Monday, April 26, 2010

"Dear Santa" by Natasha Gill

Dear Santa,

It’s me, Maya. You know, the Maya who lives in the brown house on Enfield Avenue in Etobicoke. The Maya with the bratty little sister named Mala.

Mommy called you today and I think after what she told you, I won’t be getting any presents this year. Mommy was so mad she used bad words.  A lot of them. Does that mean she won’t be getting any presents either?

Santa here is what really happened…

We had “Show and Tell” today at school. I didn’t have anything of my own to show, so I took Mommy’s pretty red nightie to school. The teacher stopped me as soon I started talking and said “Show and Tell” time was over. It had just started. She said something about calling my mother. Today, as soon as I got home from school, Mommy got a call from my teacher and her face turned all red. Just like the nightie.

Then she said her headache was back and she needed to lie down.

Mommy was sleeping so I quietly went into her bedroom to put her nightie back and saw her tray of perfume. I had an idea to make my Mommy feel better, so I took her smallest bottle of perfume, Chanel No. 5, went downstairs and sprayed all of it over Ozzy, our dog. Mommy is always telling him how smelly he is. Dumb old Ozzy didn’t like the perfume and when I let him outside to go to the bathroom he rolled around and around in the mud trying to rub it off. I didn’t know Ozzy was going to run back into the house and roll around and around all over the living room carpet and Mommy’s brand new white couch.

I spread Mommy’s white lotion all over the couch because I thought it would cover up the mud. Then I coloured all over the living room walls with my crayons so Mommy wouldn’t notice the paw prints.

Then I was bored, so I went upstairs and threw all my stuffed toys over the upstairs balcony and into the street in front of our house. I wanted to see if my Superman Teddy could fly. He can’t. Stupid Teddy! I ran out the front door and down the street to save Teddy. The nosy old lady next door ran over to our house, rang the doorbell, and woke up Mommy. So of course Mommy yelled at me to get back inside and I didn’t have time to save Teddy. I think Teddy got run over by a car.

Mommy told me to stay inside and play in my room, so I decided to have a funeral for Teddy. I dressed up in my best pink church dress and made Mala put on hers. We looked cute but something was missing. I put the chewing gum in Mala’s hair because the bright pink matched her dress. I didn’t know the gum would get stuck.

I took my scissors and tried to cut the gum out of Mala’s hair. I am a little kid, with little kid scissors that don’t cut very well so I made zigzag bangs. Mala looked in the mirror and started to cry, so I gave her my bag of souvenir rocks from the Grand Canyon. She kept crying, so I used the bag of rocks to I hit her over the head.

Mommy woke up again. Boy was she mad when she saw Mala’s hair. She told me I had to stay in my room until Daddy got home and then I would find out. Find out what? I wondered.

I got very hungry sitting in my room all by myself so I snuck out. I made Mala hold the chair while I climbed up to reach the top of the fridge to get us cookies. I didn’t know the chair was going to slip and I was going to fall. PLOP! Right on top of my sister!

“That’s the last straw!” Mommy said.

But I had a cookie in my hand, not a straw, so I told Mommy I thought she needed more sleep.

That was when she grabbed the phone and dialled your number.

Santa, please, please, please believe me. I was only trying to be a good girl and I promise I will be a good girl from now until Christmas.


P.S. Please forgive Mommy for using all those bad words.
P.P.S. My sister broke the lamp in the bedroom, not me. Please don’t bring her any presents.
Natasha Gill has a B.A. in Journalism (Carleton University, Ottawa) and a post-graduate diploma in International Development (Humber College, Toronto). Recently she was the Production Assistant for a documentary filmed in Tanzania. The film centered on telling the stories of people’s lives improved through microfinance programs and was screened at high schools all across Ontario. Natasha is currently working on a planned collection of short stories inspired by her father’s memories of growing up in Pakistan and spending many agonizing minutes considering whether an M.F.A. in Creative Writing is in her future.

For information about Brian Henry's writing workshops and creative writing courses, see here.

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