A Christmas Gift
There is nothing more tender than when someone calls you by first name to give you a Christmas gift!
“Be ready, everyone! Get clean, dressed, and lined up for the Christmas ceremony. I’ll see you all at 4 pm at the Social Room. Sharp! It’s Christmas, everyone!” A grown-up announces happily, sneaking into the large dining room where we are all gathered, almost silently savoring our lunch of cabbage, pork, and dumplings.
“And don’t be late!”, she adds to her excitement. And before we all know it, she disappears in an instant, like a bubbling goulash being covered by a sudden lid.
As she walks down the hallway, her footsteps fade away completely. I count each step in my head, one finger for each step. A habit I've developed, especially at night when the grown-ups come to check on us. Their presence always wakes me up only because gray colors get loud at night. During the day, grown-ups wear bright colors, at night, they wear shadows.
“Silly, everyone knows that today is Christmas, like hello!?,” annoyed, a girl my age - she must be eleven, sitting next to me, her back is facing the main door, whispers loudly, with a mischief on her face, and thick glasses stuck on her tip of her eagle nose. My smile gets in a way of getting a sip of milk from a mug without a handle. I like the way she rolled her eyes. I’ve seen grown-ups doing it, too.
It’s winter, December 24th, don’t know the year, though, but I know that it is my Name Day celebration. I don’t get anything for it. According to the grown-ups and the Czechoslovakian Calendar, I was told my first name is celebrated on Christmas. For some reason, Adam and Eva share the same day for celebration. I've never met Adam before, so it's kinda strange to have to share my name day with him.
During Christmas time, everyone seems to be kinder to each other. Grown-ups talk about a little boy, named Jesus, how special he is, and his parents. No one talks about my mama. One day, I'll meet her and ask if I'm special too.
Before we get to see the big Christmas tree, decorated two days ago, we need to perform at the Annual Christmas performance, for grown-ups’ strangers from the outside to come, sit in chairs, and watch us sing and recite poems. I was told my singing voice is not even for the last row, so I’ll be reciting a poem to them instead. The poem is about a strong oven operator who likes to work hard. It is a Russian Communists poem a grown-up picked for me.
As I make my way to get dressed, a grown-up in a white coat greets me with "Happy Name Day!" with her a smile on her face. Today, I don’t feel small. I thank them and continue towards the large bedroom where all the kids are eagerly rushing and pushing around happily, just as excited as I am.
As my mind buzzes with thoughts, I realize that I don't have any girly dresses. I wish I had. I remember finding this white, long-sleeved shirt in the large pile last Friday and washing it in the sink yesterday. I'm glad I found a soap to wash it with. I hung it over the headboard of my bed and couldn't resist touching it throughout the day, eagerly anticipating wearing it today.
Speaking of soaps…I overheard grown-ups talking about second war soldiers the other day as to how they used soap made from human hair. When I am cold, I usually warm my hands under the warm running water in the large washroom. I was curious about the grown-up talk of this hairy soap, so I let it melt until it was nothing, but I didn't find any hair inside.
As the crowd of strangers of grown-ups’ claps and cheers for my poem performance, I glance over at the window. Large snowflakes are falling outside, creating a magical Christmas atmosphere in the air.
As all the tables are pushed close together, covered with white tablecloths, hiding their usual wear and tear. Fruits like bananas and oranges, usually only seen during Christmas, beautify the tables. Some were lucky enough to have helped make the Christmas cookies in the large kitchen. All the colorful handmade paper Christmas chains are hanging over the Christmas yumminess. They are easy to make. There are also bowls of soup, plates of schnitzels, and potato salads placed charmingly next to each other. Everyone displays good manners as they chat excitedly over one another, seating at the long table now. The aroma of the food wafts through the room, and the grown-ups seemed less serious and more jovial than usual as laughter filled the air. But nothing compares to the thrill of hearing my first name being called out to receive a Christmas gift - can’t wait!
A grown-up in a white coat beckoned with a smile, "Great job, everyone! Now let's go see the Christmas tree!" Chairs get pulled out from the table quickly. Whispers turn into loud excitement. We happily follow her lead. A few of us hurry back to grab cookies from the table, hastily shoving them into our pockets and mouths as we realize we're running behind.
“C’mon, guys! hurry up!” The annoyed girl shouted at us to hurry, standing in the doorway, crunching on cookies as she waits for us to move quickly.
The Christmas tree towers above us, its twinkling lights casting a warm glow on the room. We all huddle together in front of it, the kids from the entire orphanage, eagerly awaiting our turn to be called by name. The presents under the tree are expertly wrapped with bright ribbons and tags. Each name is said with joy and excitement, like only kids can express. In the background, a radio softly plays festive songs as the grown-ups take turns calling out our names one by one.
As everyone eagerly grabbed their Christmas gifts and left the room to play, the radio is hushed with a click of the volume down button, and even my name has not been called yet, I still find myself sitting on the floor. Grown-ups don’t make any sense; I think to myself. I look around anxiously. My heart is beating faster with each passing moment. Confusion and sadness overwhelm me as I realize there are no more presents under the tree. Even the grown-ups have left the room already.
I ran fast to my bed, ashamed, feeling sorry for myself for not getting anything. I close the door behind me, fall on my knees, push my heart back to my body, worried it might jump out. I cry deeply. And no one even noticed. Would my mama notice?
I don’t know how long I was on my knees. All I know is that I have to come out and pretend everything is ok. I don’t want anyone’s attention. I just want to stay visible as much as I can. To blend to disappear. I promise myself, if I ever become a mama myself, I make sure my kid always gets a Christmas gift. And even though my first name wasn’t called to get a Christmas gift, my space, where I truly belong, got wider. My name and I belong to me.
As Christmas Day came to an end, laying in my bed now, I whisper:
"Happy Name Day, Eva and Adam." I huddle under my blanket, closing my eyes as I drift off to sleep.
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