“All you need is a red fur-trimmed hat and you could be a Santa yourself !” Black, white and red all over. And no, we are not talking about newspapers here. We are talking about Santas. Hundreds of them. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I boarded my subway train with my mom and my little brother one frosty December Saturday about two weeks before Christmas. They were packed into the uptown No. 4 Lexington Avenue line like a can of red, white and black sardines! I was surrounded by a sea of teenagers and college students dressed up like St. Nick. You could even hear the constant “Ho ho ho” above the deafening noise of the New York City subway. There were all kinds of Santas. They wore red suits lined with white and cinched by black belts. They wore black boots and Santa hats. There were long white beards everywhere. Some of them were carrying sacks of “toys.” Others were dressed up as elves. Some even wore reindeer headbands with felt antlers attached. “What’s going on?” I asked my mom in disbelief. Was I imagining all this? Was I dreaming? Was I going absolutely insane? “Wow!” my mom answered. She was just loving this whole thing! We got to our stop only to find more Santas. They were crowded into the elevator we rode from the subway up to the main street. Some were stomping in through the turnstiles and some were going out through the turnstiles. One of them gave my little brother, Stephen, a candy cane. He is six and his eyes were as big as saucers at this phenomenon. We were able to get away from the chaos for a while because we went to our health club and went swimming. But when we returned to the street the madness wasn’t over by a long shot. We rode another train packed with you-know-who and walked down to the South Street Seaport. My mom had to do some last-minute Christmas shopping and I was anxious to get away from the noisy confusion of the Santas. Unfortunately, things didn’t exactly turn out the way I wanted them to. Take a wild guess at what we found when we got to the seaport. Yup, more Santas! There were Santas eating ice cream at the little outdoor ice cream stand. Others were standing around drinking beer from plastic cups. A couple of older Santas were hanging out down by the docked ships, chatting and smoking cigarettes. My brother was appalled. “I didn’t know Santa smoked!” he said to me. Really, what could I say to him? Mom was still excited about the whole thing and went off to ask one of the Santas what it was all about. When she returned she explained it was some sort of annual tradition that spread through the Internet and all college students dressed as Santa and roamed the city. Then my mom started looking at me strangely. “What?” I asked. “Well, Olivia,” she said, “with your belted red parka jacket and your black boots, all you need is a red fur-trimmed hat and you could be a Santa yourself!” I was horrified to think I could be mistaken for one of these crazy college kids! “Mom!” I scolded, but at the same time I opened my coat to reveal a very un-Santa-like T-shirt. * * * In the late afternoon, we boarded the train still packed with Santas and headed home. The hectic and weird day finally ended when we walked through our front door. I still felt dizzy from all those Santa costumes. Mom was still giddy as a teenager herself about the whole event. (I might add that she referred to me as her “little Santa” all the way home!) I’m kind of worried about Easter. Will my city be invaded my millions of bunnies? I’ve got to remember not to wear anything pink or any kind of floppy hat as Easter nears. You never know what is going to happen in the Big Apple! Olivia Calamia, 12Brooklyn, New York Ida McMillan-Zapf, 13Roanoke, Virginia
Christmas
A Fortunate Soul
Reina took a step back, aimed carefully, and fired the basketball Reina took a step back, aimed carefully, and fired the basketball. It was the middle of winter. Her thermometer informed her that it was only forty-five degrees outside, so she had on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was alone, for it was only eight o’clock in the morning. She always shot baskets in the morning because she didn’t want to be at the basketball court, caught up in the afternoon crowd. The ball hit the rim with a clang and, bouncing off of the backboard, circled into the net and out the bottom. Reina remembered when she had gotten it. She had received the ball last year as a Christmas present from her Uncle Troy. He had taught her how to use it, and she had loved the game ever since. She recognized the bark of a dog and froze. The dog bounded up to her. He was small, with long floppy ears and short brown fur. He sniffed her feet and jumped up on his hind legs. Reina screamed. She looked around, trying to find his owner, but could see no one. She gave up finally and determined to scare the dog away. “Stop it!” she snapped harshly. “You leave me alone, you worthless fur ball!” Surprised, the dog yelped and fled. Reina took a deep breath and pursed her lips. She was afraid of dogs, as she had been since she was four years old, when a dog had bounded up to her. The dog was so large that she could have ridden it. It had knocked her over, and she had lain there, stunned, until the owner’s call had beckoned the beast away from her. Now she froze whenever a dog barked and, even though she knew that the large dog hadn’t meant to scare her, her troublesome fear could not be helped. Panting, she sat down on a bench to catch her breath. When she looked at her watch, which revealed that it was nine o’clock, she jumped. Her breakfast would likely be cold by the time she walked across the street to her house and showered. Hastily, she grabbed her worn basketball and strolled along the path that led to the street, which was the only obstacle that stood between her house and the basketball court. The rain came in a light sprinkle, so she walked faster. She thought about Christmas. It was coming up soon, in a couple of days. Reina didn’t know which she liked better, Christmas Eve or the holiday itself. On Christmas Eve, her family would huddle around the Christmas tree and sing carols, hugging and laughing. Then they would decide to help an “unfortunate soul.” They helped someone in need every year. Whether it was sending cookies to the homeless shelter or making cards for sick children, they always had fun with their projects. They had a warm feeling, knowing that they were helping people who couldn’t help themselves. As soon as she reached her front door, Reina kicked off her shoes and tore off her clothes, racing to the bathroom. After her shower, she dried and dressed herself before following her nose into the kitchen where she smelled bacon frying. “Good morning, Papa,” Reina greeted her father, who sat at the table, his nose in the morning newspaper. He glanced up. “Oh, good morning,” he returned with a nod. She sat down and devoured her bacon and eggs, washing it down with a glass of orange juice. Because it was winter break, she didn’t have to go to school, so she read in her bedroom awhile before her friend Allison came over. She ate a meatball sandwich for lunch and baked Christmas cookies for her neighbors. After dinner, she was overcome with exhaustion, so she curled up in her comfortable bed and fell asleep. She applied a similar schedule for the next few days. Reina saw the same short brown dog almost every day, and the sight of him somehow eased her fears. She was never open to him, although by then she’d realized that his owner, if he had one at all, wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He got dirtier and dirtier, and it was soon obvious that he didn’t have a home. Christmas Eve finally arrived. Reina and her seven-year-old brother, Evan, hung up stockings, and then they all settled comfortably around the Christmas tree. They sang carols while their father strummed his guitar, producing cheerful music. Then they opened a few presents, and the conversation turned to their annual charity project of helping an “unfortunate soul.” Everybody was into it except Reina, whose thoughts wandered. However, when she heard the sound of a familiar whimper waft through the open window, an idea snapped her head out of the clouds. “Can we keep him?” Evan asked Evan was just saying, “Maybe we should collect old books for the homeless shelter…” “No! I want to do something different this year. We’ll still do something for an unfortunate soul, but who says that soul can’t be an animal?” “Hmmm…” their mother said, “that’s not a bad idea.” “We could raise money for the animal shelter,” their father suggested. Reina stood up and cleared her throat. “I know how we can help an unfortunate animal,” she proclaimed, “without leaving this house.” Questioning looks were cast her way. “Wait right here,” she instructed, dashing out the door. She followed the sound of a panting dog out to the trash bins. “Here, boy,” she called. When the dog saw her, he crouched down low. “Come on, boy.” Reina slowly came towards him, her arms outstretched. He cowered into the corner of the wooden fence. She sighed, wishing she hadn’t acted so mean the first time he had come up to her. What does he want? she wondered. Then he looked up at her with big, round eyes, and she suddenly knew. He only wanted one thing. He wanted to be
A Special Present
“Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter Florence wiped her brow with her winter mitten, plunged her shovel into a giant mound of soft snow, and leaned on it for a break. She was almost finished. Her Uncle Larry had suggested that she shovel snow to make money for Christmas presents, and he had been right; it did pay well. But he had mentioned nothing about how much work it was or how sore her muscles would be after shoveling just three driveways. She was hard at work on her fourth, Mr. Crummbino’s, with only a small patch of snow to shovel. She was charging five dollars for each driveway cleared, so when she calculated it out, she would need to shovel two more (after completing this one) to come up with the necessary shopping budget, which was thirty dollars. She needed to buy something for her mother, her father, her seven-year-old sister, Kyra, her friend Rachel, her grandmother, and her grandfather. Christmas was in four days, and she planned to go shopping on Christmas Eve. Shoveling one driveway a day, she would make it to Christmas Eve with thirty dollars. Which means I’d better get working, she thought, glancing at her watch. It was 6:45 p.m., and to get to her house across the street in time for dinner at seven o’clock, she would need to hurry and finish her work. She ached all over but managed to shovel the last pile of snow out of the way and walk up to Mr. Crummbino’s royal-blue door. He opened it. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater with green trim that almost matched his door. A short stubble of a beard lined the smile he wore when he looked down his driveway. Shining eyes gazed down at Florence warmly. “You did a good job, Florence. Here’s your pay.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out the money in it, and peeled a five-dollar bill off of the thin roll of bills. “Thank you,” she mumbled, folding the crisp, clean bill and neatly slipping it into her pocket. He smiled again and waved as she turned to go. She looked both ways before crossing the street. Her watch informed her that she had exactly eight minutes to change out of her snow clothes and get to dinner. When she reached her front deck, she turned around and inspected her work. Even she had to admit she’d done a great job. Look at me, she thought, I’m working hard and making money. She felt very mature at that thought, and she straightened up as she kicked the snow from her boots and went inside. * * * Christmas Eve came up quickly. . Like she had planned, she covered two more driveways in the following two days, so the day before Christmas, she set out to do her shopping. The town square was buzzing with people, rushing around and trying to finish their Christmas shopping. Florence was the only one who had time to relax. She had a whole afternoon and, unlike many of the customers milling about, she didn’t have a family to get back to. Her father’s gift was the easiest to decide on because he’d been talking about the navy-blue wool hat for weeks. Many stores were sold out of it, but she miraculously found one that was on sale, and she bought the last one before it was too late. She bought a bottle of perfume for her mother. The sweet gardenia smell was irresistible, and she knew her mother would like it. For her grandfather, she got a small wooden plaque that read, “Destiny is not the path given to you, but the path you choose.” Her superstitious grandmother would receive a good-luck charm. Rachel, she knew, would be happy to get a pack of the extra-fruity bubblegum. She had five dollars left in her pocket and just one gift left to buy. She needed to buy something for Kyra. She was just entering a jewelry store when something sparkly caught her eye. She soon found herself gaping at the flashy bracelet that she had always wanted, but it had always been too expensive. The bracelet had shiny glass beads of orange, red, and pink. Now, a large price tag dangled from the small silver clasp. The price tag flashed four capital letters written in red: SALE. She picked up the bracelet and turned over the tag. It would cost her five dollars. Exactly the amount she had left. Things couldn’t be any better. A smile lit up her face. But the smile evaporated the moment she remembered that she still needed to get Kyra’s gift. Her mind went crazy, trying to think of a solution to the dilemma. Her intuition told her to get Kyra’s present, but the bracelet might not be on sale anymore when she had saved up enough money to buy it later. How wonderful it would feel to walk into class the day winter break ended! How perfect it would look, shimmering on her hand! Besides, she could give Kyra the doll she had at home. The doll’s hair was tangled and one eye didn’t open, but… Florence tried not to think of that. All she could think about was how proud she would feel when she came to school with that bracelet gleaming around her wrist. Selfishness overcame her, and she pushed the little voice that told her the right thing to do out of her mind. She walked up to the checkout counter and placed the bracelet on top. “Nice choice,” said the lady behind the counter in her southern accent, “I think it’s the last one we have.” Florence could only nod and gulp down her guilt. * * * On Christmas Day, Florence rushed over to Rachel’s house, which was two blocks down from hers. When she presented the gum to her, Rachel was ecstatic with delight. “The extra-fruity bubblegum!” she beamed.
