20. Jude
I woke up Christmas morning in my quiet, empty room and looked to the square my bedroom window overlooked.
Every day since coming here, these three boys came out at six o’clock exactly with a soccer ball.
They’d run laps around the block before running ball handling drills up and down the dead-end street.
At first, it was fun to watch them play a sport I used to love. But the more I watched, the more I noticed. Their clothes were worn, holes showing in some areas despite the cold weather.
Their soccer balls were battered and constantly required airing up.
Even the street wasn’t conducive to their practice, with several potholes they had to dodge around, slowing them down.
This morning, as the clock struck six, I watched.
The first boy, tall and lanky with sallow skin and shaggy light-brown hair, picked up the mesh bag of soccer balls, eyeing it skeptically.
Another boy with a swarthy complexion and dark curly hair appeared in the square, speaking to the first. The first boy shrugged.
When the third boy, pale and sturdy, came, they gestured to the bag and at him.
They all looked at each other, confused, before finding the note.
The first boy read it and passed it around. They stared at each other in awe, then looked around like they might be able to see the person who gifted them a bag full of gleaming black-and-white practice balls.
At the bottom of the bag, they found more. Shin guards and socks and cleats in their sizes, along with winter athletic gear.
Giddy, they put everything on and then started running their drills. The dark-skinned boy stopped in front of the spot where a pothole used to be and pointed at it.
They paused, surrounding the use-to-be hole. One of them pointed at the sky. Another made the sign of the cross.
I smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like weeks. Maybe it had been that long.
My dad came into my safe house room without knocking, and I looked back from my desk to see him fully dressed in business professional attire. A thick woolen trench coat covered most of the ensemble.
“The threat’s been neutralized,” he said. “Time to go home. We leave in ten minutes.”
He closed the door, and I looked back out the window where the boys were practicing again.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
No one replied.