HAPPY HALF-CHRISTMAS

HAPPY HALF-CHRISTMAS!!!!!!

I might be a day late, I'm not sure, but what the hey! :) I had already written a Christmas story, but then I realized that today-ish is the halfway point in the year with Christmas, and I decided to put it up now. In the very likely event that you find a grammar error, see the apology listed at the bottom of the post. Enjoy!!! :)

Gitano sneezed as a snowflake settled on his nose, sending it flurrying into the swirling wind again. He watched for a moment as it vanished into the soon-to-be blizzard, then returned his attention to the town square in Florence before him.

Every inch of the square was packed. Italians bustled to and fro busily, buying last-minute gifts for friends and family. The thirteen-year-old Gitano felt a little flutter inside of him; whenever he saw people so happy, his mood always seemed to brighten.

 The cheerful quiver in his stomach disappeared, however, when he remembered what he was set out to do. His smile dimming slightly, he approached a youngish man standing nearby, shivering a bit in the cold.

 “Excuse me, Signor; I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but do you have any spare money on you that you’d consider donating?” he inquired, tilting his head slightly. He felt bad imposing on this nice man’s night, and another flutter of stifled emotion rippled through his middle; this one was more of a depressed feeling than the previous, however. Gitano absolutely hated begging for money.

 The man standing before him looked up from the book he had been inspecting, no doubt pondering whether or not it would make a good present for a loved one. He straightened up, revealing his entire astounding height, which Gitano estimated to be at least 182 centimeters, and offered Gitano a hesitant smile.

 “Oh…I don’t have much on me, only eight euros,” he replied apologetically. “I was going to get this book, but it’s € 8 exactly. I’m sorry…”

 Gitano shook his head briskly, denying his disappointment access to his emotions. He flashed an entirely false grin at the man. “It’s alright, Signor… I can understand. Thank you for your time. Buon Natale!” With that, he waved and started off in the direction he'd arrived from.

 “Wait…Aren’t you going to ask anyone else?” the man called through the rapidly intensifying howling wind.

 Gitano turned to face him again, shaking his head. “No, Signor. I don’t want to disrupt anyone else’s Christmas Eve. I already feel bad enough for interfering with your night.”

 “Che? What are you talking about?” the man questioned, sounding surprised. “You aren’t interfering, I was barely doing anything. In fact,” he turned toward the booth and placed the book he was contemplating down, causing the booth manager to grumble, “I’ve decided not to get the book. You can have my eight euros.”
 
 Gitano’s eyes widened in surprise, and he shook his head in denial. “No, really, I don’t want to keep you from buying someone’s Christmas present. R-really, it's fine, I’m not that hungry…”

  Oops.

  Whatever guilty hope Gitano had had of persuading the man to keep the money vanished with that revelation. The man's brow furrowed, and he seemed to register exactly why Gitano had wanted money. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” he murmured.

 “No, no, really, keep it—” Gitano was cut off as the eight euros were shoved into his numb, gloveless hands.

 The man offered a hint of a sad smile and murmured, “I didn’t realize you needed the money for food. Keep it. Please.”

 Seeing with satisfaction that Gitano had ceased to protest, the man backed away. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

 Gitano bit his lip to keep himself from stuttering, feeling sure that he'd ruined the kind man's entire remainder of the day. However, Gitano did need the money and the man wasn't accepting any objections. “Thank you so much, Signor…I-if you want payment in any way—”

 The man cut him off. “No. No, there’s no need to repay me. Just go buy yourself a nice warm bowl of pasta and enjoy.”

 Gitano nodded animatedly, blubbering out his thanks again before bounding off toward the nearest food booth. He felt as if his heart were soaring; never before had someone donated so much money without Gitano begging, much less refusing.

 He skipped toward the pasta store, beaming, and announced, “Ciao, Signor Valle, could I please have some—”

 “Oh, no, not you again!” groaned the booth manager. “I thought I’d taught you to stay away from my store years ago! You’re driving away customers!”

 “B-but, Signor, I can pay—”

 “With what? Stolen money? Get out!”

 “I-I didn’t—”

Furiously, the manager growled. He slid out from behind his booth and grabbed Gitano by the ear. “I thought you’d stay away after what happened last time you tried to ‘buy’ something. Come on!” He pulled Gitano’s ear, dragging him along into a deserted alleyway.

 “Give me the money.”

 Gitano shook his head, shocked, and held his fist containing the money closer. “No! Arresto! It’s my money! You can’t just steal it!”
 
 “I can’t steal what’s been stolen in the first place. Now give it here!”

 Tears welling up again, Gitano unwillingly opened his fist, wincing as the precious money was snatched away.

 “Now stay away from my business, or I’ll call the poliziotti. Got it, rifiuiti?”

 Gitano whimpered and nodded.

 “Good. Now out!!”
 
 Gitano backed away, trembling, and stumbled away. He sped away from the square abuzz with people that had once comforted him. He raced back towards the slum part of central Florence, fueled by his misery.

 Finally, he reached the little nook where he’d been staying recently. Ignoring the protestant squeaks of the rats who roomed with him, he curled up in a ball as far away from light as he could, and succumbed to the tears.

 He cried. He cried for his family lost, all either starved or murdered by mafia. He cried for his loneliness, for never having known love of any kind. He cried for the blessing lost, for losing what would have been his first meal in three days.

 He cried until there were no more tears left to cry, at which point he just lay there, rocking gently and shivering in the blistering cold. He lay there until a familiar mew brought him out of his oblivion.

 “Pookie?” he whispered. A paw prodded him in reply(claws sheathed, of course).

Reluctantly, he uncurled himself from his little ball, welcoming the warmth as the cat claimed his lap. Managing a smile, he stroked her.

 “Pookie, why do bad things always happen to me?” he murmured, caressing her ears. Amazingly, his voice didn’t crack with emotion. “My parents are dead, I’ve never had someone to lean on, and now I’m slowly starving. Am I doing something wrong? Is God punishing me for something I did? I’ve always tried to be so good, even though it’s been hard. Like, that time when I asked twice for money from that man. He told me that I was an annoying, worthless street urchin and that I’d ruined his day. Ever since then, I’ve tried not to ask for anything from random people, unless I really need it. I just told myself that it was selfish to be okay with ruining someone’s day just because I’m a little hungry.

 “Today, a wonderful man gave me eight whole euros when I asked. I don't think I've ever seen so much money at one time! That’s enough money to buy me food for a week, if I plan it right! But then, when I went to go buy the food, Signor Valle took it away, because he didn’t believe that I’d got it from honest means. Now, for the third night in a row, I’ll go to sleep hungry. Am I being punished because I asked for help? Am I supposed to stay away from others altogether? What am I doing wrong?” And with that, his voice broke, and the tears ran anew. Pookie flitted her ears in frustration as water dribbled onto her head.

 A noise from around the corner startled Gitano, who jumped and almost flung Pookie from his lap.

 “H-hello?” he ventured.

 A man stepped into view, his eyes filled with sympathy and emotion. It was the same man who had given his eight euros for Gitano’s meal.

 Shocked, Gitano scrambled to his feet. “S-Signor, what are you —?!! I-I mean — er, not that I…”

 The man gripped him by the shoulders. Gitano could see a dim light glinting off of the tears that coated his face. “Listen, figlio. I know this may sound strange and abrupt, considering I just met you, but…would you like to stay at my place for a while? I’ll give you a job cleaning and cooking, and I can pay with food and bed, but not really much more besides that…”

 Gitano’s eyes widened, and he distantly felt his jaw drop. What? Was the cold finally getting to Gitano’s mind, after all these years? Was he going insane and this man was, in actuality, a mere figment of his imagination?

 Pushing away these depressing thoughts, Gitano emitted a sort of half-squeal. His savior, who suddenly looked uncomfortable, removed his hands from Gitano’s shoulders and amended, “Of course, this is just a proposition. If you’re not comfortable livi—oof…”

 He was cut short as Gitano bowled into him, grabbing his thick overcoat and burying his face in it, hiding away the swiftly freezing tears that streaked his face. The man tensed, then gradually slipped his arms around Gitano in comfort and happiness.

 Gitano’s rapid chokes and sobs, substitutes for breathing, all at once transformed into wheezes. He was forced to pull away from his savior’s embrace as his breath caught and his lungs denied him oxygen. Gitano began to panic. Just as his vision began to blur, something clicked inside him again and his breathing returned to normal.

 He smiled apologetically at the very concerned-looking man standing over him, explaining with a hoarse voice, “Asthma. Serious.”

 The man’s eyes widened, and he exclaimed, “How long have you been suffering from it?”

Gitano opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by another bout of wheezing as his lungs constricted once again.

 The man shook his head in astonishment. Suddenly, he picked Gitano up and carried him toward a slightly run-down truck nearby, unlocking it on the go. Gitano assumed the man had followed him in it.

 Gitano’s rescuer gently placed him in the passenger’s seat, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. Pookie leapt in after him and immediately made herself comfortable underneath the backseat.

 Once Gitano was comfortably seated and his breathing trouble had diminished slightly, the man inquired, “Do you have any possessions that you want me to go collect for you?”

 Gitano shook his head no, refraining from speaking lest his breath caught again, and the other sat beside him in the driver’s seat.

 Gitano had never been in a car before, to the best of his knowledge, so when the motor suddenly roared to life and the entire vehicle began trembling, he jumped in time with Pookie’s indignant yowl. Immediately, he froze, barely daring to breath in fear that his asthma had acted up again, but relaxed when he found he was able to breathe. The man beside him gave him one last wary look and pressed his foot to the petal, slowly guiding the truck out of the narrow streets of the slums and back toward the middle-class homes.

 The rumbling hum of the car calmed Gitano, and he leaned his head against the window, feeling the vibrations emanate through his cheek and throughout his body. He watched the swirling snow outside, glad to be rid of the outdoors for the first time in a long, long time.

 A thought suddenly occurred to Gitano, and he looked up. "S-Signor?" he voiced quietly, looking over at the man to his right. "Who were you going to buy the book for?"

 The man didn't reply right away. When he did, he said, "No one. I have no family, and I just moved here recently so I have no friends. There was no one for me to celebrate Christmas with this year. I didn't need the book, I had just been looking for a hardback copy for a while and was reluctant to give away my money because I thought you only needed some extra cash to buy your girlfriend a present or something of that nature. I hadn't even considered that you needed it much, much more than I did."

 Gitano pondered this. All the people who had called him an annoying brat…Had they thought he simply wanted some extra resources too? Had all his years of going hungry for the sake of being polite been for nothing?

 The two lapsed into silence once again, each of them alone with their own thoughts. Very soon, the car stopped. Gitano opened his eyes, realizing he’d closed them, and glanced around at his surroundings. Giant homes that consisted of more than two rooms encompassed him; some even had a second floor or a garage, or even, in the case of a few rarities, both. Gitano was aware of his eyes growing ever bigger; he was eager to explore this new world, but yet he felt reluctance to leave the warmth of the truck.

 The driver seat’s door slammed shut beside Gitano, making him jump again, and after a moment the man who had rescued Gitano opened the door for him, offering his hand for support.

 Gitano smiled weakly, still finding it hard to take in such a big change. He took the offered hand and exited the warm car, calling Pookie after him, and made his way toward the house in front of him.

 Suddenly, Gitano stopped. “Signor…I just realized, I don’t know your name. Como si chiama?”

 His eyes flickering toward Gitano gently, the man smiled. “I am  called Lazzaro.”

 Gitano smiled. Lazzaro means Help…A coincidence? “My name is Benito, meaning Blessed, but its truth doesn't apply to me, so I’ve called myself Gitano, Wanderer, instead. It seemed to apply to me more.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Until today. I think…I think I’ll start going by Benito again now.”

 Benito wasn’t sure, but in the rapidly fading daylight, he could’ve sworn a hint of a satisfied smile crossed Lazzaro’s face.

Huh....so much for a short story. Anyway, this was written very VERY late, so it may have quite a few grammar errors. I'll edit in the morning, probably. In any case, I hope you liked it!!

By the way, eight euros is about equal to 10 dollars. Just so you know.