Dolita’s Christmas
“What is Christmas all about?” thought Dolita, as she wandered the streets. The date the 16th December, the beginning of the festivities. Nine consecutive days of candlelight posadas centred around children, who were often decked in colourful, hand-made costumes and carried brightly coloured, paper lanterns.
The purpose behind the posadas was originally a practical way of teaching the children about the story and birth of the Baby Jesus. Sadly, much of the meaning had been lost as the emphasis moved to merry-making, the ruthless smashing of piñatas and a mad scramble for the fruits and sweets that the piñatas contained.
Decorated Christmas trees, and nativity scenes with clay figures, could be seen in many of the homes. She had caught glimpses through the windows of some of the smaller houses as she passed by. Dolita wandered for hours. At one point, she managed to sneak into the foyer of one of the grand hotels before being discovered by a brusque security guard and being thrown out. How she sneaked in was a daring feat for a street kid, but something that she was determined to try at least once.
She hid behind the luggage trolley as a guest and his entourage all pushed to get through the swing doors. She managed to squeeze between them, and remarkably made it as far as the entrance to the first restaurant. Raggy Man, her little dog nestled snugly under her arm. Dolita could hear talk of preparations for an exotic feast on Noche Buena, roast suckling pig, turkey, ham, and hot fruit punch. The wild greens in mole sauce sounded disgusting!
“Oh, Raggy Man. I don’t fancy the mole sauce but I sure would like a piece of that turkey,” she whispered.
“R a s p b e r r y truffle, mmm, scrummy. Sounds good. I wonder what it is.” But before she heard another word she was discovered, and escorted rather roughly, out of the building.
What a commotion! She was only a kid after all. Why had she created so much attention? “Don’t think they like us Raggy,” she whispered, picking herself up and examining her bruised and scuffed knees; after her little body, had scraped the pavement.
Silently walking away from the hotel, Dolita recalled the stories that Christmas Eve was always rounded off with the opening of presents for the children. Slumping in a doorway, Raggy Man by her side, the sadness overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had eaten, the hunger pains gripping her stomach in a way she had never known before.
“¡Tengo hambre, Raggy! ¡Tengo hambre!”
A Mexican family crossed the street below and their two young children chattered gleefully as they tossed sunflower seeds to a few wandering pigeons. Their little girl carried a rag-doll.
A young Indian girl passed by, her three children trailing behind, carrying all their worldly belongings in green plastic bags. A boy ran to catch up with them, holding an enormous drum base. It looked heavy and the poor little mite could barely see over the top of it. The church bells rang out in the distance as a tall. skinny boy picked up a dirty, plastic cup that had the dregs of a cappuccino, presumably purchased from a nearby kiosk or open-air bar and then discarded. He slurped the remaining contents, grimaced and spat them out.
Then, after burying his head in a nearby trashcan, he surfaced with several items after he had combed it thoroughly for food scraps. He ravenously ate what looked like the remains of an enchilada. Dolita studied every one of them quietly. They were all living in the same city, yet how different their lives must be. She reached over and pulled Raggy Man to her side, squeezing him with all the love she could muster.
“So indeed, what is Christmas all about?” she asked Raggy Man. I suppose that depends on who is asking the question! Her mind drifted. She thought of the other street kids’ all homeless dealing with the pain and misery of the streets. Yet the streets were her home.
“Did I do something wrong, Raggy? Was it my fault? Why was I abandoned to live on the streets?”
* * *
Despite the love, she had for Raggy, she felt a huge chasm of loneliness. Knowing that she mustn’t give up hope. The desire to have a family, a real home and share the Christmas festivities. Tears fell from her cheeks; she snivelled and wiped them away.
She remembered. Street kids don’t cry.
