As the days pass, I rarely ever leave the house. I spend the weekend alone in my room, either in bed or up listening to the radio.
December 24th slowly arrives, and my mom comes knocking at my door early in the evening.
"Daniel!" she calls out.
"Not now, Mom," I yell back, lying lazily on my bed.
"Daniel," my mom begins excitedly, "Grandma and Grandpa have just arrived at our door. Get dressed, quickly, so you can greet them!"
Grandma and Grandpa? Oh, that's right... Today's Hanukkah. With everything that's been going on lately, I've surely forgotten.
I immediately get out from under my covers, change into my finest clothes, and shortly meet my mom by the front door. She tightens my shirt and brushes off any specks of dust that may have been on it, ensuring I look absolutely perfect for my grandparents to see.
My mom then does the same to herself, and, with one final breath of confidence, begins to open the door.
"Mother!" she exclaims, hugging my grandmother.
"Marianna!" my grandmother calls my mom in delight, hugging her back.
"Father!" my mom says, smiling warmly at my grandfather. "Come in! Come in!"
As my mom leads them into our house, she offers to take their hats and coats as they turn to me.
"Daniel!" my grandmother shouts in excitement as she runs toward me and begins pinching my cheeks.
"Hi, Grandma," I say, very unenthused.
"My, I dare say you are starting to grow some fuzz on your upper lip!" my grandmother proclaims.
I awkwardly laugh. "I guess."
"Here," she begins, taking a butter knife out of her purse, "I know just the thing that can help."
I dart back at the sight of the knife.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! I'm fine, honest!" I reassure her.
"Oh, stop acting like that," Grandmother persists. "It'll only be a quick trim."
My grandfather notices the horror on my face and says, "Well, if the boy says he's fine—"
"Silence, Bernald!" Grandmother shouts, clearly annoyed.
"Y-yes, dear," Grandfather mumbles as he humbly steps back like a scared little puppy.
Mom walks into the room in the nick of time to save me from Grandmother.
"I doubt this will be necessary," she says nervously, laughing as she takes the butter knife out of Grandmother's hand.
"Hmph!" Grandmother grumbles.
"You always do this when I want to spend quality time with my grandson! If it's not enough that I have to wait once a year to even look upon this boy's face, you have to intervene every time I breathe a word to him!"
"Mother!" my mom calls out. "You know very well that's not true! I've invited you countless times to come visit us over the weekend, and you always decline!"
"You expect me to spend all of my wealth on visits to Poland in a time of war, when you and Daniel could simply move in with your father and me in Switzerland!"
"Mother," my mom begins, "We've been through this time and time again. Poland is our home, Daniel is going to be raised here, and that's final!"
Grandmother lets out a smug smile.
"Fine. But you had better not come running to me when you are sent to the ghetto!"
The room falls silent.
Suddenly, my mom marches back into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner, and my grandmother mutters something under her breath, more than likely directed toward my mother.
After a while, Mom calls from the dining room, "Dinner's ready!"
As my grandparents and I enter and seat ourselves, my grandmother scoffs and says, "You can hardly call this Hanukkah dinner! Where's the sufganiyot and briskets? Daniel won't get by on just that on his plate! He's a growing boy, after all!"
—Please, please, please don't constantly bring me into the center of attention.
"I'm fine, Grandma, really," I tell her.
"Hush, dear, you shouldn't have to tolerate this kind of neglect in the presence of your mother; she should be ashamed of herself!"
"Well," my mother begins, losing her patience, "If you had lent us some more money, I may have been able to cook a proper feast!"
"Lend you some more money!" Grandmother squeaks. "Bah! I pay for your rent, your bills, your clothing, and this is the thanks I get? You would be living on the streets if it weren't for me!"
"Oh, don't you get it through your head that I owe you something!" Mom yells.
"Don't you use that tone on me, little girl!" Grandmother hisses.
"ENOUGH!!" I shout as I rise from my seat.
"This is supposed to be a day of miracles! A day in which we celebrate with our loved ones the resilience and bravery of our ancestors against the very people who tried to erase us! If we are to turn on each other now, it is merely guaranteeing the Nazis' hold over us."
"Daniel!" my mother snaps. "You apologize to your grandparents this very instant!"
"What—?!" I cry out in disbelief. "B-but I was just—"
"No excuses! Apologize now!"
I groan. "I'm sorry, grandparents."
"Now," my mom begins, "Sit down and eat your meal!"
Throughout dinner, Grandpa seems disturbingly quiet, almost as if he has been traumatized by the many long years living with Grandma to ever dare say anything in her presence. I don't blame him.
As night approaches, we all gather around the nine-branched candelabra that holds the unlit candles.
"Father," my mom begins, "We would all be blessed if you took on the honor of lighting the candles this year."
As Grandpa starts to get excited, Grandma turns to me and says, "No. Daniel shall light them this year."
I give a nervous look.
"Mother, he's only thirteen. He could still hurt himself without proper guidance!"
"Then we shall give it!" grandmother says, raising her voice.
"You've been holding the boy back long enough, Marianna, but with me here, you have no power over him."
"W-well, if the boy doesn't want to—" Grandpa anxiously begins.
"Silence, Bernald!" Grandma barks.
"Y-yes, dear." Grandpa humbly steps back.
Grandma walks closer to me, lights a match, and hands me the flame for the very first time.
Everyone glances at me, though I haven't the slightest idea what to do. I look over at my mother, who I know wishes to intervene, but remains silent because of my grandma's evil stare.
I take a deep breath and walk over to the candelabra, where my grandmother guides me, instructing me to slowly light each candle with care, starting with the shamash, the helper candle, then reciting the necessary blessings before lighting the others.
Normally, Hanukkah lasts for eight days, but since my grandparents live so far away and do not wish to spend any more time in Poland than necessary, we've always shortened it to one long night.
I begin:
"Blessed are you, Our God, Ruler of the Universe, who makes us holy through Your commandments, and commands us to light the Hanukkah lights."
As I feel myself trembling, I start to light each candle, each secret I've been hiding within myself since birth:
The first candle: My secret sickness. I've liked boys the way other boys like girls, for as long as I can remember, never really knowing why.
The second candle: My truth. The quiet certainty that I am neither fully one thing nor another, that my identity does not fit neatly into what the world expects of boys like me.
The third candle: My Jewish identity. Ever since first grade, my mom has taught me to hide this part of myself from the rest of the world, for we have never truly been given the right to exist.
The forth candle: My role as the perfect son: My father vanished when I was first born, thus I was expected to carry on all of my family's burdens, often overlooking my own.
The fifth candle: My love for America. Naive. Childish. Always daydreaming about one day living there and becoming a superhero who helps people, no doubt under the influence of those stupid comic books.
My hands begin to shake uncontrollably.
How much longer must I keep holding in this conflict?
I dart back, accidentally dropping the match.
"Daniel!" my mom screams as the rug catches fire.
"I-I didn't mean to!" I let out with a cracked voice, running away into my room as Grandpa puts out the fire.
My family follows me down the hallway as I quickly shut my door and lock it.
"Daniel!" my mother yells. "You get out of there right now!"
I kneel by the door, sobbing, and slowly look over at the small pocket knife lying still on my desk.
I get up, walk toward the knife, and as I grab hold of it, I aim it directly at me.
"Daniel! You know locking doors is forbidden in this house!" my mother cries out, banging on the door.
I gaze straight at the sharp edge of the metal blade as if hypnotized, and I take a moment to truly reflect on what I am doing.
"No..." I whisper under my breath.
I suddenly let go of the knife, causing it to fall to the floor with a loud clang.
"Daniel!" my mom yells worriedly. "What was that?! What is going on in there?!"
But her voice is nothing but an echo to me.
I immediately open up my closet, grab the pink ribbon I had earlier hidden, and snap it onto my shirt.
"No!" I yell to myself.
"I know what I must do. I have to step forward, no matter what they think."
I quietly open my window and stare one last time at the locked door my Grandfather is now trying to burst through.
I know in the back of my mind that I may well never see them again.
But yet, they have never truly seen me from the start.
Without a trace, I climb out of my window and into the dark, cold night, swiftly closing it back shut as soon as my feet touch the ground.
I then sneak out to the outskirts of town, avoiding any patrolling policemen or German soldiers along the road, until I hear the sound of loud music and laughter coming from the Nowak farm.
Mr. and Mrs. Nowak are a poor, elderly couple who host a barn dance every Christmas Eve, mainly for the teenagers in town. It used to be the only excitement this town ever had...
This is, until Gabriel came along.
I approach the old barn and stealthily hide beside a bush next to one of the windows.
I hesitantly peek inside, catching a glimpse of a warm, golden atmosphere with people square dancing to a friendly-looking band playing and singing "Turkey in the Straw."
Meanwhile, Gabriel and Wanda perform their own dance away from the others, as they twirl and giggle in a carefree whirl.
They look so happy together...
So, so happy...
I walk away from the window while I fight back tears.
Everyone looks so happy, so oblivious to everyone else's suffering.
How is it that no one else is allowed to be happy?!
How is it that no one else can live in a carefree world?!
Surely it's only the privileged who can experience such luxuries.
I inhale deeply to steady myself before entering, fighting off my greatest fears as I nervously walk through the barn door, hands glued to my heart.
I slowly make my way toward the center of the crowd as the people around glare at the symbol on my shirt until I draw enough attention that the band itself falters and goes quiet. One by one, the dancers slow, turn, and begin to laugh.
Everyone stops dancing and suddenly turns to look and laugh at me.
Everyone laughs except Gabriel, who now stands a few feet in front of me.
"What is he doing here?" I hear Wanda whisper in Gabriel's ear.
"I haven't the slightest idea," he whispers back, staring directly into my wide, glassy eyes.
I turn around to look at the crowd now surrounding me, and lower my head to the floor.
The laughter rings in my ears, hot and sharp. For a second, I almost turn and run.
Instead, I lift my eyes.
Not to them.
To him.
"Is this what you wanted?" I ask, my voice barely steady.
The band members scratch their heads as everyone quiets down.
"You wanted to see me embarrassed?" I continue, taking a small step closer to Gabriel. "You wanted to see if I'd cry?"
My throat tightens, but I force the words out anyway.
"I did cry," I admit quietly. "Just not here."
A few uneasy murmurs ripple through the barn.
"You think I don't know what I look like?" I say, my voice shaking now. "You think I don't see it every time I look in a mirror?"
My hand presses over the ribbon on my chest.
"I know," I say. "I've always known."
The barn feels too quiet now.
"I know I'm not strong like you. I know I don't walk into a room and have everyone looking at me. I know I don't... fit."
A small, shaky breath leaves me.
"But I didn't choose this."
My fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt.
"I didn't wake up one day and decide to be the boy everyone laughs at."
I drag a hand over my face.
"And I didn't draw that picture to be funny."
A few boys snicker somewhere behind me, but I don't look at them.
"I drew it because—" I hesitate. "Because you were the only one who didn't look at me like I was something wrong. In the park, that day, you—you just talked to me. Like I was normal."
My voice thins slightly.
"I thought maybe that meant something."
My eyes stay on his.
"I thought maybe if I stopped pretending, you wouldn't make me."
"I wasn't trying to shame you!" The words burst out of me before I can stop them. "I just thought you were better than shaming someone else."
Wanda once again whispers, "What is he doing?" into Gabriel's ear.
Only this time, he doesn't respond.
The crowd shifts awkwardly. A few chuckle under their breath, unsure whether to resume the mockery. Others simply stare, as though I have spoken in a language they do not understand.
My heart pounds so loudly I fear they can hear it. For a moment, I think my knees may give out beneath me.
But before I can say anything more, I stop at the sight of Gabriel approaching me.
I nervously take a few steps back as he continues walking toward me.
"Wait," he begins softly. "It's okay."
For the first time I've ever seen him, he looks... sad.
We gaze into each other's eyes for a moment or two until I begin to feel safe and allow him to draw near me.
Suddenly, he leans in and puts his arms around me, and with tears in his eyes, he whispers under his breath, "I'm so sorry."
"I know," I whisper back, hesitantly wrapping my arms around him as he holds me.
Everyone watches in complete silence.
I gently start to push him off me, and as he lets go, the band resumes its silly little song, and everyone dances along like none of this ever happened.
Gabriel takes my hand and leads me outside, leaving Wanda behind.
As we exit the noisy barn, neither of us breathes a word, and instead, we take a short stroll around the barnyard with the stars lighting up and twinkling throughout the vast, night sky.
After a while, Gabriel finally breaks the silence.
"I've been with boys before, you know."
I immediately look straight at him with wide eyes.
"What... did you say...?" I ask.
"That is, to say," he continues, "I've been with both girls and boys."
I stand speechless.
"But I didn't realize," he goes on, "That you were. It was merely a jest... that is, until tonight."
He pauses for a second and then continues,
"You expressed yourself in ways I've always wanted to, but have been too afraid to do."
He looks me straight in the eyes and grins.
"You surprise me."
"I'm full of surprises," I say, only partly joking.
Gabriel laughs.
"And I'm looking forward to uncovering every one of them."
I smile.
"What do you say," he begins, "To me dropping by your house tomorrow? Say, first thing in the morning?"
I shyly nod.
My grandparents will already be gone by then, thank God, as they do not celebrate Christmas.
"Splendid!" he yells in excitement. "I've always wondered what your mother looks like."
We both turn to go our separate ways as we walk down the hill toward our homes, with the stars serving as our only guide through the intense darkness.
After I arrive back at my house, my mom gives me a good spanking for running off like I did and sends me off to bed without any dinner, which is a poor excuse for a punishment, as I rarely ever have dinner anyway.
My grandparents wait until they know I am safe before they take off into the night.
We simply don't have any room for them to stay, so they arranged a hotel in the nearest city and planned to take a flight back to Switzerland, using the special papers their wealth and connections allowed them—something most people could only dream of—before they return for the next holiday.
But as I lie in bed, I can't care about any of that right now.
I'm too anxious thinking about Gabriel visiting tomorrow.
What will my mom think?
She isn't accustomed to people coming over, unless it's my grandparents, and even then, she's a nervous wreck.
As I imagine what it will be like, I slowly start to doze off, and for the first time in a long time, I get a good night's sleep.
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