Page 30 of One Wild Ride

TWELVE

Alexander

18 Years Ago, December 25th

I smiled.

Excited at all the gold wrapped presents stacked under the tree. But I did as my mother commanded and sat still on the couch.

We were waiting for my father. He arrived home last night while I was asleep. I wonder if he saw Santa. I covered my mouth with my hands to stop a gasp.

I bet he did. This was going to be the best Christmas ever. I couldn’t wait to tell my best friend, Bradley, who lived on the twelfth floor of my building. He’s going to be jealous at how cool my dad was compared to his dad.

Bradley was a year older than me and my cousin. He was always bragging about how his father took him places. One time he took him on a trip to Washington, DC to the Air and Space Museum to see all the spaceships. My dad doesn’t take me anywhere . . . I really only see him once a month and for a few days at Christmas.

But, meeting Santa, that’s bigger than any spaceship or trip.

“Alexander, what do you want more than anything this Christmas?” My mother smiled at me as she sipped her morning tea.

I love my mom. She was pretty. Her long black hair was shiny, and she smelled like flowers. I liked it when she wore earrings. After my bath, I would always ask her to put on her red dangly earrings before she put me to bed. I wanted to fall asleep knowing I had the most beautiful mom in the world.

She gave the best hugs, and she let me stay up late on the weekends to watch cartoons. Sometimes, she’d watch them with me. But I don’t think she liked them that much because she always ended up crying and leaving the room before the shows were over.

“I hope Santa got my letter and saw that I really, super-duper, want an art set.”

That would be so cool.

My mom was the one that took me places but she always made sure the places were empty when we went. Like this past summer, she took me to The Art Institute of Chicago. There were paintings and drawing and statues and all sorts of awesome things.

I told my mom that when I grew up I wanted to do that. She smiled and said, “Why do it when you can just pay people to do it for you?”

I think she wanted me to grow up to buy the paintings, which I would do. After all, they were awesome.

“I think Santa got your letter.”

I nodded and was about to ask about Father when he stumbled into the room. My mom sat up straight and stared ahead as she always did when he came near her. I kept my eyes down and sat on my hands. It’s best not to do anything that might upset my dad.

“Where is the fucking coffee?” he said as he tripped over a few presents getting to the couch. I heard a crunching sound as he stepped on one of the gifts.

“Maria has the day off. It’s Christmas. I didn’t make any because I don’t drink coffee. If you want some coffee, make it yourself,” my mom said.

I closed my eyes tightly. My mom didn’t like my dad. I may only be eight years old, but even I could see that.

She wasn’t nice to him. But, he was mean to her, too. Meaner than mean. My dad was mean to everyone.

My father fell on the couch near me and I bounced, almost falling off. He smelled bad and I frowned, but I didn’t let him see that. My mom may be strong enough to stand up to my dad but I wasn’t.

I felt something on my head. He was pushing my hair around.

“Hey there, kiddo. I got a surprise for you.”

My eyes widened and I wondered. Did my father actually meet Santa? Did Santa help him be nicer? My dad never talked to me and he certainly never got me anything.

“Did you meet Santa?” I whispered.

I couldn’t help it. I knew not to speak to my father, my mother told me not to so many times, but I had to know.

He crinkled his brow and snapped his head back. “What? No, damn it. Just shut up and let me tell you.”

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