Kyle was led to the center chair where he sat and immediately slouched down, drew his legs up and hugged his knees. He scratched at his right calf. Stupid dress pants. He wished he could have worn his jeans, but they said that wouldn’t be appropriate. Losing your parents at thirteen was what was inappropriate.

“Kyle,” the lawyer started. “I am very sorry for your loss. I have your parents’ will here to read to you. I assume the funeral went well?”

“Went well?” Kyle said. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He put his face between his knees and struggled to gain control. No way would he cry in front of this guy.

“I understand this is difficult for you, but I have to read this to you now. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I, John Lamaz, being of sound mind and body . . . do bequeath all of my worldly possessions to my wife, Cynthia in the event of my death . . . should she also be dead . . . all shall go to my son, Kyle Lamaz . . . custody and guardianship of Kyle shall go to Joan and Trevor Tildon . . .”

“What? They left me to Joan and Trevor? News flash, genius, they were in the car with my parents. They’re dead too,” Kyle interrupted.

The lawyer flashed his eyes over his glasses at Kyle and then quickly ran them back and forth over the document.

“Hmm,” he almost groaned. “We seem to have a problem here. Do you have any other relatives you can live with?”

“Nope.”

“No. You must have aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

“Nope,” Kyle said, while looking out the window at the warm spring sunshine glinting off the parked cars. “My parents didn’t have any brothers or sisters, like me. Mom’s parents died when she was young. Dad’s father died five years ago and his mother has Alzheimer’s. I might be able to crash at my friend’s for a little longer, but I can’t live there.”

“I’ll contact children’s aid,” the lawyer said.

Now it was Kyle’s turn to flash his eyes up and groan.

Kyle moved in with the Carsons two weeks later. They had an okay house and his room was okay. For foster parents, they seemed okay. Kyle unpacked his suitcases into the tall pine dresser. The box sent over from the lawyer’s sat on his bed. It contained something from his parents.

Kyle sat in the swivel chair by the desk in front of the computer, last year’s model. He stared at the computer. He didn’t feel like checking it out or MSN’ing his friends. He was so tired of everybody asking him if he was okay. He would never be okay.

He spun around on the chair and stared at the box. What could be in it? More memories of what he’d lost? Nothing would ever be right again. He finally let himself cry.

Of course, that’s when they’d knock at the door.

“Kyle?” his foster mother, Carol, called.

Carol Carson, what a stupid name, Kyle thought. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Is everything okay? With your room?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I’m just unpacking.” Stupid woman, he thought.

“Okay, come down for supper in half an hour, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The box was still there on the bed. He moved it over to the desk, turned it around a few times and then flopped himself onto the bed.

Stupid pale blue comforter. He got up and opened the green garbage bag and pulled out his black and red fleece blanket from home. Mom had bought it for him because they were going to redo his room this summer in black and red. This pale blue room was just wrong.

He wrapped himself in the blanket and flopped onto the bed once again. Too many stupid pillows. He pushed them onto the floor and stared at the white ceiling with the white light fixture. Mom was going to get him that really awesome black and pewter one with the spot lights.

“Kyle,” another rap at the door. “Supper is ready. Can you please join us?”

“Yeah.”

They were trying so hard to be nice. It was getting on his nerves. There was nothing they could do. They were being paid to be nice and that would change. He’d heard the stories from his buddy. Foster care was never nice or good. Stupid people thinking they could make a difference.

He tolerated their inane chatter through the boring bland meal. He even helped with the dishes. His mother had raised him and he wanted to show them that he didn’t need them to raise him. He didn’t need them at all. He didn’t need anyone or anything.

It took him a week before he finally opened the box. It contained a really short walking stick, a figurine of an old man with a turban carrying a box and a weird octagonal mirror with just a small piece of mirror in the centre and glass all around. What was the point of this junk?

There was a letter in the box.

“Dear Kyle, we love you so much. If you are reading this, it means something unthinkable has happened and we’re gone. Remember always that you were wanted, loved and needed. You were everything to us. You can go on and have a fabulous life. You have to, for us. Figure out the secret to these three items and you’ll be okay. They all have an important message for you. You’re a smart boy. You can do it. We love you, Mom and Dad.”

Kyle simply put the stuff back in the box and put it on the top shelf of the closet. He wrapped himself in the fleece blanket, laid on the bed and cried until he fell asleep.

It was a week before Christmas when he finally took the box back down. School wasn’t going as well as it used to. Seemed like all the teachers hated him and were always nagging and bugging him. His old friends had quickly tired of his pain and had moved on. His only new friend was Tab, who knew pain and gained strength from it. She cut herself to know she was still alive and to block out her home life. Everybody else sucked and didn’t get Kyle.

The Carsons were always nagging him to do his homework, go to class, come home on time. He couldn’t take it any more. He was going to run away and was looking though his stuff deciding what to take when he found the box. He reread the letter and guilt forced him to try and figure out these clues. His parents weren’t stupid or mean. Who knows, maybe it’ll actually help. He decided to hang around until after Christmas and try to figure out these clues.

He started with the stick. It was obviously a walking stick, made of smooth whittled hickory with a knot on the top for your hand, but it was so short. Way too short for Kyle. Might work for a very little kid.

He tried using it but fell over and laughed. He looked and felt stupid using it and the silly thing didn’t do what it was supposed to. He got up and tossed it onto the bed.

Next he picked up the figurine. What’s with the turban? His family had been Christian. What was in the box he held? Couldn’t even guess at that one.

The octagonal mirror? He looked into it and saw his face in the center and the room around the edges. No clue here either.

“Kyle,” Carol called. “Supper please.”

He didn’t bother helping with the dishes any more. Wasn’t much point. Their real kids were home for Christmas. Skanky twenty-year old girl and nerdy twenty-three year old boy. He kept forgetting their names. They were trying too hard.

Kyle tried to watch some TV, but they kept talking to him so he went back up to his room to talk to Tab on MSN. She was pissed at her mother again. New boyfriend.

Christmas Eve they dragged him to mass. He’d refused to accompany them to church. Hadn’t been to church since the funeral. His parents had attended and him with them. They’d away said that if you let God be a part of your life, things seemed to work out better. Good things were naturally drawn to God so you want to keep him near. Kyle had believed it until the accident.  Why would God let this happen?

Kyle sat in the crowded pew with the Carsons. Parishioners that knew him smiled and waved, their eyes tender with pity. He nodded back, but couldn’t muster the smile. The choir was running through all the carols they knew. Carol was singing loudly but not very well. Carol singing carols. Whatever, Kyle thought.

Guitars strumming, a tambourine going and all the voices rising from smiling, joyous faces. Kyle had to consciously maintain his distance. The celebration began with its repetitive prayers that he’d recited so often. He kept his mouth closed, but still the words were there in his head. He went to communion and said the same thing in his head that he’d always said while returning to his pew: thank you God for allowing me to be a part of your family and to receive you once again, help me through the coming week. It was an automatic response but it felt familiar and comforting.

Despite his best efforts, he sang the last carol with the choir and even caught himself humming it on the way out. He’d spent a lot more of his life being happy than depressed and it was a hard habit to break. Felt like a betrayal to feel any joy without his parents.

Back at the house, Carol and Lacey, that was the daughter’s name, started to lay out a feast. Tradition for the Carsons after Christmas Eve mass. Kyle joined Kevin and Thomas, the son, in the family room. Kyle couldn’t sit; his emotions were running high and his thoughts were jumbled. He inspected all the ornaments on the tree, the figurines on the mantle and the long narrow table with the winter scene. Carol really overdid it. Under the tree was a nativity scene. The baby Jesus lay in the manger with his parents looking at him lovingly. The shepherds and their sheep stood guard. The three wise men stood a bit to the side, trying to see the miracle. Kyle stopped and picked up one of the wise men. It was an old man with a turban carrying a box. He put it back down and rushed to his room.

The figurine in the box was almost the same. It was a wise man from the Christmas story. His mother’s voice rang in his head. She’d told him the Christmas story every year.

Kyle took the wise man, the small walking stick and the mirror with him back to the family room. He sat in the chair by the window away from the Carsons.

The walking stick. He really started thinking about it. They’re used to help you walk, but this one was too short to be a big help. When he’d tried it out, he’d fallen. What was he using now to help him—anger, guilt, resentment, self-indulgent pity, wallowing in pain.

The mirror? He held it up and saw his confused face, the memory of joy, the pain of loss and the emerging hope played across it. Movement in the glass area around his face caught his eye. It was the Carsons, laughing and talking and casting glances at him. He wasn’t alone. The wise man made an effort to seek the truth and to bring whatever gifts he had. The crutch he’d been using hadn’t been very effective.

Kyle joined the Carsons for a cup of eggnog as he was led to the feast.

© Copyright 2005, Sue Scherzinger