An Ocean Apart

Any Other Christmas Eve.

Ten years ago I had the best and worst Christmas Eve of my entire life. 

I was nine years old at the time and wanted nothing more than to put the angel on top of the Christmas tree. My parents had developed the tradition on their first Christmas together as a married couple to always put the angel atop the Christmas tree the morning of Christmas Eve. They would always do it together. My dad would set up the latter while my mom climbed up and place it on the tip. They would kiss sweetly once she was safely on the ground and enjoy a nice glass of sparkly apple cider. As a young child, I never understood why this special annual event never included me, and my ignorance would soon push me to develop a Christmas Eve tradition of my own. 

I’d woken up early that Christmas to make sure I would be up before my parents could set up the angel without me. I was sitting on the couch in front of the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in my pink Barbie pajamas waiting patiently as my mother descended our staircase. She was obviously surprised to me see and when question about the early hour I stated that I wanted to help with the angel. She looked at me for a moment and said, “You’re too young, sweetheart.” 

This explanation infuriated me. I had every intention to prove her wrong and put the angel on the tree without anyone’s help. I stomped into the garage and struggled to pull the ladder into the house. Miraculously, I managed to do so without alerting my mother in the kitchen or father still asleep in his room. Placing the ladder up right, I began to climb up the steps one by one with the angel in hand, holding onto each step for dear life. 

My mother caught me when I was three fourths of the way up the tree, so close to my destination. She began screaming and shouting for my father and at me. Tears stung at my eyes almost immediately because never once in my life had my mother yelled at me so angrily. I was yanked down aggressively by my father within minutes and practically throw on the couch with tears running down my pink cheeks. He never touched me nor did my mother, but I’m still grateful for the saving grace that walk in through the front door. 

It was Pia. Since she was my father’s sister and came over babysit me and my brothers quite often so she was granted with a key to the house. She had not seen the entire scene unfold, at least from what she’s told me, but she had heard my father yelling me through the front door. She barged in immediately and demanded to know what was going on. My mother told her through hissed teeth and from the tone of her voice and expression on her face had been expecting my aunt to fully comply, but Pia did not. 

She scolded my mother for lying to me about why I really wasn’t allowed to help with the angel and expecting me to do nothing with the explanation I was given. Had it been under normal circumstances I would have asked just what the real reason was, but my fear of my father looming over me and my mother’s rage for being lectured by someone ten years her junior was enough to keep me quiet. 

Pia marched straight past my father and mother as soon as she’d finished speaking and took my hand. She whispered to me softly asking if I’d like to come spend the day with her rather than stay home. I agreed without hesitation, sprinting up stares to change my clothes before my parents could stop me. I didn’t hear much of what went on after I left but the faints shouts were a dead give away. 

Pia spent the entire day with me, taking me ice skating, shopping and dragging me around to all my favorite parts of town. It was the best day with my aunt I could ever remember. She didn’t treat me like an ignorant child but more like an equal unlike my parents. It was the day she truly became my friend rather than my aunt. 

When the sun began setting over the sky that night her phone rang with my father on the other end. They requested that I be brought home so I could be ready for the party at my mom’s grandmother’s that night. I’d always hated that party every year. Every single member of my mother’s family was stuck up, closed minded and treated me like a five year old no matter how many years went by. Their presents were always useless and my cousins ignored me and my brothers completely, unless they were bored and wanted someone to pick on. I begged with her not to make me go, almost reduced to tears.