Sam explained, “An old friend of mine—old as in senior citizen—gave me this when I was thirteen.”
“For your bas mitzvah?” Arye grinned.
“My what?”
“It would be a bar mitzvah if you were a guy. A bas mitzvah is when you became a woman.”
“The gentleman, who gave me this, helped me to grow up a lot. He’d be in his eighties if he were alive.”
Sam could see that the book touched Arye as he looked at the cover. “Thanks for thinking of me this time of the year. It’s not easy being a Jew during Christmas.”
“Hey, Jesus was Jewish. He celebrated his bar mitzvah and Hanukah.”
Then Rich called out the next present. “Rosa Martinez.”
“From Doug?” Rosa looked apprehensive as she opened the package. “Chocolate colored bikini underpants? And it says…oh, my—”
Doug grabbed the card. “I want to eat these panties right off of you, my dear.”
“Of all the nerve!” Rosa took her present and smacked him hard on the head with it.
Doug leered back. “More S and M after the party, dear?”
Rosa smacked him harder—several times—and no one stopped her.
Then one by one, all the presents were given out.
Sam asked Rich, “Is there anything…for me?”
Rich shook his head.
Sam stood still for the moment. Then she ran off to the women’s room to cry and pull herself together.
* * *
Frank Bustamonte was a quiet man. Yet he observed more than he let on. Charles Sinclair had drawn Sam’s name. And Frank overheard Charles say that he was not getting anything for that bitch.
Frank wondered if Charles would have a change of heart. He didn’t.
So Frank took action. He repackaged his present from Werner, then sent Rosa to get Sam from no-man’s land.
“This is for you, dear.” Frank presented Sam with her gift.
Rosa came up with an explanation. “Your present fell behind the file cabinet where the tree sat. So, Rich missed it.”
Sam felt ashamed for crying, as she opened the gift of coffee. “This is nice. It’s from you, Frank?”
Frank smiled. “Yes, dear.”
“I’m sorry I misunderstood.”
“Don’t ever deny your feelings.” Then Frank threw in some cookies from a fan of his son, the Elvis impersonator. And he said this Elvis had just gotten his divinity degree so he could do weddings.
“I thought you might appreciate these.” Gordon Howard presented Sam a few El Chichon Chicos, his pet lava rocks with smiley faces.
“Thank you.” Sam looked at her presents, feeling her depression fly away. “These rocks are so nice. They’ll look so cheerful in our garden.”
“And I’ve got a garage full of them.” Gordon flashed his yellowed teeth. Then he belted out a great belly laugh that would outdo any Santa.
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Merry Christmas!
Happy Hanukkah!
Christmas 1984 rolls around.
I remember that 1984 was the year everyone feared that big brother had arrived. I guess we all had to wait a little longer before he came, just like predicted. Good fiction is like that, predictive.
About that time, my high school friend and genius, Douglas W Boucher, was the lead major in charge of a group of Air Force trackers of everything that moved in space and in the air. He answered the red phone more than once and assured the president's men that the communists had not sent ballistic missiles our way.
You have reminded me to try to reach him because Doug hasn't sent me any pictures from his 6 inch telescope in recent years. And he may be, like his unpublished memoir, Watching at the Edge of the Universe.
I remember the guys complaining about a young Berkeley engineer who had been hired in 1967. "We don't know what to do when she starts crying in meetings."
And then the courageous director of architecture, much later, about 1993, who told the vice president and CFO of our university that he, "Shouldn't be using such language in our staff meetings!" She was right, he had a potty mouth.
Ron