It Snows Black in The City

“Miss Calane!” The short girl jumped from her chair in a start.
“Yes, Sister Mary Carol?”
“Would you do us the pleasure of answering number twelve?” There was a number of quiet snickers from her unintelligent classmates.
“Uh…” Sarah Calane looked down to her desk which showed nothing but an open notebook with a sketch of a tree staring back at her. She hadn’t been paying attention, the monotonous nun couldn’t hold her attention from more than half a minute…that was probably why her grades were slipping…that and she had no interest in Sunday School.
“I’m waiting, Miss Calane.” Great. She didn’t even know what subject they were in, let alone what the answer was.
“Moses?” The rest of her class mates joined in with the giggling.
“As much of a satisfactory answer that would have been an hour ago, I do believe we have moved from The Old Testament to the New,” The Nun replied snidely, her obnoxiously large nose lifted in the air as she grinned evilly at the small 12 year old. She turned to the proud blonde girl sitting next to her, proudly laying her hand on her shoulder. I know I can still depend on some of my students to pay attention, Carolynn, would you mind sharing your answer with us?”
“Not at all Sister! I stated that while some people…” Oh the bane of her existence, Carolynn Winter, her stupid blonde hair waved in her rosy, pretty face as she perfectly served the answer to the awaiting Nun, but not without turning to poor Sarah with a huge ‘In Your Face’ smile and slightly tilting her stupid head. Sarah scowled back to her trying to betray how much she wished that Carolynn would fall off the face of the earth. She was brought out of her hate filled reverie by a sharp rapping on her desk.
“It would do you some good to pay a bit more attention to some of your peers, like Carolynn, you might be able to be more like them.”
“Yes sister.” And as the day dragged on, Sarah awaited the ringing bell and her freedom from this prison they call school. She had hardly any friends, and those who did consider themselves to be her friends, barely ever spoke to her. She was usually sitting in a corner with a sketch pad or a notebook putting in her effort where it really belonged. All Sarah had ever wanted to do was draw since she was a little kid, but it was never really paid attention to. Her father, a raging alcoholic, was never sober enough to do anything but be violent, and her ever-missing-in-action mother who was in Tahiti or Chicago or Jamaica or where ever every second of the day probably forgot she even had a daughter. Plus, she knew that her mother never came home because of her father, and that she was with some man named Fernando and that she was not ever going to come back this time, for real. She heard the telephone conversation between the two. She felt the tears starting to well up again and she shoved them away to the very corners of her brain and then she heard something wonderful: The bell to end all schooling until after the New Year.
She loved walking home, especially around Christmas. The windows were so pretty and people, even though, they were still as city worn as ever, seemed a little less gloomy and a little less, paranoid. Even though they seemed this way, Sarah knew it was a façade, that deep down inside, these people were faced with the stressing task of Christmas gift buying and ‘Were they going to have the money?’ and ‘The stores are going to be mobbed!’ and selfish things like that. Sarah had always wished that the city could be more like it is in the movies at Christmas, when people were genuinely happy and that Christmas wasn’t just about presents. But, that wasn’t possible for Sarah. She never had a great, wholesome Christmas. Her mother was always away, and her father was always drunk and Sarah knew that her presents were always from half- hearted relatives, who didn’t know her and still bought her “Barbie Dolls”, but had they known her at all, they would have known that, even as a little girl, she would have much sooner picked up a “G.I. Joe” than a “Barbie” and the rest of the gifts from maids that were told to “Find something for the girl”. She stopped in front of a window display and stared inwards. She saw a family rushing to pick out gifts for some people together. This year was going to be different! There were still 3
Days left until Christmas and if not by God’s Will, then her own, she would make this Christmas enjoyable.
Sarah arrived home with a new determination and a new hope but it did nothing to stop the drunken screaming that was coming from the living room. Sarah closed her eyes before carefully and quietly trying to creep past the loud room.
“Ungrateful little witch!”
“Hi Daddy, how was your day?”
“Don’t try and sweet talk your way out of this, you brat!”
“I-“
“You and your mother both! You never appreciated me! I always did everything for the two of you and all you do is make more work for me! Now your good-for-nothing mother left me with you-“
“I’m sorry Da-” But before she could finish her sentence, her father smacked her face.
“Did I say you could talk? I didn’t think so! Go clean yourself up I don’t want to see your face again until dinner!” And with that her slurring father waddled back to his whiskey and poured himself another shot. Sarah crawled from the room quietly before standing and running to her rather large bathroom. Her family was quite wealthy, and she had a huge apartment on the Upper East Side and her father used to be a very well respected business man, until he started to drink heavily. Her father had become abusive in the last few years, but Sarah never told anyone or said anything, she just fixed herself up and if anyone asked where her newest injury came from, she would say something to the effect of “My cat scratched me…” or “My little cousin was over and we were play fighting…” but she had neither of the two. She just didn’t want any trouble.
It was 6:30 when a maid came to get Sarah, the maid wasn’t that nice, but young and pretty and she knew her father had only hired her for himself. The easy maid looked down at Sarah unpleasantly and Sarah saw her eyes flash to her newly bruised cheek bone then return to her path, pretending she saw nothing. This was no surprise; it was how it was all her life.
Dinner was quiet enough, Sarah knew enough to sit at the far end of their table, (as comical as it may be thought to be, they did have one of the extremely long tables) opposite her father, and make no conversation what so ever. He kept taking swigs at his whiskey bottle and glaring down the table. Sarah ate very little, and very quickly and quietly excused herself from the table, before he could let any protests out. She scurried back to her room avoiding contact with everything and everyone.
Upon reaching her room she stared at herself in her mirror. A frail, short girl stared back at her, looking sad and alone. Sarah’s unimpressive brown hair fell to her waist, it was almost ratty looking from her inattentive attitude towards it. Two large, also unimpressive, hazel eyes stared back at her, which were magnified by her bony, pale face. She looked more like a nine or ten year old then a twelve year old. Sarah never stood out in a crowd; she never stood out period, seeing as she was so short and so skinny. She was way behind in the maturing department, body wise anyway. While other girls her age were starting to show some signs of becoming a woman, Sarah was left in the dust, alone and waiting for her seemingly non-existent hormones to kick in.
Before she could blink an eye, it was morning again and she cringed from the sudden realization of daylight. She hadn’t been sleeping, but lost in thought and she smiled down at the town. She loved looking down on the city in its waking hours, it seemed like it was it’s only pure moment, like maybe it was trying to start over, trying to forget all the bad things that happened the day before, and the day before that. Oh, how wonderful that would be, if a person could live their life one day to the next, with out remembering the previous day’s bad happenings. Maybe, it would make life a little easier for the less fortunate, but it doesn’t happen like that; it never will. But what would be able to shape a person, if not bad experiences? Certainly, not happy ones.
Sarah looked to her small clock and realized that if she left now, maybe the stores wouldn’t be so crowded and the perfect gift for her father would stand out more. So, she quickly got ready and went to the library to get the extra funds kept out for pocket money. Sarah grabbed all the bills there and left quickly before having to deal with her early drinking father.
Sarah left the apartment building and leisurely strolled outside in the cool weather. She always wanted to be able to play in real snow, she never really got to do that because it seemed as if it should just snow black slush in the city and not give any children hopes of having a good, true snow. The kind they have on Long Island or Pennsylvania, where the snow lasts for days and you can make a snow angel with out worrying about getting hit by a car. Sarah looked up to the pink sky disappointed; maybe, it shouldn’t even snow at all.
Arriving at the first store she smiled at the silly decorations before letting herself in. The store was decorated with tinsel and twinkle lights everywhere and there where discount advertisements lining the walls. Sarah wrinkled her nose while she passed some tasteless lingerie and sniffed at a couple of boring ties. There was nothing calling her name and certainly nothing that would finally mend their Christmas. Onward she moved.
And all day she spent tearing through stores, silently hoping to find that special something that could finally fix the broken relationship and finally, after a hard day’s work, she gave up, but only for today, she shuffled her way back the apartment just as the sun set and just as she was being called for dinner. She quietly made her way to the dining room and sat at the same place as the previous night. Her father sat glaring ferociously.
“Where were you all day?”
“Here.”
“Don’t lie to me girl!”
“I’m not I sw-“
“Keep your swears to yourself! Tell me the truth!”
“That is the truth!”
“Liar!” And his infamous whiskey came flying at her head, she quickly ducked and sprung from the table, sprinting to her room, her father bounding behind her, yelling obscenities at her and she finally reached her room, out of breath, and out of places to run, so she locked her door and prayed to God that he wouldn’t be able to break through. She pressed her shaking frame against the door and his fist against the door shook her body even more, and she began crying silently.
“You’re just like your mother! Lying and cheating me! I swear to God I wish I never married her and then I wouldn’t be in this mess! I wouldn’t have to deal with a witch of a daughter or anything like that...” His yelling went on well into the night and she finally heard him pass out at around 3:30 in the morning. She fell to the floor, tired and pierced by his words, thinking only ‘I have to get him his gift…I have to get him his gift…’
She carefully opened her door at 5:30 to see a drunken, unconscious man crumpled at her door. She made her way around him and scampered through the apartment, out the door. She took a breath of fresh air when she reached outside and continued down the block to more stores. Deciding early on that she was going to finish early today, one being because she didn’t want to risk being hurt again and two, because it was Christmas Eve she was about to give up all hope until it caught her eye. It was perfect! Absolutely beautiful, and absolutely right for him.
Sarah carefully opened the door to the apartment and stepped in. It was quiet and she felt the air becoming heavier and more difficult to breathe in as she made her way deeper into the majestic room. Seeing no sign of her father, Sarah quickly turned to the direction of her room.
The hall was frighteningly undisturbed and quiet as she made her way further to her room. The small package containing the perfect gift for her father was tucked tightly into her inner jacket pocket, close to her chest. Finally reaching her room, she slipped in silently and closed the door. She felt safe and she thought that maybe, just maybe, she could fix the crumbling remains of her family.
“Finally home I see.”
Screaming alarms went off in Sarah’s brain as she spun to see he father slumped on the edge of her bed with yet another bottle of whiskey, identical to the could-of-been-fatal bottle from the night before. Every nerve in Sarah’s body urged her to run, every fiber in her being. But, her heightening fear cemented her to her spot, knowing that dangerously calm tone.
“H-hi D-daddy…”
“Where were you?”
“M-merry C-Christmas Daddy.”
“God Damn it Girl!” And he stood and smacked his frail daughter to the floor. She started to sob lightly but covered her face and curled up in a ball.
“Daddy, please, it’s Christmas…” The drunken man gave an angry snarl before lifting his daughter and throwing her to the corner of the room, with an unsettling crack Sarah landed in a heap trembling and wailing in pain.
“No! Please stop!” And as he threw the small girl across the room, the door opened and in looked the young maid as the small girl landed on a corner of a piece of furniture. The last thing the drunk remembers seeing was a chair coming to his head. And someone shouting, “CALL THE POLICE!”
Police filled the once beautiful home of the Calanes’ and most flocked to the back room in the house. There, was a guilty man, a testifying maid, and a dead 12 year old.
Sergeant Nagmena made his way through the crowd of officers to the child’s body. He heard the maid testifying near by and the drunken rants of a thrashing, abusive man. Kneeling next to the body, he looked at the small girl in front of him and for once his emotions pushed themselves through his well feigned apathy. He looked around the room and saw small drawing the girl did hung up by tape, or tacks. They were amazingly beautiful and extremely well done for a 12 year old, or for anyone really. The Sergeant looked back down to the lifeless girl on the floor and he suddenly wished he could be anywhere but here. He looked to the rampaging lunatic across the room and he was ashamed to be a man, ashamed to be so close to what did this to such a small, promising child. He looked to the officers that were restraining him and signaled them to take him down to the car. The screams got louder, then began to fade away as they became farther from the room. Next, the maid was led from the room, still sharing her story with his officers. This left the remaining officers and himself in the room with the little girl. This little girl reminded him of his own little girl at home, who was probably doing homework, or talking to one of her ever-gabbing friends on the telephone. He felt a sudden urge to call his daughter and tell her he loved her and he knew he would get the response, “Dad! You’re so embarrassing!”. It made him smile every time.
The coroner soon arrived and Sergeant Nagmena watched as a little girl was examined and put into a body bag. But before they zippered it fully, the coroner made a face and reached in the little girls coat and pulled out a small package. He handed it to the Sergeant and left. The Sergeant left the building shortly after and stopped to open the package. He pulled out a beautiful pocket watch with an inscription on the front. Nagmena swallowed as he read it. His hands shook with anger as he let the watch drop to the ground before re-entering the building.
From the ground, the carved words ‘I Love You, Daddy’ faced upwards to the sky.