paper slayers

A little bit of Christmas. That’s all that Tom had wanted.

Tom wanted a little bit of Christmas.

All the shopping centres were full with decorations, colours and brightness, laughter, jingles, wish lists and sales. Christmas was in season. Formless tension seeped under the chatter, behind price tags and advertisements, into people’s brains and mouths. Christmas was here.

“Have you done your Christmas shopping yet?”

“I don’t know what to get for my mom… She has everything!”

“The new iPhone is so nice.”

Tom fidgeted quietly. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach. Two kids burst out of a car in the parking lot, laughing and happy. One of them squealed as he grabbed one of his dad’s legs.

“Then, after, we get pizzas??”

“Anything you want, champ.” His dad ruffled his hair affectionately before they all disappeared into the mall.

There was a sharp and unpleasant feeling in Tom’s chest and it was not only hunger any more. He did not doubt that pizzas would be swell but he wanted everything else, too. Why was he Tom? Why was he not the kid in the car?

Another kid emerged from behind the automatic doors, happiness almost uncontainable spilling forth from his smiling face, hugging a box of a new toy with both arms.

“Thank you, mommy! Thank you, daddy!”

The mother exchanged a look with the father, tenderness in their eyes and they squeezed each other’s hand warmly.

Tom had nothing but what he wore on him. He sniffled quietly, watching and wanting. Watching. And, wanting. Slowly, something turned inside of his heart. At first it was a throw-away thought that formed when he watched one of the kids stumbled awkwardly. This one had been carrying a little bag with Christmas tarts and cookies inside and everything tumbled out onto the pavement.

“Oh! Careful!”

The adult rushed over to the now crying child and checked him thoroughly. They were not concerned about the cookies and cakes.

“Don’t cry, silly… shush now. We can always buy more. Come, can you stand?”

Sensing he was not in actual troubles, the child got up to his feet, mewling weakly. There was a tear on his jeans that exposed his bleeding knee. Tom watched as the adult fussed over this little wound, bringing the child away into their car with as much care as possible. Tom idly scratched at the scabbing injuries on his forearm. He did not even remember how he had gotten some of his cuts and bruises, but when you were living without a roof, these kinds of things… happened.

The sun was starting to set somewhere beyond the shopping centres and buildings. Tom shivered a little. As the light of the day went, more shoppers came and went. Having nothing else to do but watch, Tom had started to imagine them getting into situations with escalating misfortune.

Their bags were torn and the toys inside got all broken up as they smashed onto the ground. The kids fell and broke their legs. Their cars pulled away from the parking lot and got run over by a truck. There was a shooter in the shopping malls, opening fire at everyone.

He was making a pistol firing motion with his hands when an old woman walked by. She had a lame leg and was not able to walk properly. When she saw him doing the firearm movements at the shoppers, her eyes were alarmed. Tom dropped his hands shamefully, wishing that the old hag would go away.

But her leg was bad and she was struggling terribly with her cane. Tom watched her for a minute or two. Her bag was drooping now to one side, almost falling away from her. He got up and caught it before the contents spilled out.

The grandmother gasped. She was thankful, her clouded eyes lit up with warmth.

“Thank you.”

Tom shrugged. He helped her get to the bus stop. She was anxious to catch her bus on time because she knew she would take a lot of time to walk. She told him her route’s number and he checked it against the little information schedule for Christmas period.

“Ten minutes.”

“Wonderful!” The old woman smiled. “I am going to visit my grandchildren.”

“They should have picked you up.”

She said nothing in reply but took out a snow globe with a tiny Christmas tree inside it. “I am sorry I have nothing better to give you. This was a freebie they gave me at the shops. Merry Christmas, young man!”

Tom had no use for such a trinket but he received it anyway. It was her eyes and her face. She squeezed his forearm warmly with her old person’s hand, which was soft and frail. She was not a woman of means. Tom felt through her a reminiscent of being loved. He took the snow globe and walked back to his spot near the charity bin at one of the exits of the shopping centre.

Later that night, when everything was closed and quiet, he would go through the bin for anything he could use or sell.

But for now, he sat down with his tiny Christmas tree inside the snow globe.

It was still snowing in February, up in Maine, and my plane was delayed for 2 hours. I was tired, I was upset and I was anxious. We had a fight before my plane took off and the last thing I texted her was a rude and angry message. And now I was anxious that I had ruined it all. She had wanted me to take time off from work. Her intentions came from a good place, I knew that. She was worried that I was going to burn out in this job, with all these traveling, with all these long hours. But my boss was a slave driver, and asking for leave was never an easy thing. She knew that, too. Or she should have known that, by now.

I had snapped at her. I texted that I was doing this for both of us, adding a little snide remark that it must have been nice for her to be a stay at home person. That must have stung. That must have hurt.

I wanted to cry and take it all back. I would not be able to be who I am, to get where I’d gotten, without her by my side. I was being selfish and stupid and awful. And now, at the early hours in the morning, I was afraid to go home to my own bed.

Suddenly, a voice called out to me, and there she was, standing in the snow just outside of the arrival gate. She must have been standing a while since there was snow on her, but her smile was warm and full with love. I must have flown to her arms. She hugged me back. I said how sorry I was, about three thousand times.

She laughed. I was home. She was my home.