From the prompt: "Minstrel (musician)..."
"For Christmas"
Josh lived at St. Catherine’s, a home for orphans and children whose parents couldn’t control them. For seven years he watched children drift through the halls, filling cots for a few weeks only to be spirited away by a young couple with bright eyes and warm smiles. He was a “bad seed”, one of those kids never picked ~ he was awkward looking, eyes too blue and too big, face sharply angular.
Christmas was the season of mass adoption, couples crowding children and cooing as if at puppies. Josh sat in the corner of the common room, knees tucked under his chin, gazing as couples and children mingled. It was this way every Christmas, couples desperate to take home children and appease their own parents by making them grandparents. Some couples came to visit their own children who just stayed at St. Catherine’s.
Josh twisted his hands together and gazed up at the imposing couple that stared back down at him.
“Il est un chanteur éxcellent,” Sister Marie offered. “Il est très gentil, et très intelligent.”
The nuns said the same thing to everyone who came, as if trying to sell him. He’s a wonderful singer. He’s very nice and very smart.
Josh gnawed on his bottom lip, darting a glance at the doorway. If Sister Marie would just let him go, there was a piano in the chapel and it was in tune.
The woman leaned down so she and he were at eye level. “Comment tu-t’appelles?”
He answered shyly, “Je m’appelle Joshua, Madame.”
She stared at him for a moment then straightened up, exchanging pointed glances with her husband. Josh had seen this too many times before. He just “Wasn’t what they were looking for.”
He turned and gazed at Sister Marie. “C’est tout?”
She nodded grimly. Josh scampered away heading for the chapel.
He genuflected before the cross, then made his way past the pews to the piano. He lifted the cover back, blew dust away, and sneezed. He had to scoot to the edge of the bench to reach the pedals, but even in the darkness his fingers found keys the deftly, playing the simple melody of his favorite Christmas carol. His clear voice rang out in the small chapel, unwavering and pure, even as tears stained his cheeks.
Josh treasured his music, held it close and cultivated it tenderly, but somehow knew that his skills would never earn him parents. The nuns delighted in showing him off, making him perform whenever groups of potential parents came through. He loathed playing his music then, because it was cheapened, demeaned.
Josh sat on the windowsill gazing out onto the snowy streets, watching as Jean-Luc toddled down the sidewalk between his two new parents. He bit his lip, glancing over his shoulder to where Elisa was being introduced to a couple. He sighed and rested his chin on his knees. It was Christmas time again. Joyeux Noël.
The little girl squealed in delight as her new mother drew her into a hug. Josh pushed himself off the windowsill, darting past the happy new family and down the cold hallways to the chapel, face scrunched up as he battled tears.
He dropped to his knees in front of the Cross, small hands clasped under his chin, and gazed up at the statue of Christ.
“Please,” he whispered. “All I want for Christmas is a mother and father. I’ll give up everything, I promise, even my music. I’ll be the bestest Christian boy in the world if you just send me some parents this year.” He fought against sniffles. “I’ll be good ~ I’m sorry for all the bad things I’ve done ~ I’ll try harder. But please, please, can I have a mommy and daddy this year?” He bit his lip hard, desperate to hold back his tears, and bowed his head. His lips moved silently in the Lord’s Prayer and he begged.
His control broke, a single tear slid down his face, and he collapsed on the stone floor, sobbing helplessly.
It was Christmas Midnight Mass and candlelight filled the chapel; dozens were flickering in the candle stations and in the hands of the choir boys.
Josh stood front and center, his clear strong voice soaring high into the rafters, ringing in the joy of the Savior’s birth. Inside, he was crying.
“All I want for Christmas...”
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© Agent Duo 2004