UNA POSADA PARA MONA, Part IV of IV
Dear Friends and Family:
Here is the conclusion of my Christmas Short Story Series, Part IV. Thank you for joining me in following Mona's journey of faith. May your holiday be bright, deep, and wide and may Love, Peace, and Hope fill you throughout.
Rebecca
UNA POSADA PARA MONA
Copyright©2015 by Rebecca Moll, All Rights Reserved
Part IV of IV
The weeks before Christmas came and went and suddenly, it was Christmas Eve. Mona tried to get her Mom to go to the Posada, but she refused. She was tired. There was unpacking to do, bills to pay. Reaching into her dresser, Mona pulled out a box from the back of the drawer. It took a long time to get her price, several days and a lot of Spanglish. A silver plated mirror, the glass beveled, Mona knew it was the perfect gift. Lost in the move, her grandmother's mirror was just like this, but smaller. Her mother had wept when they couldn't find it. Her night off from work, she was taking a long bath. Mona quietly placed the box under the tree. Store bought and pre-lit it paled in comparison to the aspen beauties they had in Colorado. Wal-Mart instead of woods, cash registers instead of hacksaws, it seemed a little off. But her mother was trying. Mona came home to Christmas carols and hot chocolate one afternoon. The tree perilously leaning way too far to the right, boxes of ornaments open on the floor.
Smiling at the sight, Mona dropped her backpack to the floor and hugged her mother. Hot chocolate spilled and they laughed. Hot chocolate in San Diego? Her mom promised ice cream next year. Decorating the tree, Mona had mixed feelings. It was all so different, sunlight streaming in the windows, they hung balls with snowmen and reindeer, a large blue I Love the Rockies ball, and a snowflake that said Let it Snow. Yet, strangely enough, it was beginning to feel familiar.
After placing her mother's gift under the tree, Mona stood up and reached into her pocket. Pulling out a small plastic ornament, she grabbed a hook and placed it next to the Let it Snow snowflake. Red, orange, and yellow, Feliz Navidad spun this way and that, glitter and gloss catching in the lights on the tree.
At 9:50 pm Mona walked up to the church. She stopped to look at her stable, not sure what to do about the baby Jesus. She was running out of time. Passing homes decorated with moss, evergreens, and paper lanterns, she was soon at the church and lost in the crowd of those lining up. Many were dressed the part and baskets were passed around with small ring shaped loaves. Mona heard the word "rosca" and "niño Jesús" as they carefully chose a loaf. The children were carrying small boards with candles and painted figures of Mary on a donkey and Joseph. Mona looked to the front of the line and saw a life-size, real Mary sitting on a donkey, Joseph close by. Carmelita came up behind her and touched her on the shoulder.
"Comé tu rosca," she said, taking a bite out of her own.
Mona did likewise and bit down hard, wincing, "Oh my."
Carmelita laughed and cheered and soon everyone was crowding around Mona. A little boy reached up and tugged at her sleeve. "Niño Jesús," he said with a smile.
Mona looked in her hand and there in the middle of her rosca, was a tiny baby Jesus. Quick to understand her situation at home, Carmelita hugged Mona and announced to the crowd, "La Posada va a mi casa." Mona looked at the doll and Carmelita. She wasn't sure what just happened, but she was pretty sure Carmelita had just spared her something. Mona knew "mi casa" was Spanish for "my house". Hugging her back, Mona said softly, "Gracias."
Carmelita raised her index finger and cautioned, "Un momento." A few moments later she was back with a life size baby doll, placing it in Mona's hands. "Para tu n-a-t-i-v-i-t-y."
Mona looked at the empty manger in front of the church and back at the baby doll. She pointed to the stable. A young man next to her leaned in and said, "They have many baby dolls in the church."
"Why?" Mona asked.
"Sometimes, when you have no money for your children, you steal," he replied, pointing to the empty manger and shrugging his shoulders.
Later that night, after knocking on many doors and singing for lodging, only to be refused and then finally arriving at Carmelita's house, they were welcomed in. After praying in thanks they celebrated with food, piñatas, and fireworks. Mona made a few friends. The young man who explained about the dolls kept close and offered to walk her home. Carmelita introduced him as her son, "Mi hijito Elijah", and gave her consent. It had been a clear and cool evening and now on their walk home the clouds began to gather, the humidity rise.
Saying goodbye, and promising to visit, Elijah left running into the dark and wet streets. Mona looked into her house and saw the tree was still lit. Well after midnight, she found her mother fast asleep in a chair, the TV playing carols, an empty microwave tray on her lap. Touching her gently on the shoulder, Mona whispered in her ear, "Come."
They stood outside side by side staring at the stable. Mona had rigged a few extension cords and some Christmas lights. The baby Jesus was fast asleep in the manger. The wind blew and her mother hugged herself, the chill so unfamiliar now. Mona reached for her mother's hand and squeezing too hard, she felt the wedding rings that refused to come off.
"Merry Christmas, Mom."
A moment or two passed. Mona's mother sighed and made a funny sound. "I love you, Mona."
"I love you too, Mom."
A fine midst began to cover them, rising from the ground it shrouded the stable and the holy family. The lights twinkled in the wet grass. "It's beautiful, Mona."
It was just past sunrise when they crawled into bed. They had exchanged gifts. A scrapbook and a new camera, small enough to fit in her pocket. You can make memories here, her mom said. Holding the mirror, her Mom looked up and said softly, Oh Mona, you remembered. She told her mom all about the Posada and how she won the baby Jesus, her house to be the Posada or the inn with a room and how Carmelita saved her. Her mom smiled and said they sound nice. Maybe we can go to church sometime, she said, her voice nervous, her hands shaking. A letter lay on the table unopened. Mona picked it up. Her mother left the room.
Reading the letter, tears fell, blanching the paper. It was from her father's friend. They buried him in the Colorado Mountains. He said he would miss her father, that he loved him. That's all he said. No words for her, no words from him.
Under the letter was another envelope. Bio Laboratories. The seal was broken, the letter half out. Mona opened the letter and read the results. Negative. Both of them, HIV negative.
Mona cried for her father. She cried for her mother and for herself. Sitting at the kitchen table, she closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed for what was left of her family, for her new friends and neighbors, Carmelita and Elijah. Feeling her mother's embrace from behind, she laid her head back against her arms. She thought of all the loss and sorrow, the doors now forever closed. Her mother's breath against her cheek, warm and soothing, Mona felt her sobs subside, her heart rate relax. Rain began to fall, a heavy downpour. She thought about the stable and how little shelter it gave and she realized there were no doors. No doors, she thought, that's why it matters, that's why God matters. With God there are no doors. Through the kitchen window, she watched the rain ebb, the first rays of sunshine color the sky, a beautiful Christmas sunrise. Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out the baby Jesus, the one baked in her rosca. Brushing away the last clinging crumbs, she smiled. I found you, she thought. Reaching across the table and making room, she placed him in the old red and green Christmas card basket. Her mother hugged her hard and she hugged back. So this was their life, their home, their Posada. Plenty of room, she thought, oh, yes we have plenty of room in our Posada.
The End.
Here is the conclusion of my Christmas Short Story Series, Part IV. Thank you for joining me in following Mona's journey of faith. May your holiday be bright, deep, and wide and may Love, Peace, and Hope fill you throughout.
Rebecca
UNA POSADA PARA MONA
Copyright©2015 by Rebecca Moll, All Rights Reserved
Part IV of IV
The weeks before Christmas came and went and suddenly, it was Christmas Eve. Mona tried to get her Mom to go to the Posada, but she refused. She was tired. There was unpacking to do, bills to pay. Reaching into her dresser, Mona pulled out a box from the back of the drawer. It took a long time to get her price, several days and a lot of Spanglish. A silver plated mirror, the glass beveled, Mona knew it was the perfect gift. Lost in the move, her grandmother's mirror was just like this, but smaller. Her mother had wept when they couldn't find it. Her night off from work, she was taking a long bath. Mona quietly placed the box under the tree. Store bought and pre-lit it paled in comparison to the aspen beauties they had in Colorado. Wal-Mart instead of woods, cash registers instead of hacksaws, it seemed a little off. But her mother was trying. Mona came home to Christmas carols and hot chocolate one afternoon. The tree perilously leaning way too far to the right, boxes of ornaments open on the floor.
Smiling at the sight, Mona dropped her backpack to the floor and hugged her mother. Hot chocolate spilled and they laughed. Hot chocolate in San Diego? Her mom promised ice cream next year. Decorating the tree, Mona had mixed feelings. It was all so different, sunlight streaming in the windows, they hung balls with snowmen and reindeer, a large blue I Love the Rockies ball, and a snowflake that said Let it Snow. Yet, strangely enough, it was beginning to feel familiar.
After placing her mother's gift under the tree, Mona stood up and reached into her pocket. Pulling out a small plastic ornament, she grabbed a hook and placed it next to the Let it Snow snowflake. Red, orange, and yellow, Feliz Navidad spun this way and that, glitter and gloss catching in the lights on the tree.
At 9:50 pm Mona walked up to the church. She stopped to look at her stable, not sure what to do about the baby Jesus. She was running out of time. Passing homes decorated with moss, evergreens, and paper lanterns, she was soon at the church and lost in the crowd of those lining up. Many were dressed the part and baskets were passed around with small ring shaped loaves. Mona heard the word "rosca" and "niño Jesús" as they carefully chose a loaf. The children were carrying small boards with candles and painted figures of Mary on a donkey and Joseph. Mona looked to the front of the line and saw a life-size, real Mary sitting on a donkey, Joseph close by. Carmelita came up behind her and touched her on the shoulder.
"Comé tu rosca," she said, taking a bite out of her own.
Mona did likewise and bit down hard, wincing, "Oh my."
Carmelita laughed and cheered and soon everyone was crowding around Mona. A little boy reached up and tugged at her sleeve. "Niño Jesús," he said with a smile.
Mona looked in her hand and there in the middle of her rosca, was a tiny baby Jesus. Quick to understand her situation at home, Carmelita hugged Mona and announced to the crowd, "La Posada va a mi casa." Mona looked at the doll and Carmelita. She wasn't sure what just happened, but she was pretty sure Carmelita had just spared her something. Mona knew "mi casa" was Spanish for "my house". Hugging her back, Mona said softly, "Gracias."
Carmelita raised her index finger and cautioned, "Un momento." A few moments later she was back with a life size baby doll, placing it in Mona's hands. "Para tu n-a-t-i-v-i-t-y."
Mona looked at the empty manger in front of the church and back at the baby doll. She pointed to the stable. A young man next to her leaned in and said, "They have many baby dolls in the church."
"Why?" Mona asked.
"Sometimes, when you have no money for your children, you steal," he replied, pointing to the empty manger and shrugging his shoulders.
Later that night, after knocking on many doors and singing for lodging, only to be refused and then finally arriving at Carmelita's house, they were welcomed in. After praying in thanks they celebrated with food, piñatas, and fireworks. Mona made a few friends. The young man who explained about the dolls kept close and offered to walk her home. Carmelita introduced him as her son, "Mi hijito Elijah", and gave her consent. It had been a clear and cool evening and now on their walk home the clouds began to gather, the humidity rise.
Saying goodbye, and promising to visit, Elijah left running into the dark and wet streets. Mona looked into her house and saw the tree was still lit. Well after midnight, she found her mother fast asleep in a chair, the TV playing carols, an empty microwave tray on her lap. Touching her gently on the shoulder, Mona whispered in her ear, "Come."
They stood outside side by side staring at the stable. Mona had rigged a few extension cords and some Christmas lights. The baby Jesus was fast asleep in the manger. The wind blew and her mother hugged herself, the chill so unfamiliar now. Mona reached for her mother's hand and squeezing too hard, she felt the wedding rings that refused to come off.
"Merry Christmas, Mom."
A moment or two passed. Mona's mother sighed and made a funny sound. "I love you, Mona."
"I love you too, Mom."
A fine midst began to cover them, rising from the ground it shrouded the stable and the holy family. The lights twinkled in the wet grass. "It's beautiful, Mona."
It was just past sunrise when they crawled into bed. They had exchanged gifts. A scrapbook and a new camera, small enough to fit in her pocket. You can make memories here, her mom said. Holding the mirror, her Mom looked up and said softly, Oh Mona, you remembered. She told her mom all about the Posada and how she won the baby Jesus, her house to be the Posada or the inn with a room and how Carmelita saved her. Her mom smiled and said they sound nice. Maybe we can go to church sometime, she said, her voice nervous, her hands shaking. A letter lay on the table unopened. Mona picked it up. Her mother left the room.
Reading the letter, tears fell, blanching the paper. It was from her father's friend. They buried him in the Colorado Mountains. He said he would miss her father, that he loved him. That's all he said. No words for her, no words from him.
Under the letter was another envelope. Bio Laboratories. The seal was broken, the letter half out. Mona opened the letter and read the results. Negative. Both of them, HIV negative.
Mona cried for her father. She cried for her mother and for herself. Sitting at the kitchen table, she closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed for what was left of her family, for her new friends and neighbors, Carmelita and Elijah. Feeling her mother's embrace from behind, she laid her head back against her arms. She thought of all the loss and sorrow, the doors now forever closed. Her mother's breath against her cheek, warm and soothing, Mona felt her sobs subside, her heart rate relax. Rain began to fall, a heavy downpour. She thought about the stable and how little shelter it gave and she realized there were no doors. No doors, she thought, that's why it matters, that's why God matters. With God there are no doors. Through the kitchen window, she watched the rain ebb, the first rays of sunshine color the sky, a beautiful Christmas sunrise. Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out the baby Jesus, the one baked in her rosca. Brushing away the last clinging crumbs, she smiled. I found you, she thought. Reaching across the table and making room, she placed him in the old red and green Christmas card basket. Her mother hugged her hard and she hugged back. So this was their life, their home, their Posada. Plenty of room, she thought, oh, yes we have plenty of room in our Posada.
The End.
No comments have been added yet.
