He was six, Christmastime was fast approaching, and young Billy really wanted that encyclopedia set. He knew it wasn't an ordinary gift to want, most other first graders wanted two-wheeler bicycles and Barbie dolls, but he wasn't ashamed of it either. Not yet, at least. He was still young enough to be proud that he was the fastest learner in class. He was proud to watch the little gold stars Mrs. Hannigan would place next to his name line up single file and lightyears ahead of the other children's. Of course that would change, eventually.
Billy wrote to Santa everyday for a month. He did all his chores with amazing swiftness for a child that preferred to stay inside and read than play tag with the others at recess. His mother never had to remind him to complete a signal duty once. His bed was made neatly every morning, his school marks were perfect (as usual), he never pestered his mother's "guests", his room was tidy and his clothes were packed tightly in their proper drawers, he even organized the inside of the drawers, just to be safe. Billy did exactly what his mother told him to do if he really wanted (and oh, he did) the encyclopedia set:
"Write Santa a letter and we'll see what happens," she sighed then hurriedly added, "and, uh, remember to be a good a little boy. If you're bad, Santa will just give you coal instead."
Billy panicked. Coal? No! That was unacceptable! Coal wasn't nearly as useful as an encyclopedia set would be! So Billy would be good. He'd be the goodest kid ever! There was no way Santa Claus would leave Billy coal.
Billy spent the month of December being good. Knowing the prize that awaited him on the 25th he enjoyed being good wholeheartedly. While the other first graders were practicing how to spell Cat and Dog Billy spent the time daydreaming about his future encyclopedia set. He imagined the volumes to be stuffed with things Billy didn't know and he was so anxious to discover them. He had gotten a sneak peak at the encyclopedia in the school library once, a few months ago, and he found the most fascinating word inside of it. Wonderflonium. Mrs. Hannigan had called the class back before Billy could stop admiring the strange word and actually read about what Wonderflonium was. He was dying, just dying to know what a Wonderflonium did, what it was used for.
Christmas morning Billy flew out of bed before the sun was up. He bounced on his mother's mattress for ten whole minutes, begging her to wake up and go downstairs with him to see what Santa left under the fichus. Billy's mother hadn't gotten them a Christmas tree, so Billy decorated the fichus with tinsel and paper snowflakes to replace it. He figured with all the letters he wrote and how horribly good he had been the whole pine tree thing was a detail that could be overlooked.
His mother told him to be quiet and go back to bed. She so didn't possess enough Christmas cheer. Billy, being the impatient child he was, skipped into the living room without her. He simply couldn't wait any longer, the suspense was killing him, he wanted fresh ink on his fingers and to inhale that amazing new book smell now. The child dove under the fichus, eyes closed, expecting to collide with a sparkly-paper wrapped stack of very square and firm presents.
Billy landed upon the coffee stained carpet flat on his stomach. Aside from the usual furniture the living room was empty. There were no presents beneath the fichus. He found no encyclopedia set, no bicycle, no Barbie doll, not even coal. All that was there was the construction paper gingerbread man Billy made for his mother in school (which was sadly crumpled to do Billy's excited leap of faith). The child blinked, rubbed his eyes, this couldn't be true! He had done everything he was supposed to do! Letter to Santa? Check. Being good? Double-super-check! What happened? What went wrong? Was it because of the fichus? Was Santa really that picky about the proper holiday foliage? How could being good have gone so bad?
When she finally awoke, Billy's mother hugged her crying son and apologized tremendously for Santa's mishap. She told Billy she loved his crumpled cookie card, and pinned it to the refrigerator. She made him cinnamon pancakes in the shapes of Christmas trees. It made Billy sick to look at them. He ate them, however, though only to appease his teary eyed mother. When she left for the diner Billy's mother kissed his forehead and promised she'd make it up to him when she got home from work. She told him that while she was out she'd stop by the post office too; just so she could send Santa her own letter giving the jolly old fat man a piece of her mind. She swore Santa would never forget her Billy Boy again.
It only took 'Santa' a year to forget her promise.
But it was too late by then. By the time Billy was seven he didn't believe anymore. The older kids were right. Santa wasn't real. Being good had gotten Billy nothing.