Good Morning Christmas
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The day the snow came was like most others. The sun shone, it had been a mild evening and the roads were clear. People were already beginning to get into their cars for their morning commutes when, all of a sudden, there was an almighty clap of thunder that shook the house.
And then the sky became black as night—a thick fog rolled across the city and the temperature plummeted.
People began to panic, thinking that a terrorist attack or some other disaster had struck. Some were running toward their homes, but many were turning back to go to work. It was only later that they realized what had happened.
The power had gone out in the city and no one could see anything at all. So everyone thought it must be too dangerous to drive. They walked home from work instead, trusting that their phones would still function.
But by now the streets were dark, and with no streetlights, people stumbled over each other. Many died this way. A few managed to make it home before the lights went off completely. Then the panic really set in.
And so they sat huddled on their couches, waiting for someone—anyone—to tell them what was going on. The television stations tried to keep people informed, but there simply wasn’t enough information available. No one knew how long the blackout would last. It felt like forever.
And then, finally, the power returned. The lights flickered and then came back on. Most people cheered. They had survived the blackout, but they didn’t know if their loved ones were alive. There was no mobile phone reception either; cell phones wouldn’t work without electricity.
If anyone wanted to call home, they would have to walk to the nearest tower and shout loudly enough for it to hear. This meant that family members might not even realize that their relatives were okay until much later.
The next day, as people began to try to get back into their daily routines, the news came: The power outage had been caused by a massive meteor strike. The meteor had hit the earth and had destroyed half the city’s infrastructure.
The damage was extensive. It would take months to restore power to the entire city. And the snow would continue to fall for weeks more. The meteor shower had come early this year.
It took months for life to return to normal, but eventually, it did. People found jobs again. Schools reopened. Life went on. The world outside the city continued to exist. Only the people inside the city knew that something terrible had happened. There are always those who don’t want the truth to get out—those who want people to believe that everything is fine.
But the truth will be out.
I’d like to tell you about my little brother. He was always getting up to mischief, and I used to worry that he might hurt himself. What I didn’t realize was that I should have been worrying that he might kill someone else.
He was eleven years old when we moved to the suburbs. We lived in a small apartment in an area that had once been considered “desirable.” But the new development had been built hastily, and now the neighborhood had become run-down.
Broken windows were covered up with plywood, and broken glass lay in the gutters. We watched as our neighbors’ houses fell apart around them. Their lawns turned brown and shaggy. They let their dogs run loose, and one day they disappeared altogether.
Our neighbors were strange people. One of them kept a pet raccoon. Another had a dog that barked all day and all night. My sister said she heard someone screaming late at night—but I never did.
We bought the house because it was cheap, and it seemed like the ideal place for my brother to grow up. We were close to schools, parks, and stores. Nearby there was a lake where we could go boating.
We joined a soccer league and soon became good players. Our friends came over to play games in the backyard. My mother made sure my brother had toys and books. She was strict but fair. We ate well and got good grades.
My brother was happy. He played sports and made friends. But then his school started to change. His teachers told us that he was “different,” and that sometimes he acted strangely. My mother and father didn’t believe them, but they let him go to counseling anyway.
After a while, they stopped coming.
One day my brother left the house without saying goodbye. It was the first time he had ever done that. When we called after him, he just laughed and ran away.
The police came and took me to my parent’s bedroom so I could say goodbye to them. My father was crying. He hugged me tight and whispered, “Don’t worry. Don’t cry. You’re a big boy now—you can take care of yourself.”
Then he kissed me on the forehead and walked out the door.
A few minutes later the police came to get me.
When I arrived at the police station, I saw my brother sitting in a chair against the wall. I had never seen him look so sad. He looked like a stranger.
“Have you seen your mother?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t want to see you anymore.”
I stared at him, confused. Then I realized what he meant.
“She threw you out,” I said. “What did you do? Why did she throw you out?”
His face crumpled, and suddenly he was sobbing. He buried his head in his hands. I couldn’t understand why my mother would do such a thing.
“Your brother is sick,” the police officer said. “You need to be with your own family.”
So they drove us both home.
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car, staring at my brother. He kept wiping tears from his eyes.
“Are you okay, Bao?” I finally asked. “Can you stop crying?”
He shook his head. Then he looked at me with a blank expression on his face.
“Bao!” he cried. “You’re supposed to be my brother! My best friend!”
The police officer pulled the car over to the side of the road.
“Get out,” he ordered.
I hesitated. Then I did as he said. My brother jumped out of the car and ran into a nearby forest. He didn’t even wait for me.
“What’s going on?” I screamed.
I stood in front of the car and waited. After a long time, I heard him running through the trees. I followed him. He ran until he reached a large oak tree. When he saw me standing next to him, he put his arms around me and squeezed as hard as he could. Then he hugged me again.
“It’s okay,” he said.
But I wasn’t okay. I wanted to know why my mother hated me so much.
***
My name is Quang Pham. I am an assistant professor of computer science at Boston University.
I grew up in Vietnam. I was born on the last day of the year—a “lucky day.” I have three brothers and one sister. My father worked for a government agency. Our family was not rich, but we had enough money to live comfortably.
When I was seven years old, the war ended. Most of my friends went back to school. I stayed home.
For two years, I sat alone in my room. I read books. I watched TV. I drew pictures. I didn’t talk to anyone. Eventually, the other children began to leave. My mother thought I was too young to go to school, so she kept me home with her.
I spent most of my time reading. I found a book about tigers and became obsessed with them. I drew hundreds of pictures of tiger cubs, and I copied stories out of books by Rudyard Kipling and H. Rider Haggard. I was always drawing tigers.
One day my mother brought me a new coloring book. I was thrilled—it was my favorite kind. The pictures were all black and white.
I turned to page one. There were two small lines at the top of each page, like this:
Each picture had five lines, and I was supposed to color them using only black crayons.
I started to color the first line, then paused.
“What are you doing?” my mother asked.
I looked at her. “I’m going to color it in black,” I said.
She frowned. “That’s not how you’re supposed to color it in.”
“But it looks better that way.”
She sighed and took the book from me. She held up the picture of the tiger. I could see it in the sunlight. It was very beautiful.
“Look at this,” she said. “This is how it should look when you finish.”
I stared at her. “How can I make it look like that?” I asked. “All I have is a black crayon.”
She smiled. “You don’t need to make it look exactly like this, but you need to learn how to draw things in different colors. This is important.”
I nodded.
“Okay,” I said.
My mother handed me the book.
I colored the picture in black, then decided to try something new. I added some purple. It looked pretty good. I filled in the rest of the picture and showed it to my mother.
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Now let’s go shopping. We’re going to buy you a birthday present.”
I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and packed my backpack. Then we walked down the street to the market.
At the market, I saw a man who sold stuffed animals. I pointed at one of them.
“This is the one,” I said.
“How much?” my mother asked.
He opened a drawer and showed us a pile of tiny toys, all neatly wrapped in plastic.
“Two dollars,” he said.
My mother took my hand. “No,” she said.
“But you can’t just sit here,” I protested.
My mother shook her head. “There’s nothing else we need today. Come on.”
We left the store without buying anything. My mother was angry and frustrated. I felt bad because I’d made her angry. But I didn’t understand why. I liked that toy.
As we walked away, I noticed another man selling necklaces. The necklace had a golden bell attached to it. As soon as I saw the bell, I knew what I wanted for my birthday.
“Mommy, look!” I shouted.
She stopped walking. “What?”
“A bell,” I said.
She looked at the man’s display, then back at me. Her mouth was open slightly.
“Do you want it?” I asked.
She hesitated. “I think it’s beautiful,” she said at last.
The man rang the bell.
I smiled.
She bought it.
Then we went to the bakery next door and bought myself a cake. It had pink icing and sprinkles, and it was delicious. After we ate, we played with my new toys until it was time to go home.
My mother was still unhappy. She made me take a bath before bed. When I was done, she tucked me into bed and kissed me good night.
I fell asleep quickly. In my dreams, I ran through the jungle looking for tigers.
I woke up early the next morning. I climbed out of bed and looked out the window. Outside, the sky was clear and the sun was shining.
I went downstairs. My mother was making breakfast.
“Good morning,” I said.
She smiled. “Hi, sweetie.”
After breakfast, I washed the dishes while my mother cleaned up. Then she put on her coat and left for work. I waited for her in the living room.
When she came home, I ran to meet her.
“I missed you,” I said.
She laughed. “I missed you too. Now hurry and get ready. Your dad will be here soon.”
I picked up my backpack and followed her upstairs. We both changed our clothes and brushed our teeth.
“I love you, Mommy,” I said.
She smiled. “I love you too, honey.”
My father drove us to school. On the way, I told him about my dream.
“It sounds like you’ve been having dreams again,” he said.
“I suppose I have,” I said.
At school, I sat by myself at lunch. It wasn’t because nobody wanted to sit with me. Everybody did. They just couldn’t all fit into the classroom. So they were sitting outside on the grass.
I sat next to the girl with green hair. She had a tattoo on her arm that said, “I heart my mom.”
“Did you have a nice weekend?” she asked.
“Yes, I did,” I said.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Thanks,” I replied.
After lunch, my teacher read a story about a little girl who found a magical key in the garden. When she opened it, she found a huge dragon inside. She tried to kill the dragon, but the magic key wouldn’t let her. Instead, the dragon transformed itself into a prince and married the princess. Then the whole class sang a song together.
The teacher passed out pencils so we could color the pictures that would hang on the wall at the end of the year. Then she gave everyone a copy of the story.
“Who wants to come first?” she asked.
I raised my hand.
She looked at me. “You’re very brave,” she said.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
She handed me the book. I skipped to the middle of the story, where the little girl finds the key. I colored the picture of the key and wrote my name on the bottom. Then I drew a picture of a dragon. I colored its scales blue and green.
I handed it back to the teacher.
“That’s a lovely drawing, Ava,” she said. “Keep it for yourself. You can share it with your family.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
Everyone else finished coloring their pictures. We all put them on the bulletin board together.
“I’ll hang mine,” the girl with green hair said.
I took the key from my backpack and hung it on the bulletin board.
“Look! There’s my key!” I said.
The other kids laughed.
I felt embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” I said.
They all stared at me.
“Well, it’s true,” the girl with green hair said.
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. I don’t really know how to draw.”
“Oh,” she said.
***
When I got home, my mother was waiting for me at the door.
“How was school today?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She brought me a bowl of soup and some bread. I ate as much as I could. Then I lay down on the couch and watched cartoons. While I was watching, I heard someone knocking on the front door.
I jumped off the couch and ran upstairs to my bedroom.
“Mom, somebody is at the door!” I called.
My mother came downstairs.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s Lila,” I answered.
“Lila?” my mother asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
She led me downstairs.
We both opened the door.
“Hello, Ava,” Lila said.
“Hi, Lila,” I said.
She smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too,” I replied.
“Your mother told me about your dream last night,” she said.
“Do you want to come inside for a minute?” my mother asked.
“Sure,” Lila said. She followed us into the house.
I closed the door behind me. My mother and Lila sat on the sofa. I sat on the floor next to them.
“So what happened to your key?” my mother asked.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“What do you mean?” my mother asked.
“Well, I went to sleep,” I said. “And when I woke up, I saw a key on my pillow.”
“Ava, are you sure this isn’t a joke?” my mother asked.
“I promise it’s not,” I said. “I swear on my life.”
Lila nodded. “Okay, then. What did it look like?”
“It was silver,” I said. “It had a tiny diamond on the top. It also had a weird symbol on it.”
“Did you try to open any doors or anything?” my mother asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” my mother said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Not unless you made any deals with the devil,” she said.
“What’s that?” Lila asked.
“It means that you agreed to do something bad for a reward,” my mother explained.
“Like what?” Lila asked.
“Something terrible,” my mother said. “Maybe even something illegal.”
“Oh,” Lila said.
“Why would you do something like that?” I asked.
“To save the world,” Lila said.
“Wow,” I said.
“Or the universe,” Lila added.
“That’s cool,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lila said. “But my mom is right. If you didn’t make any deals with the devil, then everything will be okay.”
The End