As the blustery day wore on， the little girl played in the backseat with her blanket， handmade clown doll， and a green， plastic jump rope with missing handles. Sitting on the edge of the Ford’s tattered backseat， she’d drop the rope down a rust hole in the floor right beneath her feet. With a little help from her fingers， she had made the hole big enough so that she could watch the rope dance as its end hit the road flashing by. It kept her quiet for hours.
As day rolled into stormy night， her stomach tied into a tighter and tighter knot. Christmas would be here in no time， and they had no tree， no fireplace， and no place to stay so Santa could find her. Yet， she remained silent. Words were of no help when Daddy was involved.
As night fell， they pulled into a small diner for dinner. They ordered two of the“specials，” which， in honor of the holiday， consisted of sliced turkey， dressing， and mashed potatoes and gravy. Everything tasted so good to her. She even got to share a piece of pumpkin pie with Mommy and Daddy. Maybe Christmas Eve on the road wasn’t so bad after all. At least they were together.
It was late by the time they’d finished dinner， washed up in the bathroom， and hit the road again. The tired child lay down on the backseat， curled up under her thin， blue blanket， and imagined the Christmas they would have next year. She pictured a big home with enough rooms so that everyone had their own special place. She saw a big Christmas tree sparkling with hundreds of green， yellow， red， and blue lights. Silver tinsel hung from every branch. Popcorn and paper chains encircled its limbs. Under the tree sat dozens of brightly colored packages， many of them with her name on them. In her mind she opened the biggest package and out popped a three-foot panda. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and a tear on her cheek.
Morning seemed to come early， and they were still driving. When she woke up， she felt the chill of the icy outside air as it poured in from the hole in the floor and the leaky windows. She wrapped the blanket closer around her shoulders， sat up， and crossed her legs under her to keep her feet warm. After yawning and wiping the sleep from her eyes， she turned to look out the window.
There by her side lay a brand-new Mickey Mouse coloring book， and a box of crayons. She picked up the toys without a word and just stared at them for a while.
“Mommy，”she finally said in a whisper.
“Yes，”her mom whispered back.
“Where did these toys come from？”
“Santa brought them，”she said.
“But how？”
“Santa always finds good little girls and boys even when they’re a long way from anywhere.”
The little girl sat back in the seat and played quietly for hours with her new toys.
That little girl was me， and I found out many years later that my mom and dad had stopped at a convenience store and used their last two dollars to buy those toys. What should have been the worst Christmas of my life turned out to be the best Christmas， because my parents gave me more than toys. They gave me a belief in miracles.
七岁的小女孩安静地坐在一栋灰旧的综合公寓楼的楼梯上，等着爸爸妈妈下来把最后几件东西放进他们那残旧的福特车里。她用又脏又破烂的蓝色毛毯裹住肩膀，然后把她那漂亮的小丑玩偶抱在怀里。她深深地吸了一口气，发出一声叹息，看着自己温热的呼吸在清晨的空气中化成结晶。
又要上路了，她想。再次踏上不知通往何处的旅途。
当看到父母只带着几件物件匆忙走下楼梯时，她明亮的蓝眼睛一下子沉了下来。
“毛毛泰迪先生去哪儿了？”她问。
妈妈没有说话，只是温柔地把小女孩领到车子后座。孩子双手交叉坐着，她知道又一件玩具被落下了，因为“没有地方”放它。这句话她已经听过无数次了，她也不明白自己为什么还要问这个问题。上一次他们搬家的时候，她最喜欢的洋娃娃被落下了。再上一次是她的4英尺长、身上有彩虹斑点的绿蛇。
每次当某样东西被落下，那感觉就像她的心被一把锋利的切肉刀割下了一块。因为她是独生女，又没有朋友，所以那些玩具就是她的伙伴。失去它们让她很伤心，但她仍然默默地忍受着。因为如果她有所怨言，爸爸会很难受，只会比平常更加沉默。
他们驾车离开的时候，小女孩望着车窗外红绿相间的彩灯，一颗咸咸的泪珠从她胖乎乎的粉嫩脸颊上滴了下来。今天是平安夜，可他们又要上路了。她原本以为今年他们会过上一个“真正的”圣诞节。妈妈和她在家里摆放了一棵在田地里找到的小树，她还帮忙用爆米花和纸星星装饰它，她们甚至还在其中一根树枝上挂了一个小稻草耶稣娃娃。
现在，他们离圣诞节越来越远了。她不知道他们要去哪里，只知道他们朝着加利福尼亚的方向驶去。每当钱快用完的时候，他们总会去加利福尼亚。爸爸在那里有一个姐姐，她总会“借”钱给爸爸，并让他们住上几天，直到爸爸“恢复过来”。
窗外狂风怒号，白天渐渐消逝。小女孩在后座玩弄着毛毯、手制小丑玩偶，以及一条没了手柄的绿色塑胶跳绳。她坐在福特车破烂的后座边缘，把绳子垂到脚下车底座一个生锈的洞里。她用手指弄出了一个洞，当绳子末端跌跌撞撞地碰到路面的时候，她就可以透过那个洞看绳子跳舞。她就这样静静地看了几个小时。
白天渐渐转为风雨交加的夜晚，她的肚子也开始不停地打鼓。圣诞节很快就要带来，但他们没有圣诞树，没有壁炉，更没有一个让圣诞老人可以找到她的地方。可是，她依然没有说什么。当爸爸陷入困境的时候，话语并没有帮助。
夜幕降临，一家人在路边一家小餐馆停下来用餐。他们点了两份“特别套餐”——由于是节日，套餐包括火鸡切片、调味酱和肉汁土豆泥。她觉得每道菜都是那么可口，她甚至和爸爸妈妈分享了一块南瓜馅饼。也许在路上过平安夜并不是那么糟，至少一家人在一起。
他们吃完饭，在浴室洗过澡，又重新上路，这时已经很晚了。疲惫的孩子在后座躺下，蜷缩在薄薄的蓝色毛毯下，想象着明年的圣诞节。她脑海里浮现出这样一幅画面：他们住在一间很大的屋子里，每个人都有自己的地方。高大的圣诞树上闪烁着无数彩灯，绿的、黄的、红的、蓝的。整棵树都挂满银色的闪光片，爆米花和纸片绕满了树干。圣诞树下是一大堆五颜六色的包裹，其中很多都写着她的名字。她在脑中想象自己打开了最大的那个包裹，里面弹出一个3英尺高的熊猫。她睡着了，脸上带着一丝微笑，脸颊挂着一滴泪水。
早晨似乎来得特别早，而他们仍然在路上行驶着。她醒了，感觉到外面冰冷的空气从地板上的洞，还有漏风的车窗透进来。她用毛毯把肩膀裹得更紧，坐了起来，盘起腿，好让两脚暖和一些。她打打呵欠，揉了揉惺忪的睡眼，然后望向窗外。
在她身旁，放着一本全新的米奇老鼠填色本，还有一盒彩色蜡笔。她一声不吭地拿起这些玩具，看了它们好一段时间。
“妈妈，”她终于轻声说道。
“什么？”妈妈也轻声地回答。
“这些玩具是从哪儿来的？”
“圣诞老人带来的，”她说。
“但是现在怎么送来的？”
“即使那些乖孩子在路上，圣诞老人还是能找到他们。”
小女孩坐回到座位上，静静地玩着她的新玩具，足足玩了几个小时。
那个小女孩就是我。许多年以后，我才知道那天爸爸妈妈在一家便利店旁停下，用他们最后的两美元买了那些玩具。那天原本是我一生中最糟糕的圣诞节，但我的父母却把它变成最可贵的一个圣诞节，因为他们给予我的远远不止那些玩具，他们让我相信奇迹会出现。
A Christmas Story
圣诞节的故事
Year after year my brothers， sister and I would wait anxiously on Christmas morning to hear my father’s voice saying it was all right to come down. Usually I was the first one awake. I can remember Christmas since I was probably 6 or 7. I remember every year， starting at Thanksgiving， my growing eager for the season.
Even now as I look through the boxes of Christmas decorations， I see the same familiar ones： the ornaments with our birth years on them， our five stockings， four for the kids， one for the dog， and my father’s “Winter village that is set up on the mantle every year. It used to be easy for us to decide when to put up the decorations. But now that we all have jobs and social lives， it is usually a rushed activity. I’m still not sure what year our annual watching of White Christmas ended.
