Thank you, Christmas

Chapter 1

Ana

Christmas has never been something I have looked forward to. I never got to be the child that was thankful when ‘Santa Claus’ came to town. My mother and father were hard workers, living check to check. My mom was a clerk for the local grocery store in small town Summit, IL and my father was a mechanic. We didn’t have a lot of money and I don’t recall a lot of laughter either. Hell, to be honest with you, I don’t remember a Christmas before the one that changed my life.

When I was six years old, my mother came home from work with two gifts in her hands-on Christmas eve. I can remember being excited because we had never done Christmas before and though we still didn’t have a tree, it was something different. Something for me. Something other kids did. I woke up the following morning and barely contained myself ripping the paper off the gifts. I still remember both of my parents sitting on opposite ends of the room, watching me open those two gifts with not so much as a smirk on their faces. To them, it was like any other day. I took those two barbies and held them to my chest like they were made of gold. She left that day under the guise of getting cake and ice cream and never came back. Yes. My mom left me on Christmas.

My grandmother moved in with my father and I to help and that was the first time I remember laughing. She was funny, kind, warm and she loved to give hugs. I remember one Christmas, she made me all these little dolls with matching clothes from crochet nits. I was never as happy as I was that morning waking up. Still never had a tree. My father always felt they were unnecessary and forbade them. Every Christmas with her was special in its own way and I learned pretty early on to stop wishing for what other kids had. This would have mended my appreciation with this supposedly magical holiday, if it weren't for the fact that five years later, when I was eleven years old, the week before Christmas, I woke up and went into her room, excited for her to teach me how to make something for my dad and found her unbreathing and cold. Once again. Christmas let me down.

My father and I made it, for five more years before his drinking got the best of him and on Christmas Eve, he ran a red light, hit a car with a mother and child in it. They didn’t make it and he got vehicular manslaughter and I spent my first Christmas in foster care. Which is what brought me here. Sitting in the front of the soup kitchen in an apron and elf hat, helping miss Lahn organize the annual holiday sit down feast. I began volunteering here last year when I had finally aged out of the system and realized that I had it better than some foster kids and wanted to give back. I am one of the lucky ones who was able to get a volunteer job here. They can’t afford to hire me, but volunteering gives me a room here to sleep in since I have no job and no money.

The Lahn community center caters holiday dinner for Thanksgiving and Christmas for displaced families and youth. People from all over the community come and help. They donate their time, money and any items needed to give to those less fortunate for the holidays. “Ana dear, there are some gentlemen over there that usually handle the lifting and such. Is there anything that needs to be moved?” she asks me as she grabs another pan of mac and cheese.

“Actually, yes. I was just sitting here trying to figure out how the hell…”

“Ah... mmm.” she clears her throat reminding me to mind my mouth. I duck my head and blush. I know I am grown but she is the closest thing to family I have, and she has always been diligent about making sure I carry myself correctly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lahn. I mean we need these sacks of flour sent to the kitchen so Joan can finish the cakes and cookies.”

“Excellent. Well, go up front, find Foreman Mack and show him what you need. I really need to get this pan to the front.” she walks away not having any idea how she just sent my body into a tailspin. Just the word ‘Mack’ makes my body wake up. Have you ever wondered what Thor’s slightly less buff, but equally sexy little brother would look like? Well, that would be Jamison Mack.

I first saw him when I was here at one of the holiday feasts eating two years ago. He was volunteering and when I walked up to the table and handed him my plate, it was the first time I was aware I could feel anything other than self-pity. He was gorgeous. Tall, light, and handsome. He isn’t what you would call overly buff, though you could tell he works out. I mean being a construction foreman, he has to be strong. His face is chiseled and defined, but he doesn’t look like a gentleman. He looks like a roughneck. The first time he spoke to me that day, I found myself muted and flushed and all he said was, “Mashed Potatoes?” I mean can you imagine. If that is all he asked, and I couldn't hold it in then? Now every time I see him, which is usually only during this event, I lose my shit and forget who I am. Well, it doesn't look like this time is going to be any different.