by Sean Dietrich
“But Mama,” I whined like a little brat. “Why can’t we spend Christmas here? I wanna open my presents THIS MORNING.”
My mother squeezed my fat little arms into my jacket, then zipped me up without mercy. “You’ll just have to wait until tonight, we’re leaving, and that’s that.”
There were no other cars on the highway that morning. All the children of the world were happy at home, snug by a fireplace. And by that time of day, they would’ve already opened gifts, and moved on to their biscuits. I knew for certain what I’d be doing if I were home. I’d be gnawing on a Bible-Belt Classic: Virginia ham on white bread, slathered with enough mayonnaise to paint a barn.
After an hour in the car, we arrived at a cinder-block, county-brown-colored building. The surrounding chain link fence was topped with rolled barbed wire, sentinel towers perched on the corners.
A guard tipped his hat to Mama. “Merry Christmas, ma’am.”
Thirteen of my friends and I congregated in the parking lot. We stuck close together in a single-file line, our mothers hovering near.
“Dammit,” whispered Andy. “We ought to be home opening presents. It’s Christmas.”
I moaned in agreement, imagining hunks of fine-cured Virginian hog, wedged between two slices of God’s gift to humanity. And cider. I could almost taste the Christmas cider Mama made from Winesaps.
After a series of official guard checks, we found ourselves in a room filled with empty chairs and red garland. Then, guards trickled in, followed by a slew of women in khaki-colored jumpsuits.
Mama gave a brief introduction, then, fourteen of us sass-mouths marched to the front of the room. We stood before one hundred inmates, and sang carols, just the way we’d rehearsed for the last three months. We sang for thirty minutes.
In the silence between songs, we heard sniffles coming from the audience.
Afterward, a large black woman zeroed in on me. She shook my hand and said, “You look just like my son.”
I checked the color of my lily-white forearm.
She went on, “Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?” Then she looked to Mama for permission.
Mama nodded.
The woman squeezed me so hard I heard my back pop. She must’ve held me that way for five minutes. “Wanna thank you,” she said. “Been a long time since I hugged a little boy like this.”
So she hugged me again.
And this time, I squeezed her back.
Author: SWal Life
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