Christmas has always been a hard time for me. I've never felt the warmth of family coming together or the anticipation of opening gifts. I've never gone to midnight mass or experienced the thrill of sitting on Santa's lap and telling him what I want. I've never helped my mother make ginger bread cookies or gone caroling.
But Christmas isn't hard because my life has lacked those holiday essentials. No, instead it's because of the memories that surround that annual celebration. The reminder of what I went through...of what I've seen.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
It happened when I was six. I was living with my mother. My father was out of the picture, just a hateful name on my mother's tongue. I never met the guy. And to be honest, I never wanted to. Why would I want to develop a relationship with someone who abandoned my mother and I after I was born?
So it was just the two of us, two quiet souls just trying to make the most of our meager lives. We lived in a small house on the edge of town. My mother worked two jobs and couldn't afford a sitter so I spent a lot of time alone in the house. She made me swear secrecy and not tell anyone at school because she was afraid social services would take me away. Looking back, they probably would have if they found out.
But they never did and I spent a lot of time in a world of make believe. I had to. We didn't have a television or even a radio, so if I wanted to escape somewhere, it had to be in my head. I didn't mind because I didn't know any better. I spun worlds and characters, imaginary friends, and silly things that little boys fantasize about.
I'd come home from school, make myself some cheese and crackers (the kind of cheese you'd squirt from a can), and launch into my world of make believe. I was a space warrior, a pirate, a solider, anything I could think of. I'd run around the house fighting aliens or the enemy, shooting at them with imaginary guns or fighting them back with invisible swords.
Eventually, the sun would set and I would end up asleep in my bed. My mother would come home around ten, check on me, kiss me on the cheek, and then rush back out to her other job which kept her busy until after three am.
So you see, she didn't have a lot of time for me. She didn't have time to get us a Christmas tree, or decorate our house, or anything. Christmas was just another day for me. But God, I wanted it to be so much more. I got so jealous listening to the kids at school talk about their presents, the sleigh ride they went on, their visit to Santa at the mall. I became hungry for those things. I wanted them more than anything else. I wanted to play in the snow and come rushing back inside to a cup of hot coco and listen to jingle bells while I warmed myself by the fire. It was all so festive, so magical.
Now, I'm not telling you these things for you to pity me. I don't care about that. I'm telling you this so you understand why I did what I did.
About why I went to Christmas Land.
I stirred in my bed and listened to mom shut the front door behind her. My cheek was still damp from her kiss and I knew she had just left to go to her second job. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and bundled up in my covers. It was cold, my breath pluming out before me. Mom must not have been able to pay the heating bill this month.
As I tried to go back to sleep, my mind wandered. It was only a couple days until Christmas and I dreaded listening to everyone at school gloat about their presents and all the cool stuff they got.
Buried under my blankets, I started to drift. The house was silent and dark, my bedroom door open to reveal the barren living room.
“Hey...hey kid.”
The voice shattered the serenity like a hammer on glass and my eyes shot open. My heart began to race in my chest as I tried to determine if I had imagined the voice or not. Mom had just left, I was supposed to be alone.
