Blind Faith.

***Some of you may find this ridiculous. Many may be offended. Some may not get the message. Either way, it isn't my intention to offend anyone. I have my beliefs, you have yours. I still love you. This is just another writing activity.***



Forget everything you ever knew about Santa Claus.
What if I told you Santa Claus was real?

When I was eleven, I was in a desperate place. I was a greedy little child. I felt like the world revolved around me. Every eleven year old thinks that way, right?

I was walking alone in the dark alley I called home. It was behind a line of restaurants. I chose this place because it was my only hope for eating. Do you have any idea how much food is thrown away each night in these dark alleys, left for scavenging animals? You would be amazed.

Or you wouldn’t care. The average American doesn’t think much about those who go without.

I spent my days in a park. I sat on the benches in my dirty clothes, with my ratty hair, and no one ever approached me. Were they afraid? Of an eleven year old girl? Or did they just turn the other cheek, assuming my parents just didn’t care?

Maybe that was the truth. Maybe they didn’t care. Who were my parents? I didn’t remember them. I had been alone as long as I could remember. But an eleven year old’s memory doesn’t go back that far. Who knows where I came from.

I was sitting in the park one day, when a mother brought her two small children to play. I wasn’t sure of their ages, but I could see the mother was trying to keep them away from me.

A woman walking a dog stopped to let the children pet it. The little girl looked up to her mommy and said “Mommy, do you think Santa will bring me a puppy for Christmas?”

The woman thought for a moment before answer. “Put a puppy on your wish list when we get home, and we’ll see what Santa Claus thinks, okay?”

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I couldn’t stop thinking about “Santa Claus”. Who was this person? What was Christmas?

Most important, he’s who you go to, to get what you want?

I did my rounds that night sluggishly. I knew so little about life, and yet I fought for my own. Would I ever have a mother such as theirs? One that may someday buy me a puppy?

I went to bed that night, and talked to him. I looked up into the stars, and imagined what Santa Claus looked like, and imagined that he was staring back at me.

I asked him for a warm place to sleep. I asked him for someone to care about me. I asked him for brothers and sisters. I asked him to give me something, anything, to push me forward. Give me a reason to live in this world.

I heard nothing.

I woke the next morning to a shadow hovering over me. A man stared down at me with confusion. He was wearing a suit, and there were cops standing behind him.

Was I in trouble? My first instinct was to run, but something told me that was a bad idea.

“What’s your name young lady?” The man asked.

“Sarah.”

“Do you have a last name, Sarah?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I admitted, ashamed.

The man turned and looked at the two cops. The cops shook their head simultaneously.

“I’m going to need you to come with me.” The man ordered, and extended his hand to help me to my feet. I followed.

I was taken to the police station and asked several questions. Such as; who are my parents, where did I come from, what’s the last thing I remember. And so on.

I knew the answer to none of these. I knew my first name, and I wasn’t even sure if I was right about that. It was the first thing that came to mind.

They realized they were getting nowhere with questioning me.

“We’re going to take you to a place with some other kids just like you, is that okay?”

Other kids?
“Sure.” I said, my excitement showing.

The kids in this place accepted me. I was one of them. They didn’t look at me like they wanted to run away like the kids in the part. They were my friends.

Until my mother and father came. Well, my new mother and father.

They took me home with them. They had two other kids. I had a brother and a sister. I had a family. Something I dreamed of, but never thought was possible.

I had my own room. The walls were pink, with a matching blanket on my white bed.

I had a television. I had art supplies.

I had food. Food that wasn’t the garbage restaurants thought wasn’t good enough for its customers. A real, home cooked meal.

Most importantly, I was loved. I was a part of something wonderful. I was happy.

I had Santa to thank for that. I asked him, and he gave me all of this.

People tried to tell me he wasn’t real over the years. That he was a fairy tale. Just some guy someone made up. A symbol of Christmas.

I don’t believe them.

In my time of need, I asked him for help, and all of this happened. How could I deny that it was him? I would be a fool to not believe. I would not betray by denying him.

The end.
Silly, silly girl?
Wrong.
It’s called blind faith.
Look around. It’s everywhere.

They believe in God.

© 2009 Amanda Harris

Five Years Old. One Day.

I was dreaming.
I had to be dreaming.
I awoke to a familiar smell. Breakfast. But who was cooking it?
I sat up in a little white bed, surrounded in stuffed animals. The room looked familiar. Some of the best moments of my life were spent in a room such as this. But that was years ago. That was when I was a child.
The similarities were uncanny. In the far corner of the little room, sat a brown gorilla. It was stuffed, of course. I had one like it when I was a child. I was terrified of it. It had little black eyes that followed you wherever you went. I remember running past it as I left my room as a child, because I was convinced one day the thing would grab me.
It never did.
I climbed slowly out of the bed, afraid of what might happen if I did. I had never had a dream this vivid. I’d never had a dream when I had my own thoughts and felt things as if it were one hundred percent reality.
As I stood, I realized I wasn’t much taller than the bed I had climbed out of. Out of habit, I pulled the cover to my pillow, making the bed.
My hands….they were so small. And my skin was smooth again. I looked down and realized, everything else was small as well.
I was a child again.
My hair hung loosely in my face, a shade of blonde I forgot I’d ever had.
It was beautiful. When did it change?
I walked slowly through the house, taking in my surroundings. I knew this place. I had lived here. Back when life was easy and I had no worries. When the most important people of my childhood were still alive.
I followed the smell of food to the kitchen. Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I realized who was cooking. She turned to face me, her smile reaching her eyes.
“Your milk’s on the table.”
I wasn’t sure how to react. Every nerve in my body was lurching forward, yearning to hug her.
My grandmother. My best friend.
But I stood still. I wasn’t five. I was in a five year old’s body, but I had the mind of a twenty year old. How would she react if I reacted on impulse? Would she think I was crazy? Could someone think that of a five year old?
I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to disappoint her. Not even in my dreams.
I turned swiftly and ran to the bathroom. Of course it was familiar. I did live here. There was no denying where I was.
I sat staring at the green and white pattern I hadn’t realized it was possible to miss. But I did miss it. Because it was her. Only she would have such décor in a bathroom, and it still looked amazing.
I took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom and joining her in the kitchen. I had to. Who knew when I would wake up?
I sat at the table quietly. She sat a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. I smiled. How did I used to eat these?
Right. Ketchup. Of course, it was already on the table.
I ate in silence. I could think of nothing to say. All the things I wish I would’ve said before she died, yet here I sit. Speechless.
She watched M.A.S.H quietly, drinking her coffee. She never was much for small talk.
“Where’s Don?” The words were out of my mouth as soon as I thought them.
She looked puzzled before answering, “He’s at work.”
I should’ve known that. Of course.
The birds chirped from the living room as I continued to eat. They were irritating me. It had been a long time since I had been around birds. How could I, or anyone else, have gotten used to that constant noise?
Dog walked up and laid his head in my lap. I laid my hand on his head lightly, cautiously. He had a quick temper, one that I would never forget. He stood staring at me with those big brown eyes. Not moving. Just staring, like he always did. So sweet.
Why was this happening to me? My mind is creating a dream that I knew would crush me when I woke up. But there was nothing I could do. Pinching my arm, I felt that. Everything was so real, so vivid. How long would it last?
“How’d you sleep?” My grandma asked as M.A.S.H ended.
“Okay I guess.”
I spent the rest of the day right next to her. She seemed confused by my behavior, but she didn’t question it. We watched M.A.S.H, Bonanza, and Gunsmoke for the entire day.
I was happy. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t woken up from this amazing dream, but for one day, I she was alive. She was here, in the flesh. I took her for granted when she was alive, but whatever time I had as five year old again, I was going to cherish.
Don came home, and as usual, spent his time on the computer. That was him, that was what he did.
I never asked about Ayla, and I never saw her. Ayla was my grandma’s dog, and any day now, she would be bringing her home. But not yet, apparently.
Dog stayed at my side. I enjoyed that. It was nice to have him there again. He was gone too. When I woke up, I would never see him again either.
I had a horrible feeling when she tucked me into bed that night. This time I knew I would never see her again.
I kissed her goodnight, and told her I loved her. Something I didn’t get to do in real life.
Would I ever see her again? I didn’t think so. Not in this life, and not in an afterlife that didn’t exist. This was it for us. It’s a terrible truth, but the truth all the same.
She left my room happy. Like she always did. She was always happy, even when times were their worst, you could count her to be smiling.
I don’t remember falling asleep. I fought it. I didn’t want the dream to end. It was too great. She wasn’t in the room any longer, but she was in this house. Alive. I would stare at that scary gorilla forever as long as she was here. But that wasn’t reality. It was a dream. And all dreams had to end.
I woke in my bed. In my twenty year old body. In the world where my grandma was gone. Along with Dog and so many others. Suddenly the dream felt like more of a nightmare. It made me want something more than I had ever wanted anything. Something that was impossible.

*Note, this was not a real dream. Just a writing activity.

© 2009 Amanda Harris