Picture a Christmas, chapter 5

“Honey, it’s time to get ready,” Madeline softly put her arm around me and whispered in my ear. I turned my head and kissed the side of her chin that I could reach. “Give me a minute to clean up,” I said as I rinsed my paintbrushes. She left, and I straightened up the room, moving the wet paintings up against the wall where they wouldn’t get knocked over.


Madeline had convinced me to go to a Christmas party held at a friend’s home. I hadn’t wanted to go at first; I’d rather paint. But she had looked so hurt when I said that I didn’t want to, that I gave in and stopped complaining.


I changed out of my paint spattered tee shirt and jeans, to my equally worn but clean polo and khakis. Scrubbing the paint off my hands, I thought of the other Christmas parties we had attended, and grimaced. They had all been courtesy invitations of course, from friends of my family or Madeline’s. None of them were close friends, and they obviously weren’t aware of our situation in life.


I could remember one in particular. Madeline’s second cousin held a big Christmas party every year, and somehow we got on her mailing list. When we came in the front door of her spacious home, we were greeted by none other than the hostess herself. She assessed us carefully as we took our coats off, but immediately manufactured a smile when our eyes met. As she led us into the dining room, we became acutely aware of our worn shoes and secondhand clothes. Everyone was dressed casually, but diamonds glittered on every woman’s hands, and it was obvious that we were with some of the most influential people in the city. I have never been more grateful to leave a party early.


So it was not with great anticipation that I thought of this afternoon’s party. But Madeline insisted, and soon I found myself walking with her the five blocks to the bus stop.