ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, December 19, 1995 TAG: 9512190024
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BECKY MUSHKO
This fictional story was a finalist in The Roanoke Times ``A Christmas Memory'' contest, which attracted more than 800 submissions. Becky Mushko, 50, is a Roanoke free-lance writer who also teaches drama, English and creative writing at Ruffner Middle School.
THE CHRISTMAS I WAS 11 1/2, I was consumed by the passion of unrequited first love. I scribbled Henry Overwell's initials all over my notebook and linked them - with hearts - to mine. When Miss Dibbler read ``The Gift of the Magi'' to our 6th grade class, I day-dreamed that it was Henry who'd sold his watch to buy my present, while I'd sold my hair for his. The fact that he was unaware of my adoration, and thus wasn't likely to buy me a present, didn't figure into it.
My true love, an older man who went to junior high, barely knew I existed The only times he came within 10 feet of me were Sundays when I accompanied my sister Christine to church youth group. I always sat right behind him so I could admire the ringlet at the back of his neck. I yearned for the time he would turn around and notice me and maybe do something wildly romantic like buy me a Coke, but fate didn't seem to be on my side
Three weeks before Christmas, the youth director announced that members would draw names for the exchange of presents. This was the most Christian way, he explained; no one would feel left out. I watched Henry like a hawk when he put his hand in the bag and I hoped - nay, prayed with all my heart and threw in a promise to clean my room daily - that he would pick my name. I saw him read the slip and watched the corners of his mouth turn down. Behind him, Sylvia Kowalski - a big snoop - peeked and mouthed the words to me: ``He got yours.'' I became an instant believer in miracles.
When my turn came to pick, I prayed for another miracle, but I got Leticia Swarthmore's name. I spent the better part of a week sleuthing out who had Henry's name - it turned out to be Christine - and arranging for a trade. Now I not only had to clean my room, but hers!
Since Henry loved anything to do with ``Star Wars'' - he had, I learned, seen ``The Empire Strikes Back'' six times - I decided the way to his heart was a Darth Vader action figure I'd seen at the flea market. Remembering the story Miss Dibbler had read, I went into the bathroom, whacked off my hair, stuffed it into a J C Penney shopping bag, and headed for Maureen's Salon of Beauty. I'd seen wigs in her window.
Maureen said, ``Lord, child, why would I buy hair? I sweep out bushels everyday!'' Then, seeing my disappointment, she added, "But come on in and I'll straighten up your haircut for free. It's been a slow day ''
I hadn't realized how horrible my hair looked until I saw my reflection in Maureen's mirror. After she finished, I only looked semi-bad-sort of like a freshly clipped schnauzer. My mother pitched a fit when she saw me, but there was nothing she could do.
I finally sold my hair for two dollars to Cornelius Muttermire, the school geek, by telling him it would make a good science project. l took the money and hurried to the flea market. I bargained the price of Darth Vader down to $2 by pointing out the chip on his helmet. I hoped Henry wouldn't notice the slight flaw.
He did, but first he noticed me.
``Girl, you look like a dog with mange'' was how he put it. I was just delighted he finally spoke to me.
Our presents were stacked under a spindly Christmas tree the kindergarten class had decorated. My eyes searched the pile of gifts for the one he'd wrapped for me. I didn't get a chance to find it before the youth leader, dressed as Santa, started distributing the presents. My gift to Henry was first. I watched eagerly as he tore apart the wrappings.
``Hey, is this some kind of a joke?'' he demanded. ``I've already got three Darth Vaders! And this one looks exactly like one I sold for 50 cents See, here s the chip on the helmet! Wait'll I get my hands on the jerk who gave me this junk.''
Things were definitely not working out the way I'd expected. I prayed he wouldn't find out I was the one who gave it to him.
Finally, my name was called, and I was handed a small but tastefully-wrapped package. Anticipating whatever lovely romantic item was inside, I carefully - lovingly - opened it. It was a stocking cap! - an ugly purple and green, itchy, woolen stocking cap!
Well, it was the thought that counted. I put it on anyway. I wondered why Henry didn't ask me how I liked it. I was prepared to I declare I loved it, even though I knew telling lies in church must be a greater-than-average sin
I wore the cap everywhere for a week - until Sylvia asked me how I liked the hat she gave me.
``Huh?'' I said. ``It's from you?''
``Yeah,'' she replied, ``Henry was so grossed that he drew a girl's name, he traded me yours for Stevie's. My gramma knitted me that hat, but it itched so bad I couldn't stand to wear it. My mother said it was too good to waste and why didn't I give it to you because you needed something to hide that awful haircut, so I did.''
She smiled smugly. I politely waited until she was out of sight before I ripped it from my head, threw it into the slush, and stomped it until it was as flat as my aching heart.
``Oh. Henry'' I wanted to cry, ``How could you?''
Holding my mangy exposed head high, I vowed never again to trust love - or literature.
LENGTH: Medium: 97 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: Mushkoby CNB