[Critique Group 2] 608-word memoir for December 19th critique session

[Alice Massa]

*Eavesdropping on Christmas*

By Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Two Indiana highways ran through our small rural hometown:Highway 163 
and Highway 71.On one side of Highway 71 was my Aunt Zita’s Italian 
restaurant; directly across the highway from my aunt’s restaurant was 
the grocery store of my grandmother and uncle.Although my mother worked 
full-time as the postmaster of the third-class Blanford Post Office, she 
still helped at her older sister's Restaurant almost every Saturday 
night, as well as for special events.On Christmas Eve of 1957 or 1958, 
the restaurant was still open; and my mother was busy frying delicious 
Italian breaded veal.At that time, my dad was still working rotating 
shifts as a firefighter; and my sister was at my youngest aunt’s house 
which was a short walk away.Evidently, at Aunt Zita’s residence, which 
was attached to the restaurant, I had already looked through my favorite 
volumes of the /World Book Encyclopedia/ and my cousins Bill and 
Donald’s high school yearbooks; so, I was ready for some action and a 
change of scenery.

Despite beingonly seven or eight years of age, I was allowed to cross 
alone Highway 71 on an already dark Saturday night to go to my 
grandmother and uncle’s store.Leaving the residence of the restaurant, I 
walked over the white rock of the parking lot, edged near the highway, 
looked carefully both ways, listened, and then ran across the two-lane 
road to sprint up the three stairs to the grocery store.

Shortly after I entered the store and greeted my Uncle Pete, the mother 
of the poorest family in our town walked inside the store. With a 
freezer at the level of the countertops on the right, behind which were 
shelves of groceries, Mrs. L. turned to her left to the glass display 
cases atop which were school supplies and also to the shelves that 
contained other non-food items.From behind the counter and toward the 
back of the store, I listened to Mrs. L. as she proudly smiled and 
requested various items in the store.I said nothing because I—still a 
pretend believer in Santa Claus—realized that Mrs. L. was purchasing or 
putting on her bill the gifts from Santa for her sons.One of her sons 
was a year younger than I; her daughters—one my age and one a year 
older—were taken from their parents and placed in another home or 
homes.Besides the son whom I knew, the family included two older boys 
and two younger.

While Mrs. L selected coloring books and crayons, writing tablets and 
pencils, a kite, pairs of socks—I realized that all the gifts the boys 
would receive for Christmas were being bought on Christmas Eve at my 
uncle’s grocery store.I thought of those children and Mr. and Mrs. L. as 
I never had before.Although I knew their family and mine would celebrate 
very different Christmases, I felt a warm kinship with Mrs. L.I was 
mesmerized by this scene.With the dark wooden floor, dark wooden 
counters, dark wooden shelves, and drop lights suspended from the 
20-foot ceiling—I saw the large store room in sepia tones—like the 
Rotogravure section whose photographs I looked at each Sunday in /The 
Terre Haute Tribune-Star/.

When I left my aunt’s restaurant, I never dreamed that instead of just 
crossing Highway 71, I was walking to the North Pole.Instead of just 
seeing Mrs. L. with her rosy cheeks and positive smile, I saw Santa 
Claus because in this world, there truly are many real and amazing Santas.

April 26, 2014, Saturday

Revised:December 12, 2019, Thursday

number of words:608

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