Through the Storm

Chapter Eighteen (Part 1)

Tuesday, December 24, 1996

The first thing I noticed...after waking up in a pile of snow and hitting the start button on the stopwatch...was the Twin Towers, standing tall in the distance. Like some giant up in the sky had just set them back in place. I suppressed a shudder at the sight of them and stood up.

I zipped up Kevin's coat and waded across the sidewalk. I remembered this Christmas Eve so well. At least six inches of snow had fallen and Courtney and I were home with dad, watching it come down as we wrapped presents for the party out neighbors hosted at midnight. It was the most excited I'd been in my six years of life.
All the money in the world couldn't buy a perfect snowfall on Christmas Eve. Kevin would probably call me careless later, but I had to see this again. Relive it. And then I could return to the plan of hunting down medical records. In fact, this event would lead me right to the source.

Everything glowed white. It was almost blinding. I made my way across the park to one of the baseball fields. I only had to wait about fifteen minutes before I saw the two little kids, dressed like punk rock marshmallows, dragging their dad by the hands. I leaned against the backstop of the baseball field so I'd have my back to them, and then I pulled the stocking cap farther over my ears and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. There were a few other people around, so I didn't stand out too much.

"Scott, why don't you start with the head?" Dad said.
It was hard not to react when he said my name, but I kept my eyes forward.

"No, I'm doing the bottom first. This dude is going to be huge," the younger me said.

"You never do what daddy tells you to, Scott. Santa isn't going to bring you anything," Courtney said in her know-it-all voice.

"He brought me a bunch of stuff last year."

"Let him do the bottom, Courtney. Somebody has to."

After a while, I shot a couple glances in their direction and saw the snowman coming to life.

"Let's give him three eyes like an alien," the younger me said.
"Ew! He's supposed to have a top hat and look like a man," Courtney said.

"Fine, I'm making my own."

I heard dad laughing, but he didn't attempt to force me into working on Courtney's version.

"Daddy, why does Santa bring small present to poor people?" Courtney asked.

"Duh, because their houses are smaller," the six-year-old me said.

"Who told you that, Courtney?" Dad asked.

"Silvia."

The babysitter from Puerto Rico. She stayed with us whenever dad was out of town.

"What did she say?"

"Well, she told me her family always got fruit for Christmas and Santa brought it because they didn't have enough money to buy any presents," Courtney said.

From the corner of my eye, I could see her wrapping her scarf around the snowman.

"Silvia's from a different country. Everyone has their own customs," dad said.

"I'm giving her half of my presents," Courtney announced.

"Yeah, I'm sure she wants your Barbie car," the little me said. "Silvia's, like, a hundred years old. She can't drive without a Power Wheels. She can have some of my stuff."

"If you even get anything besides coal," Courtney said.

"I wouldn't care if I got coal. You can make diamonds with coal. Right, dad?"