All night I've been awake. First, because the insomnia strikes me. It does so through a neurological condition, says the doctor, I go away with these pills. I do not want. Make me hallucinate. That's why I hide under the tongue and the window buttons without Mom noticing. Second, and more terrible, because I'm calling my parents quietly for lying. Seeking a way to demand that they do not. Especially take time telling them that lying is not good, is sin and I get into trouble.
However, I cheat. After shooting the puck out of the window making sure to fall away in the grass, I see my mom. I know that on their steps, though secretive, is not obscured by other noises of the night that I know very well. Not expected. Hide the book with me and close my eyes at the same time. My mother looks out the door and turn off the light. We see in the dark. Waiting for a movement that would betray us. My eyes are accustomed to the darkness and the night sounds. I hear his footsteps away in a hurry and wonder that Dad is not presented. He always does, no matter the time, looks to see us sleeping.
I am concerned and I know what it is. My error leads me to find my parents in the room. They do not see me. Both deposit boxes wrapped in wrapping paper in white skirt plastic Christmas tree. The surprise is capitalized and thought that lying there in my house is huge. I meditate on the lie to think that I took pills and slept. Compared to this, no devil will come to punish me now. Such relief does not compare to the sadness that, contrary to what I have told them and all, Santa Claus does not exist.
The hope awake. Miro, for the first time, sadly, toys wrapped in strange colors. Cookie consumption chewed and half a glass of milk. My brothers wake up and the house was full of commotion. Shifts to the bathroom this time are shorter, half wash your teeth or put up with the urge to use the toilet. All the boxes start to look involved and excited wonder they have brought the magic to be. I watch parsimonious, with these only wanted to tell you what I've seen out of their error. I'm about to do, tell them that the magic does not exist. I stopped the "good morning" mommy and "God bless you" to both. My parents arrive at the foot of the tree and we look closely at the five, look who has not brushed their teeth. They always know, I do not like, just look. We
a prayer This has always been customary, in the morning, before meals and at night. In particular, the December 25, arrival of our baby Jesus. In prayer, just as we say "lead us not into temptation" strikes me another question. Is Dad's amazing what God also? I almost cried, but I stand. Open
gifts. GI Joe stands in my hands, worthy opponent Barbie Kent. My mother, more intelligent than old mother and knowledgeable about each of our ways of being, comes to me.
- I noticed distracted in prayer, what happens?
Although the cold runs through my I work up the courage back. I look at the ground first, then his face. There his eyes and study circles under my eyes and my nervousness.
- Well ... I know who is Santa Claus - afraid to tell even their demands and willing to blame for his lie.
- Oh yeahhhh! - dragging me i said while I nod - then - continues - next year will not receive gifts.
- Why? - I
inquiero you
- Veras - tells me - the magic of Santa is over just when you discover his assistants.
look at my brothers, I have seven years and I am the third. My older brother is five years and is holding a glove new "baseball." He glanced at the star of Bethlehem which turns on and off the top of the tree decorating. I hear the laughter of all those toys as new releases. Within seconds I remember the times I have said that thousands of children who do not receive anything because Santa does not give time, short of money, or how I behaved badly happening now; discovered who is Santa Claus. My legs are shaking, I can feel that my hands sweat. Meanwhile, my mother would come to the view awaiting response. Again I watch my brothers and toys that loads each and manages to mumble decided: I know who Santa.
- Aja? - says my father is behind me.
- I know who Santa Claus - back to explain.
- Who is it? - my mother asks, folding his arms.
- It ... is ... - I say smiling as hard to grab GI Joe - is a man bearded, plump and red dresses ...
However, I cheat. After shooting the puck out of the window making sure to fall away in the grass, I see my mom. I know that on their steps, though secretive, is not obscured by other noises of the night that I know very well. Not expected. Hide the book with me and close my eyes at the same time. My mother looks out the door and turn off the light. We see in the dark. Waiting for a movement that would betray us. My eyes are accustomed to the darkness and the night sounds. I hear his footsteps away in a hurry and wonder that Dad is not presented. He always does, no matter the time, looks to see us sleeping.
I am concerned and I know what it is. My error leads me to find my parents in the room. They do not see me. Both deposit boxes wrapped in wrapping paper in white skirt plastic Christmas tree. The surprise is capitalized and thought that lying there in my house is huge. I meditate on the lie to think that I took pills and slept. Compared to this, no devil will come to punish me now. Such relief does not compare to the sadness that, contrary to what I have told them and all, Santa Claus does not exist.
The hope awake. Miro, for the first time, sadly, toys wrapped in strange colors. Cookie consumption chewed and half a glass of milk. My brothers wake up and the house was full of commotion. Shifts to the bathroom this time are shorter, half wash your teeth or put up with the urge to use the toilet. All the boxes start to look involved and excited wonder they have brought the magic to be. I watch parsimonious, with these only wanted to tell you what I've seen out of their error. I'm about to do, tell them that the magic does not exist. I stopped the "good morning" mommy and "God bless you" to both. My parents arrive at the foot of the tree and we look closely at the five, look who has not brushed their teeth. They always know, I do not like, just look. We
a prayer This has always been customary, in the morning, before meals and at night. In particular, the December 25, arrival of our baby Jesus. In prayer, just as we say "lead us not into temptation" strikes me another question. Is Dad's amazing what God also? I almost cried, but I stand. Open
gifts. GI Joe stands in my hands, worthy opponent Barbie Kent. My mother, more intelligent than old mother and knowledgeable about each of our ways of being, comes to me.
- I noticed distracted in prayer, what happens?
Although the cold runs through my I work up the courage back. I look at the ground first, then his face. There his eyes and study circles under my eyes and my nervousness.
- Well ... I know who is Santa Claus - afraid to tell even their demands and willing to blame for his lie.
- Oh yeahhhh! - dragging me i said while I nod - then - continues - next year will not receive gifts.
- Why? - I
inquiero you
- Veras - tells me - the magic of Santa is over just when you discover his assistants.
look at my brothers, I have seven years and I am the third. My older brother is five years and is holding a glove new "baseball." He glanced at the star of Bethlehem which turns on and off the top of the tree decorating. I hear the laughter of all those toys as new releases. Within seconds I remember the times I have said that thousands of children who do not receive anything because Santa does not give time, short of money, or how I behaved badly happening now; discovered who is Santa Claus. My legs are shaking, I can feel that my hands sweat. Meanwhile, my mother would come to the view awaiting response. Again I watch my brothers and toys that loads each and manages to mumble decided: I know who Santa.
- Aja? - says my father is behind me.
- I know who Santa Claus - back to explain.
- Who is it? - my mother asks, folding his arms.
- It ... is ... - I say smiling as hard to grab GI Joe - is a man bearded, plump and red dresses ...
Story originally published in Sketches of a silent city Ana Maria Fuster Lavin.
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