"Give it to me! If you don't, I'll pound ya!"
"No, let go! It's mine!"
"Boys, what is all this ruckus?" asked an older female voice.
"Sorry, Miss Garre," the two boys chorused, as they attempted to untangle their arms, legs, and feet.
"I'm sure," she muttered, as she watched them slowly rise from the floor of Saint Paul's Orphanage.
A pencil stub fell out of the sleeve of the shorter of the two youngsters, and rolled towards Miss Garre. As one, both boys lunged at it.
"Hold it!" Miss Garre exclaimed sharply, taking one quick step forward, and covering the item with her foot. The boys stopped, noses almost touching the brown leather shoe, which had seemed to appear out of nowhere. Blushing, they got back on their feet.
"I dropped my pencil, Ma'am," whispered David, his black hair partially covering his eyes.
"Oh, really? Then why did I see it fall out of Brian's sleeve?" she asked, in a low, dangerous voice.
"He was using it. But it belongs to me," David replied, as he stared at the floor.
"Now it belongs to me. And I don't want to see either of you down here until well after sunrise," she said firmly, and dropped it into the pocket on the front of her apron.
"Now you've done it. You're just lucky she came along before I had a chance to teach you a lesson," said David, after they were out of earshot.
"Well I wouldn't have had to take it, if you would've shared," argued the smaller of the two.
"You didn't want to borrow it Brian, you tried to take it for your own," David reminded him.
"What if I did? You know we're not allowed to have any personal possessions. Whatever we get, we're supposed to share," replied Brian, balling his fists.
"That's a stupid rule! I found the pencil in front of the bakery, in the mud. It was mine," he hissed in anger.
"It doesn't matter now, David. It's gone," Brian said sadly.
"You're right. But I sure would have liked to practice my letters with it," David replied.
"Letters? Look what I did with it," Brian said proudly, as he moved the little throw rug beside his bed.
On the almost white pine of the well scrubbed floor, was an incredibly lifelike sketch of the orphanage, as viewed from the sidewalk.
"What good will something like that ever be? Letters and numbers can get you a good job, but drawing on the floor will only get you a good switching," David laughed, trying hard to hide how impressed he was.
His face hot, Brian threw the rug over the drawing, and got in bed.
David grinned after he turned away. "That'll teach him to steal from me," he thought with satisfaction, as he crossed the room towards his own bed.
"I know... I'll write to Santa. Or at least I'll try to find someone who can write, who will help me," thought Brian.
The next day:
"Merry Christmas! Help the poor! Can you please spare a little to help those less fortunate?" pleaded a man. His outstretched top hat almost blocked the door of Hanne's Grocer, and his brilliant smile was infectious.
"Now there's a helpful type of guy, who probably knows how to write," thought Brian.
"Excuse me, Sir," Brian said quietly, during a lull in the crowd.
"Well! How can I help you, young man?" the man asked, beaming.
"I need to write a letter to Santa Claus, Sir. And I I can't read or write. I'm an Orphan, Sir. Both of my parents died from the Fever three years ago," Brian replied, trying to look as pathetic as possible.
"Well, let's see about getting some lunch while we draft your letter," the man said. Obviously moved by the youngster, he took him by the shoulder, and led him towards Anne's Cafe.
"What do you want me to write?" the man asked, after Brian had devoured most of his banana split.
"Can you please ask Santa to bring me an art kit? I need paper, pencils, paints, brushes, and pastels. All in a nice case that I can hide under my bed," he replied excitedly.
"Alright... how does this sound?"
"Dear Santa,
I only want one thing for Christmas this year: An art kit with paper, pencils, paints, brushes, and pastels. All in a nice case, please.
Your friend, Brian"
"That's perfect!" Brian shouted happily. Several customers looked at him curiously, and he blushed, then began to finish off the banana split.
"There it goes, all the way to the North Pole," the kind man said, as Brian dropped the letter into the mail slot.
"Thanks so much, Sir. And thank you for the banana split too," the young boy said sincerely meaning it.
"Merry Christmas!" was all the stranger said in reply, before he turned and walked away.
Christmas Eve:
"Who could be knocking on the door at this hour?" grumbled Miss Garre, as she slowly shuffled towards the door.
"Ho ho ho, merry Christmas!" exclaimed a man in a velvet red suit, trimmed with pure white fur. His white beard looked too big and full to be real, but the sack hanging over his shoulder certainly looked heavy enough.
"Uh, come in?" invited Miss Garre, completely flustered. "In all my years here, nobody has ever brought gifts," she thought.
The eight boys and four girls who called the orphanage home gathered around the jolly man, and he began to hand out one package after another. None of the presents had name tags on them, but all were wrapped in either pink, blue, or red and green wrapping paper.
And there were plenty to go around, more than two per child. Brian received a baseball and bat, a small wooden car, and a deck of cards.
But of all the presents, not one child received an art kit, or anything that might be used for drawing or writing. "I guess Santa couldn't find one. Not that Miss Garre is going to let us keep anything for our very own anyway," he thought sadly.
"It's too bad all of these presents are going to be put out for everyone to use. I sure would love to keep this beautiful doll for myself," the youngest girl whispered to herself.
"So long as they don't cause fighting, jealousy, or other mayhem, I see no reason why the presents can't be kept. They were given specifically to each of you, after all. But I expect to see kindness, sharing, and good will," Miss Garre said loud enough for everyone to hear, making the girl jump.
"Thank you, Miss Garre," the girl stammered, blushing.
Ignoring the conversation, Santa said "It's been a pleasure visiting with you children, but I have other deliveries to make. Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed, as he grabbed his bag, and was gone as quickly as he had arrived.
A few seconds later, a lot of loud noise came from the roof. The kids smiled, but Miss Garre was in a frenzy, first running outside, then checking out the attic.
All of the children were milling about happily, either playing with their new toys, or talking excitedly. Except for Brian and David. Both had received good presents, things they had only dreamt about owning. But not what they wanted most.
They locked eyes from opposite sides of the large living room, and shrugged.
Midnight, Christmas Eve:
Unable to sleep, Brian sat in a hardback chair, in front of the window closest to his bed. To his amazement, while gazing at the huge, bright moon, he saw eight reindeer pulling a sleigh through the air!
"Is he waving at me?" Brian wondered. They were a good distance away, but he clearly saw Santa's mittened hand go up. Quickly he returned the greeting.
Once the sleigh was gone, he sighed. "I hope I get to see him again next year. This is the most fun I've had in three years," thought Brian.
He walked over to his bed, and noticed that his rug was gone. The drawing on the floor was exposed!
"Where is it?!?!" Brian thought in a panic, looking around the room. Then he noticed a corner of it peeking out from under his bed.
Relief flooded through him. "If Miss Garre sees that, I'll get the switch for sure," he thought. He pulled out the rug, and upon it sat a highly polished wooden case. To the right of the latch was a round, black engraving of the scene he had just witnessed from the window. Santa, the sleigh, and eight reindeer.
Above, it had a single word, in gold letters: Nice. And below the engraving, also in gold letters, it said Naughty.
"I wonder what that's for?" he whispered, for some reason more curious about the little piece of exquisitely carved coal than he was the contents of the case.
As he felt it, he noticed that it was much like a dial. Brian carefully turned it, and the case disappeared! "I can still feel it, but I can't see it," he thought.
Quickly he turned it back. The case reappeared. "My art kit," he gasped.
Looking at the supplies, enough to last at least a year, tears began to stream down Brian's face. He selected a pencil, and crept towards David's bed, planning to put it on his desk.
"I don't believe it!" Brian thought, as he looked at the desk. It was full of study books, and there was an open pencil box, complete with pencils and a sharpener.
He smiled, and returned his pencil to its case, then turned the knob before hiding the invisible Christmas present under his bed.
About a month later, he saw the man who had helped him to write the letter. There was something different about him, but Brian couldn't quite figure it out.
"How was your Christmas, young man?" the stranger asked brightly.
"It was great, Sir. Thank you again for your help," replied Brian. As he looked at the man, he recognized the eyes.
"It's the man who delivered all those presents," he thought, shocked. Then he saw the very fine, short white stubble on his face. "But he's so young, and he has dark hair," thought the boy.
"Is everything okay?" the man asked.
"Fine, Sir. I just wanted to let you know that I had a great Christmas, and love my presents," Brian replied, not wanting Santa Claus to know that his secret had been discovered...
Describe what you see:
I see a boy looking out of a window. He sees Santa Claus flying by, with a bright moon in the background.
Describe what you feel:
I feel like this is a magical night, when everything is possible!
