Christmas Memories
I was 17 years old. Money was tight, as it had been for years now. Since I was 17, my mom decided it was time for me to start paying rent. I was ok with that. December 1st, I paid my rent. (I honestly don’t remember how much. I’m sure that’s a lesson in and of itself). I was happy, because I figured that would give me a paycheck or two to get gifts for my family. And I did. I bought gifts for everyone.
On Christmas Eve, I had some friends, and my girlfriend over. My mom asked me for my December rent. I told her I had already paid it, and a fight ensued. She was screaming, I was screaming. She didn’t know there were gifts from me under the tree. She was telling me I was too tied up with my girlfriend at the time. She said that all I did was spent money on weed and my girlfriend. I told her she had a horrible memory, and I already paid. I told her if she could stay sober, her memory would be better. *POW*. Fist across the face. It’s how I was punished growing up, and I learned at a young age to never hit a woman. I didn’t budge. I stared her in the face and said, “Do. Not. Hit. Me. Again.” *POW*. Another one, and another one. At this point it was flurries. I did not budge. When she stopped, she was staring at me. I turned my head, and spit on the wall, and I saw it. Blood. Blood was running down the wall. I felt the warmth on my face. I grinned.
“You can’t hit me anymore, I’m bigger than that now.”
“GET OUT, and don’t come back!”
I reached into my back pocket at took out my money. I don’t remember how much it was, but I remember it was everything I had. I threw it at her, and left.
I went and got into my friends car, and we drove off.
I had nowhere to go. I was destroyed. Not because I had nowhere to go, but because my mom threw me out on Christmas eve. My heart hurt. My friend, Katie called her mom, they had a conversation, and she hung up. She looked at me and said, “We have a spare bedroom. You can crash at my house tonight.”
I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t really have a choice. I said, “Thank you.”
When we got to her house, I was able to assess the damage. My eye was swollen, and my lips were all bloodied. I had dried blood running down my face. I was a mess. Her mom showed me my room, and gave me some of her older sons clothes. (That were like, XLs, cause dude was like 6 feet tall.) We hung out for a little while, and I retired to bed, they told me that breakfast is at 10:00 every Christmas.
Christmas morning, I slept in. I remember hearing the family get up and go downstairs, but I didn’t want to intrude. I stayed in bed, replaying the events that had taken shape the night before, and cried. I imagined my family opening up my gifts, without me. I imagined my mom talking about me, and no one saying anything because they were scared. I felt empty.
Around 9:55, I got up, got decent, and went downstairs. Everyone looked at me, wished me a Merry Christmas, and offered me breakfast. I sat down at the table and we all ate. About halfway through the meal, Karen, (The mom) got up, walked over to the tree and picked up 4 gifts. She carried them over to the table, and put them in front of me. I didn’t know what to say. ”Merry Christmas, Andy.” Everyone was smiling huge. I cried.
The night before, when I went to bed, they went out, found a store that was still open and bought me gifts. The essentials. Socks, beard trimmer, Shirts.
I remember that day so vividly. I remember how happy everyone looked when I was getting a gift. I remember being blown away by the ‘family-ness’ that was present that day.
The smallest gesture made my entire Christmas a little easier. For that, I will always be thankful.
On a side note, Karen was able to be present for my baptism some 8 years later. I often wonder if she knows that she very possibly planted the first seed.
