Christmas on My Own

December 19, 1995

Camille looked through the window. Where was she? Her mother had said she would be back soon. She glanced at the kitchen. She could almost smell the aroma of cookies baking, like they had every year since she was born. She looked at the door. Weren't those footsteps she heard? No, it was just her imagination. Oh, how she wished her mother would come home. 

Those had to be footsteps. But not light ones like her mothers, but heavy ones. Then there was a knock at the door. She practically flew to the door. Her mother's hands were probably full so she couldn't get to her keys, she told herself. But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see a man. She racked her brain trying to find out if she knew him or not. But she couldn't recognize him. He looked sad and ready to cry. 

She asked him what the matter was and what he was doing at her house. He told Camille something she would never forget: her mother was dead.

She ran into her room crying; it was much like when her father had died. But worse. Now she had no one to bury her face into or to tell her it was all right, even though it wasn't. She was on her own. 

She heard the man shutting the door, and then his footsteps. After awhile, she came out of her room. She looked at the Christmas tree. She could imagine her mother and her putting on strings of lights and decorations. 

The next day was her last day of school before Christmas vacation. When she came home, she called her grandmother. She said she would be over as soon as possible. She had no relatives where she lived, which was Chicago. She would have to avoid police officers and attention. She was on her own. 

She collected all the money she had, which made a total of 30 dollars. She went to the grocery store and bought some food. On her way out, she met a police officer. When she saw him, she got really nervous. He was walking towards her swiftly, as if he was about to arrest her. Then he walked past her, said good morning, and blew his whistle at some kids in a circle, each looking nervously at him in turn. She sighed in relief.

The next time she wasn't so lucky. She was walking back to her house from putting out the garbage, when a neighbor asked: Are you alone in that house, I never see your mother any more. Camille said, she's just sick, that's all. 

The next day, there was a knock at the door. Camille peeked through the peep hole in the door. She flung the door open. There was her grandmother. They hugged each other, and her grandmother told her they would leave the next day at 10:00 in the morning. 

When they reached New York, where her grandmother lived, she was informed that she would go to public school number 27. When she got there, the kids liked her instantly. And because she came from Chicago, someplace where most of them had not even been before, she was popular that day. 

When she came to her new home, she said, I guess it isn't too bad after all. The next day, she found out the great news. Her mother had really only been in a coma, and couldn't remember anything!