Tattered Beauty (Watty Awards 2011)

Chapter 19

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Chapter 19

            Oh, Christmas. I had a love-hate relationship with this holiday. On the one hand, I loved it. I loved the way it was so hard to sleep the night before, and I loved waking up the next morning knowing that the day was finally here. I loved tearing off the wrapping paper like a madwoman and the anticipation of what could possibly be inside. I loved Christmas dinners with my parents. We’d sit around the fireplace after supper and be a family. Christmases always held better memories for me when I was a child. 

            On the other hand, I hated it. I hated how I was dragged along to church on Christmas Eve and early Christmas morning. I hated how everything had a religious tie to it. I hated the way my mother and father would sometimes leave me with a babysitter to go out on with their friends. I don’t recall a time where I ever made cookies for Santa with my parents. The babysitter and I did it together. She’d tuck me into bed, and eat the cookies herself and write a note from “Santa”—I found all this out when I snuck out of bed one night. It wasn’t her fault though. She probably figured out my parents were too busy to remember silly childhood delusions.  Unfortunately, this was true. By the time I was eight, I knew Santa was nothing more than a widespread lie.

            My last two Christmases weren’t really the greatest. Last year, the world’s present to me was having it snow less than six inches. It’s a cold, cold world out in New York in December. Winter is harsh and unforgiving. The upside of being homeless in the winter is that you have people bringing you soup all the time. I will never look down upon chicken noodle soup again!

            Anyway, I was off in Lily’s car—with Lily, of course—driving to some fancy restaurant. Tonight was the night Lily was finally going to meet the entire King clan. I hoped they would not clash and ruin hopes of Daniel and I having a future. I held fast to that hope. Lily made herself a gold dress with a sweetheart neckline; very sophisticated and age-appropriate. “I don’t want to look like a cougar, showing off my goods like that!” She had told me. Thus, her chest was mostly covered up. I, on the other hand, wore a show-stopping red dress. It was strapless and it hugged my curves in a classy way.

            “Are you as nervous as I am?” Lily asked me as she drove down Broadway. Her right hand was tight on the wheel, the other hand fluttering nervously around her face and hair.

            “Stop looking in your mirror, you’re going to make us crash,” I chastised. “And no, I’m really not.”

            “Feel my hands.”

            She thrust out her hand at me. “W-What?”

            “Just do it!” She ordered.

            Confused and hesitant, I felt her hand. It was practically dripping with sweat. I dropped it immediately and wiped my hands on the car seat. My nose wrinkled in disgust. “Well…I guess you win the nervous award.”

            “Can I have a gold star for sweating the most in the car?”

            “You win by a long shot.” I laughed. Truthfully, I was quite nervous to accompany my boyfriend’s family to dinner. Hanging out at a private estate was one thing—Christmas dinner at a five star restaurant with both sets of parents (no parents for me, but that was a technicality) was quite another.

No doubt the paparazzi would make an appearance. I’ve discovered I am increasingly not photogenic. I’ve had quite the collection of horribly timed photographs. Like the one where I was running to the grocery store, wearing my holey athletic shorts and a paint-stained t-shirt. To make it worse? I was buying a case of beer. To make it even worse? I am only nineteen…so it was completely illegal. But, you know, New York—I got away without being questioned. It was in a couple of magazines. They reported me being an alcoholic. I love to party, don’t get me wrong, but I’m no addict.