The Matthew Who Stole Christmas

Who liked whom, was such an important facet of fifth grade. In fact, it might be the most defining characteristic of fifth grade, as I don’t recall learning anything other than the process of it all. The way we sat at lunch, huddled in groups, whispering, “who do you like?” whining, “please, come on, tell me. Please.” We sat on the steps of the play structure, trying to pry the hair color, height, class room number, grade. We bartered with the only thing we had worth trading, offering a, “come on, I’ll tell you who I like.” Hoping they would agree and then we would all know. Kendra liked Matthew F. and Matt L. liked Kaitlyn (who I know through the magic of Facebook, actually went to prom together). I liked many girls throughout fifth grade: Sabina, Haley, Leilah, Marissa. 

It is Monday and we all file into class dragging our feet, shoulders heavy from the burden of the weekend. The door opens and in the corner of the room, a regular Christmas miracle, completely adorned in baubles and lights, gleaming with the one magical thing fifth graders can cling to: a Christmas tree.

Matthew F. turns to me and whispers, “so what are you going to get Kasey for Christmas?”

“I dunno,” I reply, furiously drawing swords all over my notebook.

Matthew F. points across the room, “Kendra’s her best friend.”

I focus on finishing up a katana, “really?”

“Yeah,” he stares at Kendra, separated by a sea of desks. 

That day at lunch, I went up to Kendra, “hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she replied, moving the cafeteria food on her plate around in circles, avoiding eating the slope they feed us.

“So you and Kasey are friends?”

“Yup,” she opens her chocolate milk, while I eat the bread, the only edible thing on my plate.

“Do you know what she wants for Christmas?” I ask.

Kendra immediately puts her milk down. “Do you like her?”

I pause, look her in the eyes, “no.”

She takes a long slip of chocolate milk, as if she were shooting whiskey to steel her nerves, “Who do you like then?”

I stare at her milk carton, “I don’t like anyone.”

She places her elbow on the table and rests her chin on it, as if jacking The Thinkers’ swag, “I think you like Kasey.”

I lean across the table and hiss, “No, I don’t”

“Yes, you do,” she interjects.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine. I like her.”

“I knew it.”

“Do you know what she wants for Christmas?”

“I dunno. I can ask her,” she sips her milk slowly.

“Okie dokie,” I reply.

A few days later, Kendra came up to me after class and told me that Kasey wanted a laptop for Christmas. What kid didn’t want a laptop? The nineties were part of our lives and technology was growing more and more common. We played with laptops in computer class. We knew the magical practicality of portability and we all wanted it. We wanted to stuff those devices into our bags and bring them with us. Now, at home in a closet gathering dust, buried beneath an empty fish tank, old silver ware, and a box of 45s was my mother’s old laptop from college. She didn’t use it. Nobody did. It was a relic of a time long past.

“Kasey,” I said, one day after recess, I had been planning this moment for awhile, which in fifth grade is five days, I wore a polo shirt, instead of my normal Yu-Gi-Oh threads.

“Yup,” she had the cutest gap between her teeth.

“You wanted a laptop for Christmas?” I stayed cool.

“Yeah,” her bangs were cut straight across, and she was super cute, and Asian. (I had a thing for Asians in fifth grade.)

“There’s this laptop lying around in a closet and nobody uses it, so I wanted to give it to you,” I said, looking at the look, then glancing back at her tiny smile.

“Really?” She jumped up, smile broadening.

“Yup.”

She looked down at the ground, smile quickly fading, “My mom probably won’t want me to take it.”

“She wouldn’t have to know,” I advised Kasey.

“Yeah,” she brightened. “I guess I could just use it in the closet.”

Of course, just because it wasn’t being used, didn’t mean my mother would part with it. It just meant she wouldn’t notice. I immediately began planning the who, what, where, when, why, and how. I knew that my mother left for work early and my grandmother and I would be the only ones at home. This meant that I just had to wait until; my mother went to work to start my plan. The second issue was a logistical one. Back then, laptops were gigantic, this meant I could not fit the computer and it’s case into my normal backpack. However, the rolley bag that was uber cool in second grade was far larger and had the added benefit of keeping my load light.

On the last day of class, I rolled my back right up to Kasey, who was surrounded by her friends. I unzipped it, and yanked the heavy fabric wrapped device from the bag.

“For you madame, merry Christmas,” I said, with a bow, arm extended out like some Lifetime movie butler.

Her friends giggled.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, a Christmas miracle happened, she hugged me. Her warm soft arms squeezed me and I could smell her strawberry hair. She was soft and warm.

Her friends guffawed.

“What’s going on over here,” Mrs. Chang our fifth grade teacher asked, as she winked at me.

“Nothing,” I exclaimed quickly.

“Okay,” she said, and walked away. I had pulled off the perfect crime.

When I got home that afternoon, my grandmother was waiting for me. “Matthew,” she said. “There’s a message for you from one of your friend’s moms something about a laptop.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll listen to it.” I ran to the phone and immediately unplugged it, under the pretext of messages. I waited then plugged it back in, jolting it back to life, without any of the messages on its system.

I waited by the phone. And every time it rang, I hung that motherfucker up.

Of course, I forgot that the house had four different phones and my vigilant offensive only covered one handset. Kasey’s mom eventually got through and my grandmother gave her our address and she drove up to drop the computer off. My mother thanked her, as she drove off, “no problem,” Kasey’s mom said. “I knew exactly what it was when I saw the case. She really wanted one.”

The first question my mother asked me was, “do you like her?”

Then, “why did you do it?”

I looked my mother in the face and said, “mother, Haley and I needed to finish up a project and Haley wasn’t doing work in class, so I lent it to her so she could do her fair share. Then, she must have given it to Kasey.”

“I thought you said you guys finished your project last week,” my mother asked.

“No, mother, I finished my work,” I said. I thought about the brilliance of my plan and the single flaw. I forgot to tell Kasey to bring a big bag. But even then, if only her mother hadn’t told my mother, I would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for those meddling adults.