Between Those Holidays and Happy Times

John Paul L. Valdez |

12/22/2007 - 12/23/07

Second Place (tie), Teen Stories
John Paul Valdez's bittersweet story of the relationship between a father and son indicates an ability to observe the pain of others without judging them. He makes good use of first-person storytelling techniques to bring both characters to life.

'Ha, ha, it looks like I'm smoking." He put his fingers up to his puckered lips as if to take a long sip from a cigarette. Eyes closed, he exhaled, releasing warm breath into the frigid air. As the foggy breath rose and disappeared into the air, he opened his eyes, wide and brown, to look up at me. I couldn't help laughing with him, even though my lips burned from the frozen air.

"Yeah, yeah, you'd better not be smoking," I told him as he pulled off his green winter hat to run his small fingers through his brown hair. "Come on, get back to work."

And so we continued placing the sand-filled paper bags on the wall around the house. It was Christmas Eve, but I hadn't plugged in the multicolored and faded lights around the house yet because the sun was just starting to set. The red light shone over the hills and reflected on the wall of the house.

I really wasn't much for Christmas, but he loved it — so I decorated for him, I sang for him, I bought gifts just for him. I had to. I loved him, he was my son. As the sun set, on came the colorful rainbow that wrapped around the house. We lit the little candles and placed them into the bags before entering the house.

Christmas was good that year, but soon time took over. Christmas Days came and passed, New Year's celebrations were here and gone, and birthdays seemed to arrive too often. Nick grew up and I got old.

"Have you seen Nicolas lately?" the lady from church asked as I talked to her at the grocery store.

"No, not lately," I answered before ending the conversation and making my way out of the store to my old beat-up truck. The truth was that I hadn't seen him in years, not since the fight we had while having dinner. Like I said before, time changes things and it really took its toll on me.

Between those holidays and happy times, life took over. I divorced my wife when she couldn't put up with my drinking habit. She took Nick. He never really forgave me. But every year, we would still spend Christmas Eve together. I would do my best to make a dinner from the unemployment checks I got in the mail, and he would sit there, silent, pushing food around the paper plate with his fork. Not once would his large brown eyes glance up to look at me when I spoke to him, so the night would submit to silence.

It was during dinner one night in October when Nick told me I needed to go to the school the next morning to sign some papers.

"What for? Is it for a field trip or something," I asked.

"No, it's to give me permission to leave school ... to drop out," he answered.

We argued. I tried to make him understand he needed an education; he reminded me that I never got one. Back and forth we yelled until he left, slamming the frail door of my small trailer behind him. Apparently, my signature was of less importance than I thought, because a month later I found out he not only left school, but had also moved out of his mother's and her new husband's house. His mother hears from him once in a while, and sometimes she'll tell me what he's up to, but I haven't seen him.

I finally got back to the trailer and began unloading the few groceries I had just bought onto the table. A canned ham, a can of corn, and some frozen potatoes lay upon the table next to a case of beer and a pack of cigarettes. It was Christmas Eve and I was planning on spending it by myself in front of the TV.

I ate, sat down in the recliner and began to doze off. Suddenly, there was a knock at the old brown door. I opened my eyes. There was another knock. Not knowing who it could possibly be, I walked over to the door and opened it. Standing at the bottom of the steps was Nick.

Surprised, I wasn't sure it was him at first. We stood looking at each other for a while before I finally spoke.

"Hi," was all I could say, even though I had a lifetime of things I could tell him.

"Hi," he replied. He continued to just stand there, silently looking up at me. He had dark circles around his eyes, his brown hair was shaved off and he was wrapped in a black hooded jacket.

"Come in, come in, don't stand out in the cold," I finally said as I stepped aside from the doorway. "It's good to see you. Sit down, let's talk."

"I can't stay long," he answered as he sat at the little table where beer cans sat open. I couldn't help watching him, trying to take in every detail. He just sat there, silent, with his head down. The silence was familiar, but I couldn't stand it.

"Let's go outside, I'll start a fire," I said as I stood up.

"Sure." He followed me outside. I lit a small bonfire and we stood around it warming our hands. I watched as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and began to smoke. Eyes closed, he exhaled, releasing smoke into the frigid air. As the smoke from his lips mixed and disappeared into the smoke of the fire, he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Why did you leave?" I finally asked. The words escaped me before I had time to comprehend what I had just said.

"Why would I want to stay?" he replied.

"You had your mother and her husband Eric ... you had me."

"Ha, yeah. I had it good, didn't I?" he answered sarcastically.

"I don't know, you tell me. You do the talking for once."

"Yeah, I'll tell you. You left me with them. You abandoned me." his voice was shaking with anger and his eyes began to tear. "You left me to get beaten by Eric, to watch him hit Mom."

"I didn't know. Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, choked up and confused.

"What were you going to do? You left me for Jose Cuervo and Budweiser. You were too drunk to do anything for me, so I did myself a favor and left. It was my turn to leave you." Nick was in tears and so was I. I didn't know what to say, because he was right.

"Why did you come back?" I finally got the nerve to ask.

"I had to. I wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"I'm going to be a dad." He looked up at me. A smile slowly spread across his wet face and I couldn't help but smile with him, even though my lips burned from the frozen air.

There we stood, watching each other through the smoke.

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

"Merry Christmas, Nick."