The gift of words from a trickster elf
It was a few days before the winter school break. Our new teacher, Ms. Cynthia May Balls, announced to our rowdy class: “We will soon find out who won the Christmas story contest.”
Ms. Balls lifted a large red box decorated in Christmas bows. Students had dropped in their names. She cracked open a sliver and lifted out a tiny, folded paper. The name would be the winner.
“Julian is the winner!” “What?” I said, aghast. “I haven’t even finished my story.” “Where is your story, Julian?” “Oh, it’s at home. I forgot it, Ms. Balls.”
I felt ashamed; my stomach knotted and sweat moistened my forehead. My Christmas spirit shriveled like that of Scrooge. I didn’t look at my teacher or my classmates. She didn’t know it yet, but these kids were hecklers and bullies who enjoyed humiliating students who loved reading. My anxiety and pain dissolved into nausea. The bell rang and the students ran out like billy goats.
“I know you’ll bring your story tomorrow,” Ms. Balls said, smiling.
Her blue eyes showed compassion for the seasonal migrant students. How could she know the gantlet of fisticuffs awaiting me down a dusty callejon (alley) near Tampico Street? Feuds were settled before Christmas break, yet it was finishing the story that most horrified me.
On the way home, a miracle happened.
This kid named Pepito tagged along. I’d heard of him. But what I heard was nothing good. He was a jokester. A naughty trickster. He
was a mischievous pachuco ( juvenile) known for his jokes and pranks, but kids held him as their hero.
He had an impish face, but he was tiny — with pointed ears that stuck out. His height came up between my knees and shoes.
He said, “Let me help you bring joy and merriment this Christmas and the vatos will see you as king.”
Then, Pepito disappeared like magic dust.
I sat at the kitchen table that evening and lit the kerosene lamp my grandmother kept from our migrant days. My trembling yellow pencil guided me as the spirit of Pepito moved my hand. I wrote whatever came to my head, with Pepito’s shrilly voice saying,
“Make it funny.”
The next day, when Ms. Balls asked if I was ready, I stood and read my story aloud, telling them about this 4-year-old Pepito elf who came through a busted window screen.
Pepito asked, “You wanna see Santa Claus, Rudolph,the reindeer, the elves?”
“Simòn Chapetito” (Of course, little chap).
I jumped up and down.
I snuck out through the torn window screen. Off we went, high above the night sky in a little red sleigh. When we got to the North Pole, Pepito dressed up as an elf. We wore protective masks because he said, “I got to give Rudolph and the reindeer some magic dust to travel far.”
Pepito took out a straw and a bag from his little pocket and blew magic dust on all the reindeer. Rudolph’s nose turned bright red, and Prancer and the rest of the reindeer were ready to go on their Christmas trip.
Before I knew it, I was back in my bed and sad. I didn’t get to see Santa or the elves. I didn’t get a gift that Christmas. And I never saw Pepito again. But I wish you all a Merry Christmas and Feliz Navidad!
The kids stomped their feet, clapped and cheered. Ms. Balls hugged me. Outside, the kids begged me to read the story again.