Searching my memory for a happier time, I come across a long forgotten memory. I see a girl sitting in a hard chair covered in plastic, sitting in an empty cafeteria, surrounded only by her parents and grandparents, one of which doesn’t seem to know exactly what’s going on.
The girl looks bored, annoyed even by the repetition of her grandmother’s stories of Christmas’ past. She smiles of course, not wanting to be rude, her parents taught her better than that.
“Dinner is served,” a lady says as she wheels out a tray full of food. The girl’s eyes bulge for a moment, taking in the plastic plates filled with cold slices of ham, rings of pineapple, and spoonfuls of green beans. Her grandmother smiles to herself, thinking that her granddaughter is pleased by the sight when the truth is the exact opposite.
The girl accepts her dish gratefully, reminding herself about the starving kids in Africa, and pokes the food around the plate, suddenly not hungry. Everyone else ate it though, as if it were a delectable treat, worthy of their full attention. The large room filled with the booms of her mother’s laughter as the family got farther into the meal.
One look at her grandfather and the girl remembers why she’s there, sitting in the plastic covered seats. She coughs a little and begins to eat the ham, scared that it may be a little spoiled. Much to her surprise, it isn’t, although she would count it as being spoiled since it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever eaten in her life. Swallowing it down quickly, she looked pleadingly at her father who nodded in agreement. She took a swig of water and gulped it down quickly, her eyes tearing up.
“I’m not hungry,” she insisted, staring back at her mother after they all had finished as well. She sighed and nodded, suggesting that they’d better wheel the girl’s grandfather back to his room before leaving.
“Ooh, sweetie pie, I’ve got some goodies for you at home,” the girl’s grandmother cried as they got up to leave the cafeteria.
The girl left the room last, turning the lights off like the staff had asked them too, and closing the door. The only thing that was going through her mind was the fact that that was the first Christmas that she hadn’t had more than one bite of her food.
As she turned to go, I see a small glint in her eye, maybe a tear of some sort, a tear for the past.
If only the poor girl had learned to appreciate the things she had, maybe she would have fonder memories and I wouldn’t have to keep searching endlessly for a time when everything was right.
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