Secret Santa

Honorable Mention, adults' stories

Cathy Weber Colvin |

12/18/2008 - 12/19/08

Marcella leaned over her son's bed to kiss him goodnight. He wrapped his small hands around her neck and pulled her toward him.

"Mama, guess what?"

Ricco's warm breath tickled her ear, a sharp contrast to the cold December air that filled the room. "What, mijto?"

"I figured out who Santa really is," he whispered.

She smiled, but it was tinged with the melancholy of a mother watching her youngest grow up.

"You did?" She had been expecting this moment since last night, when his 16-year-old brother, Diego, had told the boy that Santa didn't really exist. Given his age, Diego's cynicism was no surprise. But then he laughed, and told Ricco there would be no presents this year because their Papa was out of work.

Furious with Diego, Marcella took away his cell phone. He kicked the front door on his way out and hadn't been back since.

Marcella nodded toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. "Is this something your brother told you?"

Ricco shook his head with pride. "Nope. I figured it out myself."

"OK, then. Tell me, who is Santa?"

Lying back on his pillow he leveled a serious gaze at her.

"Santa is God."

He stated his claim with a certainty that made her unsure how to answer. "Hmmm. That's very interesting. What makes you think that?"

Ricco sat up and spoke with excited confidence. "God knows everything, so does Santa. Like who's naughty and who's nice. And he's got enough money to buy toys for all the boys and girls in the whole world. He knows what everyone really needs and gives it to you even if you didn't write it on your Christmas list. Things like socks and toothpaste. Who would ever ask for that? But God knows you need them, and there they are in your stocking on Christmas morning."

Marcella's heart sank under the weight of Christmases past, when lack of funds had led her to fill the stockings with the bare necessities and nothing else.

"Actually," she said, "I think Santa is a saint."

Ricco shook his head. "No, he's got way more power than a Saint. And I'll prove it. I'm not gonna make a list this year. Instead, I'll pray to God and tell him what I want for Christmas. If Santa brings it, then I'll know for sure."

With a mischievous grin, he reflected on the brilliance of his plan.

Watching him, Marcella made a promise to herself. Whatever Ricco wanted, whatever it cost, this year she would buy it for him. His faith, maybe even his soul, depended on it.

"Well, what is it you want for Christmas, honey?"

"Sorry, Mama, I can't tell anyone except God." He kissed her cheek and pulled the covers over his head.

Marcella felt a wave of unease. How could she answer his prayers if she didn't know what he wanted?

She tugged the electric heater to the foot of the bed. "Goodnight, sweetheart, I love you."

At the door Marcella paused and looked at the mess in her older son's corner of the room. When had he stopped caring about his family — about her?

"Donde esta mi hijto? A donde va?"

With quiet steps she walked over and picked up his winter coat. He should have taken it with him, but the weather had only just started to turn.

Marcella hung the coat on a hook and organized the rest of his things. She made his bed, smoothing the blanket on top.

Now when Diego came home, if he came home, he might feel cared for and welcome.

She gathered the dirty clothes from the floor and turned out the jeans for washing. A folded piece of paper fell from the pocket.

The image was creased and worn, but she could still make it out. A black Nintendo DS with a carrying case and accessories.

She turned the paper over in her hands. Scribbled across the back in Diego's shaky handwriting was a note.

Mom, Ricco asked me to print this from the Internet. Looks cool, he really wants it. Luv u ;) D

Holding the paper to her heart, she thanked God and — just in case — Santa, too.