Merry Little Christmas

06. Crimminal

December 9th, 1961

The snow was falling once again, and Isabella had her hands bundled up in the new mittens Andrew had given them that day, with an ample amount of chicken noodle soup to go with it. She was pondering upon hundreds and hundreds of Christmas gifts she could give to Mr. Knight, her indecisive mind couldn't take in all the pressure. So little time, with so many options-not much at all, as her family could not get anything big or valuable. Sixteen more days was not enough. And more than anything else, this was most important. It had to be absolutely perfect.

Andrew didn't care much about presents. Actually, the best present he said to have ever got was to experience life, and all the good that it has to come with it. And Isabella didn't care what he said. He was going to get a Christmas present from her whether he wanted one or not. It was her goal.

Niall was shivering inside the tiny jacket that was supposed to keep him warm, unfortunately it wasn't doing a very good job. His hands were as white as snow and his hair was hard and frozen, covered with small speckles of snow from the day. 

Mama and Papa wrapped their blankets closer to their chests, emitting as much heat as they can up to their skinny bodies that once was not able to see their body ribs and blue veins under all the frugal gear they had on. 

The family stood there in silence. Not peaceful silence, just silence. There was nothing more to say, and if they was, their throats would be too dry and their lips would be too cracked to utter a word from their mouths. So they sat their quietly, admiring the snow on the ground, appearing to be magical, but cold to the touch.

Fortunately for them, the sun was setting and the warm sun was in their faces. But unfortunately, it didn't give the same affect like the day prior. Instead, it had provided little warmth and comfort due to the snowier side that day.   

The cookies had been long gone and made their way out of their systems by then. The cold snow numbed their pain anyways, unable to feel anything except for maybe their cold red noses, stinging from too much exposure to the cold damp air. Their skin was already peeling away, cracked and ugly above the beauty inside of them. But out there they felt ugly and weak, unable to conquer anything around them.

It was beauty no one had ever seemed to recognize. Little did they know the most beautiful people to be known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These people have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen. They don't just come.

Isabella drew a small picture in the snow with her mitten still on her hand, the tiny grains of snow pushing their way into the little hole in the glove.

"Will we ever get to end up there?" Isabella whispered under her breath. No one could hear her besides herself. The drawing was the Eiffel tower in Paris, the place she wanted to live since she was a little girl.

"Will we?" She whispered after a time.

"Did you say something Isabella?"

"Me? No." She laughed, continuing to ponder over whether or not they would get there. "Some day," She said almost inaudibly.

And so there she was, debating on what to get Mr. Knight, and thinking of the very distant future. The one she may never get to have. But she sat there anyways.

She sat with hope. And with that, it was all she needed. She erased the drawing she had created leaving no evidence and continued along with her evening.

She looked towards the bakery-her eyes lit up.

"The bakery." She gasped.

"What was that, Isabella?" Papa asked.

"Nothing," She replied.

That's it! 

After a time, she began wonder again. Wonder how she would do it. There was no possible way. Unless she broke the rules. No, not break the rules. Bend them. Not until it breaks, but until it was acceptable. Until it reached its limit.

It was a risk. But worth the risk. It was a good risk for a good cause. It was nighttime, now. Her parents and Niall were long dozed off to sleep, moving slightly every minute to relief their cold bodies. Of course Andrew came, but surely he was long gone, back to his apartment with his family. Funny thing is, he never mentioned having a family back at his place. Maybe he didn't have one. 

She was deep inside her thoughts, thinking about the bakery: Paris had a lot of bakeries. Not just one. There the bakeries were filled with macarons and croissants; much more finer and richer than the bakery she lived next to. 

But all she wanted to do was to enter it. Just once, to enter the bakery and to whip up something nice and sweet. Something Crumbs and Bites really needed immensely.  

She looked to her left. The bakery was closed. It had no lights or customers in line, and there was no sight of Baker Adam to boss her around. It was her time to make the move, but it was too scary. There were so many consequences to think about. The outcomes after the consequences and the aftermath of it all. 

But risk is good. Her brain had told her many times. 

But its way to much risk. The other half of her brain retorted. 

If she took one step forward, it would be one step closer to the bakery. She walked quietly towards the bakery. If she opened the door, she would break the rules. She would be a criminal. 

She opened the door and stepped inside.

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Quote taken from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross :)