You called me a jerk, quite too many times to be considered friendly.
You did not hate me, but your sharp tongue always made me doubt my standing. You blamed your short temper and harsh words on your Hispanic genes; however, we all knew that that was no logical excuse.
But on Christmas of '99, you were especially in a mood more foul than ever. You hurled insults at whoever happened to pass by, regardless if they understood what you were saying in Spanish.
Your mood seemed to dampen when it was time to open our presents. The adults sat on the couches with mugs of hot cocoa in hand and we the kids encircled the Christmas tree, eager to tear into their presents.
As wrappers were tossed and cheers were heard, the pile of presents lessened until all that remained was an intriguing pile of Christmas stockings lying front and center of the tree.
Hushed whispers were exchanged before the first hand reached out to grab one. It was I who had dared to do so. Grimacing, I shook it lightly then emptied its contents on the floor.
Coal, it was filled with coal.
I grumbled in annoyance just as everyone else went to grab their own. Even Aunt Sophia, Aunt Katherine, and Mom had their own stockings, filled to the brim with dusty lumps of coal.
"Bloody hell, they're all filled with coal!"
"Who did that?"
"Whose idea was this? Harry, it's you isn't it?"
"No! I swear!"
The living room erupted in commotion; accusations were thrown at everyone and everything. Amidst the cacophony, I heard shrill, uncharacteristic laughter coming from the far end of the L-shaped couch. It was you, Aunt Rosetta, and you were kneeling from how hard you were laughing.
This bout of laughter could only but be deemed as guilty, yet I doubted you even felt that, because that was your idea of a joke. And me being an eight year old, I was infuriated that I did not get a present.
The adults soon joined in and laughed alongside you. Harry and I, however, were anything but pleased.
In a fit of rage, I snatched a particularly large piece of coal and hurled it at you. Harry, who was two years younger than I was, soon followed.
Despite throwing the coal in spite, I never expected for it to really injure you. Your shrill laughter was abruptly replaced by a scream.
I've hit your eye.
Harry immediately dropped the piece of coal that was in hand and scampered away.
As the adults came to your aid, I couldn't but have felt guilt, yet with a slight twinge of pride, for I have give you, the insufferable Aunt Rosetta, a black eye.
And for that Aunt Rosetta, I am terribly sorry.
