The Star of Bethlehem by Anna Bores

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” (Matthew 19:24).

star.jpg

It sparkled like a thousand diamonds and a rainbow of colors illuminated from its gold surface.  Every second a new color would appear: violet, red, teal, green.  It stood atop a magnificent Christmas tree.  It was the most beautiful star I had ever seen.

It cost twenty dollars.

I put my hand up to the store window and shivered against its frigidity.  The glass seemed to laugh at me as I put my hand in my pocket.

Suddenly the door to the store jingled.  A father and son entered the store. The boy was handsome.  He had long golden curls and sparkling green eyes.  He looked about eleven - my age.  They leisurely walked into the store, for they did not seem very cold.  The boy ran straight toward an aisle with toys while the father walked to an aisle in the back.  He reached his long arm to the top shelf.  My eyes widened as I realized what he was reaching for: a star.  He was buying a star.

The father seemed to examine the star for a moment. I was again overwhelmed by its mesmerizing beauty.  I looked over at the boy to witness his excitement.  But it wasn’t there.  His eyes never parted from the dinky race car in his hand.  He was completely unaware of the beautiful gift in his father’s hand.  Wasn’t he grateful?  Wasn’t he happy?

My eyes were drawn away from the boy when the father told his son that it was time to leave.  The boy protested, and asked if he could have the car. When the father declined the boy stomped his foot and began to whine. Though he had appeared beautiful before, he looked hideous now.  His scowl made him look like a madman.  The father eventually gave in.  The boy again appeared as he had before, but I could not forget that horrible scowl.

The doors jingled while they left the store.  When they walked past me, I reached out my hand to beg for change.  They quickly walked past me, pretending not to notice.  I sighed and shoved my bony hands back into my sweater pocket.  As I began to walk away, the boy turned around.  He looked me up and down, at my ragged clothes and tangled hair.  He smiled.  It was the cruelest expression I had ever seen.  It was a smile of triumph, mocking, whining.  A smile he stole from me.  He turned back around and disappeared around the corner.

I turned around quickly and began to walk home, my face flaming hot with anger.  Why did that rich brat get to have that beautiful star?  He didn’t even appreciate it!  Why can’t I have a star?  Just one Christmas with a star on the tree so that it could all be real.  I let out an exasperated sigh.

Well screw him.  Screw that spray painted plastic star.  Let the rich boy have it.