my thoughts. “We have work to do.”
I quickly finished my dinner so I didn’t waste his time. I didn’t know why it concerned me, but I had the desire to please him. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him. Where would that leave me? Questions danced around in my mind, back to what really happened to my parents. I still didn’t know. I wondered if I ever would. If my stranger hadn’t killed them, who had? Did it matter?
“Angel,” he chastised, sensing my mind wasn’t on task.
Focusing, I took my mind back to school, and we got started.
“Easily multiplying and dividing fractions,” Giano stated as he arched an eyebrow, continuing to read the lesson out loud while he paced. He closed the book and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Walking to me, he leaned over my shoulder to look at the paper on my desk then picked up my pencil, working a problem to give me an example. “Forget the book tonight, angel. Watch closely. In the end, getting the right answer is what gets you by in life, not the eighteen hundred steps that book wants you to do.”
We both laughed and got back to work.
This was how it was with us. Night after night, we followed the same pattern. Giano was a man of few words; he said what needed to be said, and we moved on together. I learned to do as much work as I could during the day, and then my stranger reviewed each lesson with me after dinner. Time passed with this routine that somehow managed to work. Although challenging, having only myself and my studies to worry about, I did complete sixth grade by December.
We didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving as my stranger clearly stated he didn’t have anything to be thankful for. Once again, he alluded to losing it all when he lost his daughter. It made me sad.
For me, I didn’t know whether I was permitted to be thankful. I was no longer in the house of secrets with my parents, but rather a new house of deception. When I allowed myself to think on it too much, I couldn’t help feeling like my entire existence was one big lie.
Christmas morning arrived, and I expect to spend it much like I had every other day in the last seven months—in my room. I got up and dressed before going to the window. With the lace curtain in my hand, I allowed my mind to drift as I watched the snow fall in large flakes.
“Angelina, what would life have been like for both of us if only we hadn’t been born as … Well, who we were born as? I would like to think you would be sledding right now,” I whispered to the air around me, smiling as I pictured a girl with similar features to me, laughing and carrying on as my stranger pulled her sled up a large hill for her. Closing my eyes, I allowed that little girl to become me going sledding with my stranger.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door open to my room.
“Merry Christmas, angel,” my stranger greeted from the entryway.
“Merry Christmas.” I smiled softly at him.
“Would you like to come open your presents now? Santa Claus visits all the good, little girls and boys. Apparently, you were a very good girl this year.” He looked to the ground as if he was daydreaming for a moment.
I couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape me as he tried to give me what he probably found to be a “normal” Christmas.
“I know Santa isn’t real. I know there once was a Saint Nicholas who gave to the less fortunate. However, my mama made it very clear from as far back as I can remember that each and every gift I was given came from her and Father. Papa Valencia once tried to have ‘Santa Claus’,”—I used air quotes for emphasis—“visit his home for me, and Mama threw a huge fit, stating they would not allow me to believe such lies.”
My stranger shook his head before looking up at me. “They took away your Santa Claus,” he stated as if he could read my mind.
I only nodded in agreement because they had, but it had never bothered me until right then. Just like Papa
I quickly finished my dinner so I didn’t waste his time. I didn’t know why it concerned me, but I had the desire to please him. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him. Where would that leave me? Questions danced around in my mind, back to what really happened to my parents. I still didn’t know. I wondered if I ever would. If my stranger hadn’t killed them, who had? Did it matter?
“Angel,” he chastised, sensing my mind wasn’t on task.
Focusing, I took my mind back to school, and we got started.
“Easily multiplying and dividing fractions,” Giano stated as he arched an eyebrow, continuing to read the lesson out loud while he paced. He closed the book and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Walking to me, he leaned over my shoulder to look at the paper on my desk then picked up my pencil, working a problem to give me an example. “Forget the book tonight, angel. Watch closely. In the end, getting the right answer is what gets you by in life, not the eighteen hundred steps that book wants you to do.”
We both laughed and got back to work.
This was how it was with us. Night after night, we followed the same pattern. Giano was a man of few words; he said what needed to be said, and we moved on together. I learned to do as much work as I could during the day, and then my stranger reviewed each lesson with me after dinner. Time passed with this routine that somehow managed to work. Although challenging, having only myself and my studies to worry about, I did complete sixth grade by December.
We didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving as my stranger clearly stated he didn’t have anything to be thankful for. Once again, he alluded to losing it all when he lost his daughter. It made me sad.
For me, I didn’t know whether I was permitted to be thankful. I was no longer in the house of secrets with my parents, but rather a new house of deception. When I allowed myself to think on it too much, I couldn’t help feeling like my entire existence was one big lie.
Christmas morning arrived, and I expect to spend it much like I had every other day in the last seven months—in my room. I got up and dressed before going to the window. With the lace curtain in my hand, I allowed my mind to drift as I watched the snow fall in large flakes.
“Angelina, what would life have been like for both of us if only we hadn’t been born as … Well, who we were born as? I would like to think you would be sledding right now,” I whispered to the air around me, smiling as I pictured a girl with similar features to me, laughing and carrying on as my stranger pulled her sled up a large hill for her. Closing my eyes, I allowed that little girl to become me going sledding with my stranger.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door open to my room.
“Merry Christmas, angel,” my stranger greeted from the entryway.
“Merry Christmas.” I smiled softly at him.
“Would you like to come open your presents now? Santa Claus visits all the good, little girls and boys. Apparently, you were a very good girl this year.” He looked to the ground as if he was daydreaming for a moment.
I couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape me as he tried to give me what he probably found to be a “normal” Christmas.
“I know Santa isn’t real. I know there once was a Saint Nicholas who gave to the less fortunate. However, my mama made it very clear from as far back as I can remember that each and every gift I was given came from her and Father. Papa Valencia once tried to have ‘Santa Claus’,”—I used air quotes for emphasis—“visit his home for me, and Mama threw a huge fit, stating they would not allow me to believe such lies.”
My stranger shook his head before looking up at me. “They took away your Santa Claus,” he stated as if he could read my mind.
I only nodded in agreement because they had, but it had never bothered me until right then. Just like Papa
Similar Books
Tempted by Dr. Morales
Carol Marinelli
Whispered Promises
Brenda Jackson
Loving Me, Trusting You
C. M. Stunich
Lady Love
Diana Palmer
Operation Napoleon
Arnaldur Indridason
Death Sentence
Jerry Bledsoe
It All Comes Down To Zombies: Sarah
Rayne Millaray
Never Again Once More
Mary B. Morrison
My Destiny
Adrianne Byrd
The Platform
D G Jones