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Blanket
By Lauren Froeschle
Genre: Non-fiction Level: High School 10-12
Year: 2002 Category: UAA/ADN Creative Writing Contest

Finally, the last present was wrapped and topped with a matching crimson and green bow. The pile of clothes and toys were now unrecognizable to insure surprise. Graham and I loaded the gifts into his 4-Runner, overwhelmed with the excitement of making our long awaited delivery. I knew this would be a rewarding experience, but I never could have prepared for the unforgettable impact it would have on me.

For the past three Decembers, my friend Graham and I have organized multiple fundraisers at our school to provide money for less fortunate families around the holidays. This year, we elected to adopt a single mother of five and provide Christmas for her and her family. In the flurry of the last few weeks, Graham and I raised money to buy a Christmas tree, ornaments, food gift certificates, clothes, and toys.

Now, looking though the car's side mirror, I could see all the neatly stacked packages tightly crammed against the windows. I was amazed that we fit everything into one load.

"I feel like Santa," Graham said with a satisfied smile.

"If only we could trade this Toyota in for a sleigh," I responded as we bumped down a long gravel road lined with trailer homes. Leaning forward I had to squint to see the house numbers through the falling snow. C14 and C15 went by as we continued down the narrowing street. With each passing trailer we seemed to travel back a year in the history of the mobile home. There it was, C37, second from the end. My stomach twisted into a suffocating knot as the headlights swept across a window of the weather battered trailer, revealing a small boy lying in the front room. He was on the top bed of a double bunk. The mattress sagged, and springs jutted through the remaining thin foam. His curled, frail body suggested acceptance of discomfort and cold. He was so small in the barren room. Graham's normally warm hands, now ice cold, squeezed my shoulder as we both took in this startling image. I hadn't realized until this point that I had already created in my mind the scenario that would surround our delivery this evening: a warm, bright home; not many possessions but a feeling of comfort; little smiling faces and hugs around the legs.

Another young boy bounded out of the trailer's door as we climbed out of the car.

"Did you come to bring us Christmas?" he questioned with saucer eyes.

"Yes, we're the ones," chimed Graham. The three of us unloaded the car and headed for the front door. I was hit first by the sour, overpowering smell that flooded out of the little entrance. All along the walls of the home were mounds of trash, dirty clothes, and old food. Two small children crawled along the filthy floor and one sat in a cushion-less seat on a ragged couch, the only furniture in the room. Graham and I set the gifts to the right of the door, saying nothing as we went out to bring in the remaining presents. The mother sat on the only kitchen chair, cigarette in hand, beer within close reach. The shelves were barren except for a carton of Camels. The fridge door stood ajar, empty. "My God, oh my God," ran endlessly through my mind.

The presents were all inside. The stack that had looked so large in my house and filled the car now took up the smallest corner of this trailer home. The children hovering over the presents were pushed aside by their mother. Sucking down her second cigarette she turned to us and demanded, "Where is the ham dinner I was promised?" Graham and I, unaware of this promise, explained that we had purchased a gift certificate so she could buy any food she wanted at a grocery store just down the street. At this moment though, we both remembered that we had left the gift certificate on my kitchen counter. We sheepishly explained this to the mother and promised to drop the gift card off the next morning. Rolling her eyes, the mother sat back down in the kitchen as we let ourselves out.

As we drove home in silence, my stomach churned like it was polishing rocks. I had envisioned that we would be delivering something special, extras for this family. Never had I thought they would be without the basic necessities. Graham dropped me off, and we exchanged forced smiles, painted on in hopes of helping the other.

"I'll pick you up at eight," Graham said reluctantly. I nodded and went inside as tears welled up and clouded my eyes. I couldn't get the image of the little boy in the window to leave my mind. Through gasps of air, a running nose, and swelling eyes, I explained everything to my mother. An hour later we decided to go back to the store, and together we bought cereal, milk, a large ham, peanut butter, jelly, bread, and enough blankets for the whole family.

The next morning Graham picked me up and with the gift certificate and box of food and blankets we made our way back to C37. The windows this time were all covered with blinds, but we could just see the multicolored glow of the Christmas lights we had delivered. With no answer to the knocks on the door Graham and I left the box on the doorstep. We climbed back into the car, and just as we backed out of the lot, I saw one of the children pulling the box inside.

The image of the little boy still runs through my mind, but I am not so eager to shut out this frail figure. He is my personal reminder. My little boy has changed, however, from the first night I saw him. Now, when my mind sweeps headlights through the window to his room, I can see him wrapped tightly in a warm blanket.


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