Dear Santa,

I know you're not real. Hell, who can believe in a jolly old man who hasn't had a heart attack from eating all those cookies and drinking all that milk (or beer depending on the version) yet?

But, for some unknown reason, I'm writing this letter to you; whoever "you" are. I only want one thing for the holidays.

One thing. One thing that is so precious, so unknown. I want the feeling of happiness, of being loved, of feeling safe.

I known this won't happen this year. It never does. Every year I ask for the same thing, hoping that the next year will be different from the last. It never is. Every year things get worse; every year I feel like I'm dying.

I've tried to cry out, tried to get others to listen, to understand, to take action. Santa, you're my last hope.

Great, my last hope is a man who is in Coca-Cola commercials. And anyhow, your worse fear is a foggy night. Wish that was all I had to worry about!

Oh well. But back to my Christmas wish, I want to know happiness, to know what it feels like to be safe and to be loved.

 

I want all this shouting and accusations to stop. I want not to feel afraid of my own parents. I want all this tension in the house to ease away. Too much to ask for, isn't it? None of it's going to happen. It'll just be the same old Christmas, the same old year. Nothing changes much. Nothing ever does.

Most people love the winter holidays; I hate them. Nothing good ever happens. Everything always seems to get worse. Most people can't wait for winter holidays to start, and when it ends, they're all upset. Me? I'd be fine if they didn't start, and when they end, I'm grateful.

This letter is all messed up, isn't it? I'm sorry. I'm so confused and so hurt that I'm not sure what I'm writing. I'd better stop writing all this now, before I mess up or something. I'm a mess, aren't I? And my life isn't any better.

Santa, I know you're not real, but maybe someone can hear me, hear us (besides the neighbors, I mean). Whoever you are, please make my wish come true. Please help me. Please help us.

- - J

Jewel Thorton re-read what she'd just written. With tears streaming down her face, she tore the letter into little pieces, throwing them around until they littered her room. She could hear the angry voices downstairs yelling at each other. She heard something crash into the wall, like it was thrown, nearly shaking the house.

There was a timid knock on her door.

"Yeah?" Jewel said.

In Jewel's doorway stood her sister. "I'm scared. Can we leave?" Didi asked, walking over to her big sister and balancing on her lap.

Jewel knew her sister didn't expect her to answer the question. They both knew they couldn't leave. Leaving didn't make things better.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jewel wrapped her arms around Didi, wishing she could protect her little sister from what they'd grown up with.

Next year will be different. Jewel promised herself. Next year I'll do something to make us feel safe. Jewel sighed. Next year. If I'm still here next year.

Two sisters: one not able to understand all that was happening and the other, able to understand all too well. Both wanting out. Both knowing that whatever joy was in Christmas wouldn't be at their house. Hugging each other in the older one's bedroom,with pieces of a scattered wish all around, while downstairs mayhem ensues. Two different scenes, both so different, both so much the same. Both hurting so much. Both wanting something that isn't there.

I'll be home for Christmas,
You can count on me;
Please have snow, and mistletoe,
And presents on the tree.

Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams;
I'll be home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.