a joke and I laugh again. I notice Heather watching me, and when we lock eyes, she smiles. I smile back.

The eating comes to an end and we all help clean up before people start slowly pulling on their coats and saying their goodbyes. It's been a wonderful night, but the realization that I'm going right back to my old life dampens my mood, and I figure it would be best for me to go ahead and slip out quietly. I reach the door, but before I can grab the knob, it turns and the door swings open to reveal a woman on the doorstep. Our eyes meet and we stare at each other in stunned silence. My voice breaks as I whisper one word. "Mom?" 

Heather's mom comes up behind me. "Jenny!" She smiles and pulls my mother into an embrace. "I didn't think you'd…" Her voice trails off as she notices the way we're looking at each other. Her smile slowly fades. "Is everything all right?" My mother let's out a soft, choked sob and takes a hesitant step toward me. Feelings of anger and bitterness threaten to overtake me, but beneath that is a love and joy so strong that it rises above it all and overwhelms me. I stumble forward and throw my arms around her, and we both fall to our knees, tears streaming down our faces.

I pull back and see life flooding into my mother's eyes again, spilling over and washing down her face. She tenderly takes my face in her hands and with a watery smile whispers, "Merry Christmas." I look into her eyes a moment longer, then lean forward and rest my forehead against hers, eyes closing.

"Merry Christmas," I whisper in return.

Merry Christmas indeed.