December 15th 1941

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the only thing that came out of Hazel's building was the smell of melted butter, baking bread and pastries, and jazz music. No Hazel, not even a Queen Marie or client.

He didn't have no fancy watch to check, but he was pretty sure that he was late for school by this time. But that was weird because Hazel was never late, and usually she'd thrown him a paper airplane from her window if she was going to be late for some reason, or home sick.

Finally the baker, an Italian man named Carlos, walked out of the bakery doing some weird hand gesture that would probably be rude if Sammy had any kind of basis on Italian culture.

"You looking for the secret recipe!" He said.

"What? No, I…"

"Scram, son, scram!" He said. "Mama, you rascals are everywhere! Stop looking at the building and go to school!"

"I'm waiting for a friend," Sammy said.

"Who?"

"Hazel Levesque," Sammy tried. "She lives in the apartment above…"

"The witch's daughter?"

"She ain't no witch's daughter, you lousy old fat man!" Sammy said.

"Rude and rude!" He vented. "If I were a Hazel Levesque I would run away from you!"

Sammy's stomach knotted. His hand reached into his pocket. He'd gotten her a present last night. A bracelet with beads that were plastic and aluminum–no jewels, just something pretty she should have that wouldn't have diamonds or gold or any other thing she wouldn't like.

"I bet she was running from you. She could have just walked though, I don't think those little legs can take that big fat belly of yours anywhere quick."

"You brat!" The baker said. "Apologise! They said come to America for better life, not rude little Mexican boy. She's not even here anymore. She's gone."

"Gone? No way, she can't be gone, she's Hazel. Hazel can't be gone." Sammy said.

"Went far away," the baker said. "Apartment is vacant. I'd do the same if I had to deal with an insufferable little brat like you every day, maybe that crazy woman did have lick of sense after all."

He stormed back into the building before Sammy could do anything else.

Sammy was trembling with anger and resentment and confusion and maybe even… hurt… She hadn't warned him? She'd just... He didn't understand... That was the part that hurt the most maybe, because he was so used of knowing and understanding and being on the in with Hazel.

"I bet your food is nasty!" He yelled at the baker's back before taking off running to God knows where.


Dearest Anza,

Now you know why I don't celebrate Christmas much. It's in December, and December just isn't a good time for me.

It hasn't been for a long, long time.

Sammy