The snow was a flurry of white feathers, drifting down through the bitterly cold air. The flakes danced temptingly through beams of light from streetlights and store windows, settling on the concrete sidewalk and creating a blanket of white, a stark contrast to the darkness of the sky above. Few patrons walked the streets tonight, and those who did kept their heads down, impatient to return to their warm, cozy homes and get in out of the cold. None noticed the boy standing by the store window.
His clothes were torn and dirty. The snow settled on his small shoulders and chilled his thin frame, turning his lips blue and frosting the top of his head with a thin glaze of white. His unkempt hair hung in front of his eyes, which were far too aged and shadowed for such a small child. His face showed signs of his life; his cheekbones were prominent and his skin an unhealthy shade of grey. It was unclear whether or not he was sick or just malnourished, but whatever the case, the boy was not someone who belonged in the store he was watching so desperately.
Upon the fabric-draped displays sat rows of pairs of shoes. There was a wide variety inside the store, but the primary display was made of boots: leather-detailed ankle boots with long tied laces, high black fabric boots lined with expensive fox and rabbit fur, women's boots with small heels and soft exteriors, children's tiny boots in bright shades of red and blue... the boy looked at them all. The one pair he was truly gazing at, the ones he must have desperately wanted, however, were placed just to one side of the center of the display. They were calf-length and elegantly lined with a soft grey fur that, the boy was sure, would feel like a cloud to the touch. They were black and laced up the front, and he could hardly imagine how warm that lovely pair of shoes might be.
He briefly looked down at his own feet, to his beaten running shoes he'd had for years. His frostbitten toes stuck out the end and they were barely held together by a few threads. He had no choice; his mother could not afford enough food to properly feed him and his two sisters, much less think about footwear. Nonetheless, the boy dreamed.
He imagined himself in the clothes he saw other children wearing, with the energy to run through the soft snow and play with his dream friends. He imagined not being cold all the time, eating good food and drinking hot soup, having a heated home to go to with two loving, well-fed parents to love him...
He shook his head. It was no use dreaming of what he couldn't have, he reminded himself. As he raised his hands to rub them together, he suddenly remembered the discovery he'd made not an hour ago.
Lifting his pale, numb hands, he looked at the scrap of paper he clutched tightly in his right fist. It was a five-dollar bill; a small fortune, he thought. He knew he should give it to his mother so she could feed them a little better than usual, but he couldn't help himself. He knew that it was the twenty-fourth of December. He knew what day it was tomorrow, and with this money, he was going to buy those boots.
Trembling both from cold and nervousness, the boy pushed open the shop door and stepped inside the warm room. The lone cashier, almost finished her shift, looked up and was immediately concerned. What was this tiny boy doing out so late on Christmas Eve, and why wasn't he wearing better clothes? Curbing her concern, the cashier straightened her posture and asked, "How can I help you?"
"I want those boots," the boy said, pointing one shivering finger toward the pair.
A small crease formed between the cashier's eyebrows, and she pushed her glasses up. She doubted the boy could afford anything in the store, but it couldn't hurt to let him take a look. Directed by the boy as to which pair he wanted, she retrieved the boots and set them on the counter. His eyes were wide and innocent as he looked up at them, admiring the wealth that seemed so resplendent in this pair of shoes. Standing on tiptoe, he reached out and dropped the grubby, scrunched bill onto the counter.
The cashier picked it up and looked at it, then set it down and lifted the price tag on the boots. The numbers were clear: $149.99.
"How much are they?" the boy asked, suddenly concerned he didn't have enough. He shook his hair away from his gaunt face and watched the young lady anxiously.
She hesitated for a moment before replying. "Five dollars."
The boy's grin lit up his face. His eyes brightened, and for a moment the cashier could see past the poverty to the bright, sweet boy he would have been without this bad luck. She added the bill to the register, handed the boy his receipt (which he looked at with confusion and wonder, having never seen one before) and reminded herself to add a hundred and forty-five dollars to the cash register once the boy was gone.
"Would you like me to wrap them up for you?" she asked him. He nodded enthusiastically, not quite knowing what this meant, and she neatly packed the boots in their box and wrapped them in bright paper. The boy had never seen anything so wonderful.
"Thank you," he said earnestly, taking the box when she handed it to him. He nearly staggered under the weight in his thin arms, but he held onto it.
She smiled warmly at him. "You're very welcome."
As he left the store, still smiling broadly, he reflected on how his mother would soon be receiving the first true present he'd ever given her, and on how from tomorrow on, she would be able to have warm feet while she watched him and his sisters briefly playing in the snow on Christmas morning.