Christmas isnít white here, it never has been. Sometimes there is a dusting of gray over the grass, but never white. The houses, all exactly the same, are too close and the pavement is too common to have a white Christmas. Not that Iíve been outside my house much to see it, but I know what I see through my window and I know what I hear. I can see five houses to the right on my side of the street before it turns, and there are twelve to the left. I canít see much past the houses across the street, but I know there are mountains far off because I can see the hazy shapes they make at dusk.
I donít spend all my time looking out my window. If I did, Iím sure I would have a much stronger desire to venture outdoors. As it is, I mostly sit in my beanbag in the corner of my room to read books. I can go through a thousand pages in a day, and Iím proud of that. I donít talk much, and Iím not much good at it when I do. Words get jumbled up on my tongue; thatís why I read. Thereís not much else to do, and I rather enjoy it. Iíve made friends with a lot of the characters in my local library, Iíve even fallen in love with some. I can picture them all very clearly when they come to visit. I know theyíre not real, but I like to pretend they are. I like to pretend that someone loves me and that I have friends and that I can talk with them normally. I donít have to say things, I just think them and they know and it sounds just fine.
Ask me about a place that someone made up or about the ancient world and Iíll give you an answer longer than you mightíve liked, but I donít know much about whatís happening right now. I just know what my family talks about at dinner, and we donít eat together much. But thatís alright, because I like to eat with my friends more. Sometimes I wonder what my mom and dad think of me, and Iím pretty sure I confuse them. But thatís alright, because they donít think Iím crazy yet. If they did I would be seeing a shrink, and they would be wasting money. Because Iím not crazy. I know itís not real, but I like it better. I like it better than snow that looks like ash and far-off mountains and identical houses and no trees.