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The boy watched as his mother wrapped present after present, each one in shiny, expensive wrapping paper, organized by color (his mother was nothing if not meticulous). Red paper for their friends at the country club, blue for his father, plaid to be mailed to their relatives out of state, and an enormous stack of green ones for Ralph.
Erik wished there was a color set aside for him, but he knew better than to ask. This year and every other year, he would instead bide his time and wait until the shiny, new toys were forgotten in favor of shinier, newer ones, and pilfer a few from the boxes of toys in Ralph's playroom.
He slipped quietly into the kitchen, hoping to grab a cupcake before Mother came back to the kitchen to wrap them up for the Christmas Eve party. He chose a red one decorated with a plastic Santa Claus ring, which he slipped happily onto a long finger as he scrambled back upstairs to his room.
Across the hall, he glimpsed Father trying to convince Ralph to put on his new Christmas sweater to no avail. "I want to wear my old one!" his twin wailed as he batted the offending sweater out of their father's hands; he stomped his feet as if he were much younger than ten, Erik thought disdainfully. Ralph caught sight of his twin over Father's shoulder before Erik could slink away to his own room and pointed. "Make him wear it, not me! Why doesn't he have to wear a stupid reindeer sweater?"
Their father huffed and again held the sweater out to the boy without turning back to look at Erik. "Your brother is not attending this party, Ralphie. Mommy bought this sweater just for you; don't you want to look nice for all of our friends?" Ralph's face turned an even darker shade of red until Father threatened to take away one of his Christmas presents, and he finally took the proffered sweater.
Satisfied, Father turned to Erik. "And you," he sighed. "You will stay upstairs tonight, quietly. You'll stay away from our guests and from the caterers. If I see you sneaking downstairs..." Erik nodded; the instructions were the same any time they had guests, most of whom did not even know the Change family had a second child, to his parents' relief.
Erik returned to his room and sat on the edge of the bed, twiddling the Santa ring in his hands. The instructions were the same, but they hurt the same each time. He was old enough to know why he had to remain upstairs and out of sight. He returned the ring to his finger and plucked at the edge of the soft fabric that covered his face—a mask—and mused.
He was certain that the only person who hated his face more than his parents was himself. Each night before bed he would remove the mask and stare at himself in the closet mirror trying out different expressions to see if any of them made things better. But his smile was just as unfortunate as his frown. He would regard and critique each individual feature in the mirror.
The hole in his face dripped constantly, to his mother's disgust. His mouth did not close correctly or cover his crooked teeth, which made eating without drooling difficult (aside from the occasional sweet, he avoided eating until the point of exhaustion and was thin as a rail). His lumpy yellow skin, gaunt cheeks, and long bony limbs completed the picture.
His ugliness was the reason he would never be welcomed at an event like tonight's, would never have a silly sweater and be paraded around by a proud mother and father like Ralph would be, and would not have a single present under the huge, beautiful tree in the living room downstairs. And he hated that he was a twin, hated that his twin was so handsome, and so beloved by parents who should have, had he been normal, loved both of their sons the same.
The sound of the front door opening and the first guests beginning to arrive broke him out of his reverie. He could perhaps, if he was very stealthy, watch the party going on beneath his feet from the bannister.
He waited until the rest of the guests arrived and took his spot by the bannister of the second-floor loft, which looked out over the large living room. From here he had a bird's-eye view of all the activity. In one corner, an enormous spread of food, served by caterers in black aprons; in another, guests gathered around the punch bowl. Ralph and a gaggle of other children raced around the house before Mother lured them to the dinner table to decorate gingerbread.
Erik sat there for some time, enjoying the holiday smells and straining to hear any interesting conversations. Suddenly, he heard the creak of the stairs and footsteps behind him; he jumped to his feet, assuming that he was about to be caught spying.
But instead of Mother, or Father, or Ralph (a notorious tattletale), a little girl with chocolate brown curls and tears in her eyes was standing behind him. He guessed she was a few years younger than him. He squinted at her in confusion and concern; if she told on him, there would be hell to pay.
But the little girl simply stood there without a word, sniffling and trying to suppress her tears. Erik sighed.
He reluctantly asked, "What's your name? And what are you doing up here?" He pointed to the stairs. "The party's down there you know..." "I'm Krissy," she mumbled almost too quietly to hear. She hiccuped, fresh tears running down her cheeks. "The other kids won't let me do gingerbread with them, and I needed to use the bathroom, and my daddy is busy serving, so I can't ask him, so I went up here to find one, and—and—." New tears started to form in her eyes as she rambled at him, and he knew he had to stop her from attracting any attention from downstairs.
"Ok, it's ok, really—just please don't cry. There's a bathroom right here." He led her to the hallway bathroom and awkwardly waited outside for her to finish. She came out looking less tearful at least. "Better?" he asked. She nodded.
"Good. We have to be quiet, okay? Neither of us is supposed to be up here..." She nodded again and followed him back to his spot by the bannister.
"That's my daddy! Serving the ham." She pointed a pudgy finger at one of the caterers, a short man with a bushy mustache. "He plays in an orchestra during the day. And he serves the food at night!" she giggled proudly.
"Where are your mommy and daddy?" Erik silently pointed a narrow finger down at the dinner table, where his parents were toasting the holiday. The girl frowned and said, "Why aren't you at the party?"
"I'm not allowed. I didn't want to go anyway. It's dumb," he sniffed and pretended not to care. Krissy looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to him with a wide grin.
The pair spent the next two hours chatting about all sorts of, in Erik's opinion, inane topics—but he found himself enjoying every minute of it. He had never had a friend before and had no idea what such a thing would entail, but he listened attentively while Krissy rattled on about her favorite movie (Beauty and the Beast—"Because Belle looks like my mommy did!"), her favorite doll (fairy princess Barbie), her favorite animal (ponies), on and on.
To Erik's surprise, it took nearly an hour for the topic of his face to come up. Krissy had just finished delivering a rambling synopsis of the new Smurfs Christmas special when she asked tentatively, "Um. By the way, why do you wear that thing on your face?" Erik cringed inwardly. At last, the chance to make a real-life friend, and as usual, his appearance was at risk of spoiling it all. "I look... different, underneath it," he reluctantly stammered. Krissy's brow furrowed. "Different how?"
Erik thought for a moment. How to describe his face, indeed; throughout his life, adults had described it as anything ranging from "unfortunate" (the preferred euphemism of the well-meaning pediatrician) to such choice words as "repulsive," "freakish," and "monstrous" (in the late-night conversations of his parents, which he often eavesdropped on). But none of these adjectives described him as he really was on the inside, he thought, and the last thing he wanted to do was make this strange chatterbox of a little girl conclude that he was unfit as a friend.
He hesitated and quickly choked out, "It's deformed." She looked at him blankly. He sighed and explained. "Things aren't in the right place. My nose, and my mouth, my skin. It's all just... wrong." He began to hold back tears of his own, waiting for her response, waiting for the familiar look of disgust to cross her face.
Instead, to his shock, she reached out slowly, touching the smooth fabric covering his forehead. He shuddered; he could not remember anyone having ever touched his face, mask or no mask. Krissy delicately trailed her little fingers first down one sunken cheek and then the other, moving on to gently pat the flat cavity of his nose. Erik leaned into her soft, innocent exploration, in awe and wonder that anyone would ever willingly touch his pathetic face.
At last, she pulled back and beamed at him. "Your face...it's like my mommy's was, right before she went to heaven. She was sick. And then got really, really skinny..." The girl paused, lost in the memory of her mother. After a beat she continued: "But she never stopped being my mommy. My mommy was really nice, no matter what she looked like! And you're really nice too, even if your face is different."
Erik could fight it no longer and began to sob quietly, curling into himself. For several minutes, the young boy cried, crying for his new friend, crying for her mother, and crying for himself, the little girl all the while patting him softly on the back. His tears finally subsided.
Krissy gave him a sheepish smile. "Feel better?" Although she couldn't see his lips, she could see the smile lighting up his eyes through the holes in the mask as he nodded.
The pair fell into a quiet, companionable silence. Eventually, the guests below began to leave, Ralph began to whine for one last Christmas cookie, and finally they heard a frantic man's voice calling, "Krissy? Krissy? Has anyone seen my daughter?"
The girl stood up. "That's my daddy. I think I have to go." Erik nodded and walked her to the top of the stairs. Both children suddenly became shy.
"Well. Merry Christmas." Erik cleared his throat. "I had fun," he said quietly. Krissy beamed at him and, to his surprise, threw her arms around him in a hug that only came up to his waist (being quite a bit taller than her). "Merry Christmas, Erik!" She skipped down the stairs, and peering down from the bannister again, he saw her run to the arms of her frantic father.
He returned to his room, stifling a yawn as he put on his pajamas. He had never had a hug before, but he decided he rather liked it; he fell asleep replaying it in his mind.