Merry Christmas Liam

December 23

Dear Santa,
I’m still not sure what I want for Christmas. Sometimes I’ll walk through the
Toys R’ Us near my house, but there just isn’t anything I want. I know I’m a seven year old boy and I’m supposed to want Nerf guns and Transformer action figures but I just don’t see how they would make me any happier. Every time I look at them all I see is a plastic glob of stupid. I guess you could just surprise me with something made by your elves. Maybe, maybe it could even have my name in it, you know, so I can prove to my mom that you are real.

Thanks Santa,
Love Liam
Liam folded the paper over and slipped it into the envelope, which he then sealed with a Christmas tree sticker. Shoving his letter into his jacket pocket, Liam tugged on his hat and creaked his bedroom door open. Holding his breath, he peered out the one inch wide crack. Seeing her collapsed on the couch he released his breath. She always gets angry when he goes to deliver his letters to Santa. Liam had tried asking her why Christmas made her so angry, but that only ended in another slap to the head. Tiptoeing down the miniature hallway of the trailer, he played out the map to the post office in his head. Past the trailer park sign, up the street, take a left at the stump, cut through the woods, and take a right.
“Ugghh, fshhh.” Liam froze at the sound of his mother’s drunken groans. As she lifted her head, Liam’s heart beat faster and faster. It took three seconds for her to pull her head up from the almost featherless pillow, but to Liam it felt like two hours. Her hair masked her face so Liam couldn’t see her sunken in eyes, prominent cheek bones, or her fowl spongy skin. She groaned one more time, as Liam prepared himself for the beating to come.
This is it he thought, she said one more letter to Santa and I wouldn’t be around for Christmas. She crooked her head to the right, towards him, then flopped back down. It wasn’t until Liam was outside the trailer and down the steps that he allowed himself to breath. Sprinting away from his “house”, away from her, he followed his mental map all the way to the post office.
A gust of sweet warm air rushed into his lungs as he opened the doors. It smelled like postage glue and paper. This smell was comforting to Liam, for some reason it gave him hope. The post man always smiled at him as he slipped his letters into the box. Liam was convinced this man was Santa. He looked like him and always smelled like peppermint.
“Got another letter for Santa, Liam?”
“Yes sir.” Liam responded, glee filling his throat.
“Good, I’m glad there are kids like you who still believe in him.” They shared a smile with one another for a moment, then Liam turned around and left his haven. He spent his way home wondering if she was still asleep, hoping she hadn’t noticed his absence. As he entered the trailer park, Liam’s thoughts began to scramble.
What if she was serious he thought, what if she’s really going to kill me? How’s she going to do it? Oh God, the kitchen knives! His feet felt like cinder blocks as he climbed the four steps up to the front door. The door slammed open as he placed his left foot on the last step. There she was, standing in a drunken stupor. She stood only at five foot seven, but she loomed like an eight foot viper over Liam.
“Where the hell have you been?” she growled.
“The CVS. I wanted some Sour Patch Kids.” He lied. She began eyeing Liam, inspecting him from his hair to his toes.
“Well,” she sneered, “where are they?” Liam’s jaw shook up and down, searching his mind for words.
“I… ate them.” He stammered. Her face contorted into a disgusted scowl.
“Now how could a small boy like you down all those sour patch kids all by himself.” Her question made no sense to Liam, but it didn’t matter, her questions didn’t have to make sense. In her house, she was always right, even when she was completely hammered.
“Come’ir!” she spat, clenching the front of Liam’s shirt and yanking him inside. She threw him on the floor then smashed the door closed so hard it sounded like thunder.
“I thought I told you NO MORE LETTERS TO SANTA! He doesn’t exist you hear me? HE’S NOT REAL!” her eyes grew to the size of quarters, and spit flung from her mouth as she screamed.
“Santa is too real.” Liam grumbled. She froze and crouched down.
“What,” she hissed, “did you say?” Liam huddled in a ball, pushing his chin into his chest and his face into his knees, preparing himself for the impact of her fist against his back. Her hand flashed out like a hawk’s talon and grabbed his hair.
“Answer me when I ask you something. What did you say!” she screeched as she yanked his head away from cover. She began shaking his head back and forth screaming slurred threats into his ear, bits of spit spattering against the left side of his head. Liam’s thoughts jumped around in his head in a way that was beginning to feel like a pinball in a never ending game. Finally he opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was her arm. Her arm, so close to his mouth, his teeth. Liam had an idea and he acted on it. He untangled his arms from his legs, latched his fingers on the limb, stretched his mouth open as wide as it could go, and chomped down. For Liam, this felt like a frame by frame, but in reality it only took about two seconds. He felt the tension on his head leave and saw her tumble back, grasping her arm. Liam stared in disbelief, he actually did it, and he fought back. Then it dawned on him, she’s going to be twice as mad.
“YOU!” she roared, and lunged at him. Liam sprang from the ground and darted to his room. He slammed the door behind him and shoved his dresser in front of the door. He scuttled into his closet, looking for the bag. The bag he had packed and hid, incase he ever had the opening for an escape. It was when he grabbed that bag that he heard the pounding and cursing at the door. He threw the bag onto his back and went for the window. His tiny fearful fingers fumbled with the lever, but finally it opened. Liam shoved it farther up and leapt from the trailer into the pile of leaves that had been sitting out back since November. He shuffled out of the leaf pile and got to his feet. He crept to the side of the trailer and then heard the unforgiving crack of his bedroom door. She had gotten through. He knew she had seen the open window when he heard her gasp then scream a line of profanity. Then he sat there waiting until he heard the front door slam open and the sound of her feet thump down the stairs. Another line of profanities, and the door slammed shut. That’s when Liam made his break. He dashed away from the hellhole like a scared rabbit and followed the map in his head that he knew so well. He was going to the only safe haven he’d ever known. The post office. He remembered the one time the postman gave him a tour and showed him everything inside of the building. There were about three big boxes underneath the counter that created a little gap between the back of the counter and the back of the boxes. A gap big enough to fit a small boy such as himself. All he had to do was wait for the right time. Liam arrived at the post office and peered through the glass door. There was currently no one at the desk. He opened the door and eased it shut. Then, he began tip-toeing towards the desk. Peering over the edge he looked left, then right. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he hopped over and scuttled into his hiding place. The man came back, his timing had been perfect. Liam spent the next three hours sitting quietly drawing in his little sketch book, the postman never even noticing he was there. Liam finished his drawing. It was of a bottle that he associated with is mother, and it lay in pieces. He began flipping through the pages of the worn book with Thomas the Train on it. Liam didn’t even like that cartoon anymore, but it was the only notebook he had. Skimming his multiple drawings of things he had seen or imagined, a smile brightened his face. Grinning from ear to ear he realized something. These drawings were the only thing he had that she couldn’t take them from him. Granted, she could tear them up, but she could never steal his talent or his love of art. Liam ripped out a blank piece of paper and began scribbling another letter to Santa.
Liam awoke to a light pressure on his shoulder. He lifted his head and his eyes fluttered open. What he saw was a large man with round glasses, a white beard, and a plump nose.
“Santa?” Liam mumbled, the haze of sleep hanging in his words.
“No Liam I’m not Santa. I’m Mr. Cleave, the postman. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you home?” Liam looked at his knees and sighed. He couldn’t tell him he ran away from home to escape his abusive mother. Only Santa knows that.
“Um… I love the post office and I want to stay here forever.” Liam put on his best cute and innocent face and hoped Mr. Cleave would buy it.
“Liam, you’re mother is probably worried sick about you”
No she isn’t! Liam thought.
“Come here.” Mr. Cleave cooed. He slid his hands underneath Liam’s armpits and lifted him out of his hiding place. He leaned over the counter and placed Liam back on the other side of it.
“No Mr. Cleave,” Liam gasped, making one more attempt, “please, I don’t wanna go home please, please, please! I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to die!” Liam’s heart stopped. He didn’t mean to say it, he didn’t want to say it, but he did. Mr. Cleave’s eyes held sympathy and his usually up turned lips slowly faded into a grief filled line.
“Liam there’s something you have to understand about your mother.” Mr. Cleave sighed.
“Eight years ago, a man did something very, very cruel to your mother and she has never forgotten it. A few months later you were born and she is taking her anger against that man and unjustly forcing it upon you, but you have to understand that it’s not your fault that she hurts you. Do you understand me?” Liam didn’t say anything, he didn’t do anything, he just stared at Mr. Cleave.
“Mr. Cleave,” Liam’s voice came out like a kitten’s mew, “how do you know that?” Mr. Cleave sighed and rested his elbows on the plastic counter.
“Because, Liam, the man that hurt your mother,” he sighed one more time, “was my father, and your mother has never forgiven him or me.”
“But,” Liam whimpered, looking up at Mr. Cleave through his long childish eyelashes, “what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, but I was the one who reported my father to the police. Eventually the entire town found out. She says I ruined her reputation.” Mr. Cleave bit his lower lip as he stared blankly at his arms. Liam stared at his toes.
“Mr. Cleave?”
“Yes Liam?” he said, finally lifting his head.
“I have one more letter for Santa.” Liam pulled out the crumpled little letter he had been keeping in his coat pocket. He stretched out his arm and stood on tiptoe to slide it across the counter.
“Can you make sure he gets it?”
“I sure will.” Mr. Cleave smiled. Liam jumped at the sound of the post office door crashing open.
“LIAM!” Liam shuddered at the sound of the unforgiving screech he knew all too well. Next came the predictable pinching of fingernails latching on to his arm.
“Where have you been?! I’ve been looking all over town for you!” Liam squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for a beating, but was saved by the sound of Mr. Cleave clearing his throat.
“What do you want?” she sneered.
“Is this your little boy?” Mr. Cleave asked politely, playing the role of the ignorant postman.
“Mind your own business!” she shrieked, her voice cracking, a side affect of cigarette smoke.
“Come on Liam, we’re going home.” She said, dragging him towards the door. Liam hung limp like a rag, his pants collecting dirt and dust off the floor. Halfway through the door Liam lifted his head, only to see Mr. Cleave mouth, “I’m sorry.”

Liam’s lip throbbed and his entire body still ached from the former day’s beating. His mother’s words still rung in his ears.
“Do you know what they do with your stupid letters? They either burn them or rip them open and read them, laughing at your stupidity!”
It was Christmas morning, but as usual there were no presents underneath the nonexistent tree.
He’ll come next year, he has too. Liam thought. Then, he heard a light tapping on the front door. He crawled off his bed and limped out of his room to answer it. Through the storm door he could see two men dressed in a dark blue.
“Hello.” Liam whispered opening the door. That’s when Liam saw the two badges gleaming in the wintry sunlight.
“Hello young man is your mother home?” Liam nodded his head slowly, terrified of what might come.

“Could you go get her please. We need to talk to her.” Liam began turning around to go get her when he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked over his shoulder and the man on the right was holding a package.
“I believe this is for you. It was sitting on your front steps.” The man handed the box to Liam and he tucked it under his arm. Liam stalked over to the couch where she, as usual, was passed out.
“Mama,” Liam trembled, “there are two men here to see you.” He shook her shoulder lightly. Her head popped up and she let out a snort.
“What two men?” she growled, her dirty blonde hair hanging like a filthy curtain in front of her face.
“I don’t know but they want to talk to you.” He then turned on his heels and scampered to his room. He flung himself onto his bed and stared at the package. There was a little sticker on it that said to Liam from Santa. Liam gasped and began ripping the rough brown paper. A card was resting on top of the box. Liam opened it and began reading.

Dear Liam,
Ho, ho, ho, and merry Christmas! I got your letter just in time and my elves were able to make this just for you. I hope you like it!

Merry Christmas,
Santa
Liam gaped. After all these years Santa finally came through! All his letters finally paid off! Liam placed the card next to his foot and opened the box. Inside, there was a pack of color pencils, a pack of crayons, and a black sketchbook with the letter L I A M painted in gold on the front cover.

Mr. Cleave stood at the top of the hill looking down at the trailer park, hoping he had made the right decision as the police officers questioned Liam’s mother. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. There were flecks of gold paint on his fingers. He let his arms drop to his sides and whispered,
“Merry Christmas Liam, Merry Christmas.”