Story 49/1001

• avant-garde
• flat
• jealous

This year, I will do everything differently. I never celebrate Christmas. I never did, even as a child. Growing up without loving parents does that to a person, my girlfriend says.

But I will not be that person this year. I bought decorations, lights, candles – someone could’ve warned me how much they cost.

Never mind. I decided to decorate my flat, and even got a tree – fake one, but prettier than most real ones. And I don’t have to deal with its annoying shedding, or however anyone calls it.

It looks a bit avant-garde, with all the decorations on it, but it’ll be enough. Enough to be more than I ever did on Christmas.

I’m starting to feel the Christmas spirit, or is it just competitiveness? I want my flat to be the most outrageous over-the-top Christmas show anyone has ever seen. I want them to be jealous of what I have and who I’ve become.

I’m not the poor, abandoned boy I was that Christmas.

I stepped out of my flat and into the cold streets. My pockets were full of change, for all the homeless people I will meet on the way. If this isn’t Christmas spirit, I don’t know what is. I even donated to a few charities for children.

I really am into all of this, this year. My girlfriend won’t get to call me grumpy or heartless this Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, sir!” A tiny voice behind me said. I turned around. It was a small boy, holding a harmonica. “Do you have a special wish?”

“No-I-just take the money.” I put a few coins in a hat next to him.

“I have to sing you a song. Thank you!” He smiled, a few of his teeth still growing.

“That won’t be necessary.” I shook my head and forced a smile. “Merry Christmas, boy.”

“Do you want Jingle Bells? I can play that really well.”

“No. I need to go.”

The boy placed the harmonica near his lips and started playing. It was all over the place, the melody was somewhat there, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

But something wouldn’t let me move. He was trying his best, his cheeks going red from the effort. Or was it the cold? He can’t be older than seven. Maybe eight?

I crouched down to be on his eye level, suddenly feeling like that night. The night I was placed in a children’s home.

The warden crouched down, just like I am now, and looked at me. Not with pity or sadness. But with hope. His eyes were full of hope for the person I can be. This kid, who was abandoned by his parents, made that warden look at him with hope.

He never told me why he looked at me like that, when everyone else’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of a child left on Christmas day. But he just patted my head, and smiled.

“Here is my card. Every day, Christmas or not, I will think of you, and every day you can call me. It might seem like you are on your own now, but you will see that the people you choose to be around, and the person you choose to be from this moment forward, will decide whether you’re alone or not. If you choose me, I will always be with you.”

I didn’t understand those words. They made sense, yes. But I didn’t feel them. Because I never let that boy feel. Sadness, happiness, anger, Christmas. I never let him feel.

I was looking at the boy, getting lost in his clumsy melody. He must have learned the it all on his own, never giving up. Always thinking he is all he has now.  

Suddenly, all the decorations and the tree lost its meaning. At least the meaning I gave them.

The boy stopped playing.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He looked at me, with his big eyes. “Sir?”

I touched my cheeks. A warm tear was finding its way through my stubble. I wiped it away and looked at the boy.

“Thank you.” I said, my voice breaking. I put more money in his hat, along with my card. “Tell your guardian, or the warden to call me. I want to do more for you.”

“I’m from the children’s home down the street.” He pointed at an old building. I nodded and patted his head.

I started walking, not sure where I was going. When I got up this morning, I thought I had it all figured out. I decided to be happy on Christmas. I decided to celebrate Christmas like everyone else.

But I have to do it my way. Decorations and lights mean nothing to me. No.

That boy, in those few minutes, meant something to me.

And, for the first time, I knew what Christmas meant to me.