The Gift Was Not What I Expected

The gift was not what I expected. It sat beneath my Christmas tree since the very first day of December; the school’s overseer told me that it came in the mail addressed to me- Cole Michaels- but oddly had no return address on it. At first I was a little bit sketched out by the thought that my mail is becoming anonymous, but then I thought ‘who am I kidding? I never get mail anyways.’

                As the days of the month passed through my fourth year of high school at St.Charles Academy for young adults my anticipation grew to find what was hidden beneath the wrapping paper of that anonymous gift. Every night as the other kids that stayed at school for break talked and played amongst each other in the rec. room, I sat next to the Christmas tree on my favorite couch with my favorite book, every once in a while peering up from the pages to examine my gift as if it was the first time ever seeing it; examining every crevice and fold to be sure that no one touched it. The box itself was about as big as a mini fridge and almost the same dimensions but it was no mini fridge, because it weighed too little, plus when the box was moved you could hear the faint noise of things moving around. It was decorated with bright red and green polka dotted wrapping paper with a smashed green ribbon on top as if it had been transported upside down.

                As Christmas day grew near, I became too overwhelmed. I had waited long enough, and now was time to find out what exactly that mysterious gift was and who it was from. I so badly wanted the gift to be from my mother and father, as hard as it was to come to terms with that. I hated that they sent me away, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad if they showed me that they still cared about me.

                I walked down to the rec. room, shifting my weight carefully so that I wouldn’t cause too much noise. When I arrived I saw that there was another boy sitting right next to the Christmas tree. He didn’t have a gift in his hand, but he did have what appeared to be a hand written letter and the envelope that carried it. He was clutching it so tight to his chest that I thought it may just snap in half.

                I walked into the room and said “Hey, early Christmas for you too?”

                The boy jumped at the sound of my voice, and quickly turned around, revealing his face streaming with tears and his eyes puffy and bloodshot. He immediately turned and cleared his face. I recognized this boy, his name is Gabe Johnson, a junior from out of town and if I remember right he is also a new kid. Poor guy probably got left behind this year too.

                He said through stuffed sinuses “Yeah, I guess. Wouldn’t call it much of a Christmas though.” He held up his letter with a sarcastic enthusiasm.

                For the first time since Christmas, I stopped thinking about myself, and what I got under the Christmas tree and realized that Gabe’s letter was obviously not good. I didn’t ask about it for fear  that I might strike a chord and I don’t know how to handle crying people very well.