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  “Charlie.”

  “Huh?”

  “My name is Charlie, not Blanca.” She knows enough Spanish to know what Liz is calling her, but she figures since their bonding over Santa, she’ll take the chance and try to teach Liz her real name.

  Liz makes an annoyed face, pursing her mouth and furrowing her brows. “I know your name.”

  That surprises Charlie. She’d noticed Liz, of course, but who wouldn’t? Liz looks like an angry, East Los version of Penelope Cruz. But this is the second time Liz has said something to make Charlie think Liz has noticed her. She wants to ask about it but isn’t sure how. Instead, she asks, “Then why do you call me Blanca?”

  It’s a stupid question. The Latinas call all the white women Blanca. It’s just the way things are. Liz looks at her sideways, but doesn’t stop walking. They’re almost to the visitors’ room. The look on Liz’s face, as if she thinks Charlie is a special kind of dumb, makes her wish she hadn’t asked.

  “Forget I said that.” Charlie shakes her head and hates the way the words come out as an uncertain mumble.

  “No, you’re right. I can call you Charlie. Just… bitches will give you shit if I do.”

  That sounds backwards to Charlie. She’s pretty sure they’ll give Liz a hard time, not her. “But they won’t say anything to you?”

  “Please. Nobody messes with me.” Liz speaks with that false machismo that women develop after a few years inside. Or maybe it’s not false for Liz, but so far it is for Charlie. She’s only been here for six months, so maybe by the time she finishes her two-to-five years the machismo will be real. She hopes not. That overconfident “fuck you all” doesn’t really match the rest of her personality. Still, maybe Liz is right and nobody messes with her. Or maybe she’s decided she’s willing to take it. Either way, Charlie isn’t going to argue.

  Charlie shrugs and smiles at Liz. She doesn’t know what else to say and it doesn’t matter anyway. They are at the visitors’ room. She holds the door open and likes the way Liz smiles a little in return.

  Liz pauses in the doorway. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?”

  Charlie sees the coordinator, a volunteer with a tight bun who likes to be called Mrs. Gregson, and waves at her. Mrs. Gregson nods and starts toward them. “We’re about to find out,” Charlie replies.

  Liz twirls her hair and shifts from foot to foot. Charlie almost puts her hand on Liz’s arm to reassure her, but stops short of actual touching.

  “Charlotte, it’s good of you to join us today.” Mrs. Gregson always speaks with stilted formality, but she isn’t being snide. She’s glad to see Charlie.

  “I brought reinforcements.” This time Charlie does touch Liz, nudging her forward. “This is my friend Liz.”

  She feels Liz tense at the word “friend,” but Charlie doesn’t elaborate. It’s an introduction Mrs. Gregson will understand.

  “That’s lovely, dear. Nice to meet you, Liz. Is that short for Elizabeth?”

  Liz nods and shakes Mrs. Gregson’s hand and even chokes out a “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Charlie leads Liz to an empty table with a box of letters on it. Next to the box is a stack of form response letters, some blank paper with North Pole letterhead, a cup of pens, and a box of envelopes.

  “We just pick one and go for it?” Liz grabs the top letter and sits down. She looks a little skeptical.

  “Sure.” Charlie selects her own letter and pulls it out to show Liz. It’s pretty standard, some kid asking for expensive toys. “When they’re like this, I just send back a form letter.”

  She tri-folds the letter and stuffs it in the envelope. They have to handwrite the address on the front, but she enjoys the practice. Her letters are still a little bumpy. She hopes the kids believe it was written by an elf or something.

  “What’s this other paper for?”

  “In case you read one you want to write back to.”

  “That happens?”

  “Not very often.”

  Liz opens a handful of letters. All of them get a form letter in return.

  They work for an hour before Charlie reads one that makes her want to cry. It’s from a little girl whose brother is sick. Her dad died last winter and her mom said they might have to move in with her aunt soon. She doesn’t ask for anything, but wishes Santa a Merry Christmas and hopes her brother gets better soon.

  She offers the letter to Liz. “Read this one.”

  While Liz is reading, Charlie thinks about what she wants to say. If she were the real Santa, she’d take the toys those other brats ask for and give them all to this kid and her brother.

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  Charlie shrugs. “I dunno. I’ll thank her for writing and tell her that Santa loves her. And maybe tell her to give her mom and her brother a hug.”

  It wasn’t much different from the form letter, but Charlie felt good about writing the words herself, like maybe the kid will think it’s more special this way. She shows it to Liz when she’s finished, something she’s never done before. If Mrs. Gregson is ever near her when she comes across a letter like that, she shuffles it to the bottom of the pile until Mrs. Gregson leaves. Yet she feels okay letting Liz read what she wrote.

  Liz hands it back. “Everyone thinks you’re smart.”

  Charlie signs the letter “Santa” with big letters, like she imagines a man responsible for the happiness of all the children in the world would do, then folds it carefully and puts it in the envelope.

  When she finishes, she notices Liz is still looking at her. She doesn’t know why Liz said that about her being smart, but apparently she wants a response. “What? They only think that because I’m quiet.”

  “Is that why you really wanted to do this? Because you’re still learning?”

  “Oh, that.” Charlie tried very hard to form her letters properly. What gave her away? “Yeah, I like the practice, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”

  “Then why?”

  “It just makes me feel good.” She watches Liz, expecting her to scoff or roll her eyes, which is what she would do if any of her friends were here.

  Instead Liz smiles and says, “Yeah, me too.”

  Their hands touch when they reach into the box at the same time. It feels nice, but Charlie pulls away.

  “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Liz doesn’t look up from her letter.

  “I do. Or, at least I did.” Charlie’s girlfriend, Amanda, hasn’t been to see her in six weeks. They haven’t talked on the phone in three. How long before she should officially move Amanda into the “ex” category?

  “What’s that even mean?” Liz asks.

  “We’re not communicating very well these days.” Charlie doubts Liz cares about Amanda.

  “She giving you a hard time? Want me to talk to her for you?” Liz asks with a straight face and Charlie thinks it’s adorable. She can almost picture Liz walking up the steps to Amanda’s house, her entire gang of fiercely made-up Latina girlfriends behind her.

  Charlie shakes her head, forces herself not to smile. “She’s not answering my calls. Doubt she’ll answer yours.”

  “Oh, she’s on the outside?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s no excuse. Bitch is crazy to not treat you right. You should dump her.”

  “Maybe I will.” She’s been planning to do just that for over a week, but can’t do anything until Amanda picks up the phone.

  “Then what? Got someone new lined up?”

  Charlie almost asks if Liz is volunteering, but doesn’t because she’s afraid of the answer. She kinda wants her to say yes and would be sad if she said no. On the other hand, she’s terrified of what it would mean if she did say yes. Relationships are hard enough without prison rules to navigate.

  “What about you?” Charlie changes the subject instead of answering.

  Liz pauses long enough to grab a new letter. They’re making good progress, the two of them. “My boyfriend,”
she shrugs slowly, “he’s okay, ya know? But he…he’s not a long-term thing.”

  “I’m sorry.” She’s really glad that she didn’t make the crack about Liz volunteering to be her girlfriend. As a general rule, she doesn’t play with straight girls. It’s just too complicated.

  “Don’t be. I just got him to get my mom off my back. She thinks if I don’t have a man, I must be gay.”

  “Are you?” Charlie ducks her head and looks around to see if anyone else is listening. Liz is being cool, but if anything is going to get her popped in the mouth, that question will do it.

  “I dunno. Maybe. But you can’t tell nobody that.”

  Charlie sits up straight, squirming a little. “So, why tell me?”

  Liz shrugs one shoulder, shakes her head, and bites her bottom lip. She’s definitely flirting. Charlie is almost sure of it. She feels her face flush with heat, so she looks at the letter in her hands and clamps her mouth shut to keep herself from saying something stupid.

  “All right, everyone. That’s time for today. Bring your addressed envelopes up here.” Mrs. Gregson’s cheerful announcement breaks whatever moment that’s building between her and Liz. Charlie’s pretty sure it’s a good thing, but she’s a little sad they didn’t get to finish the conversation.

  Liz walks to the front with her, their shoulders touching occasionally. Charlie apologizes the first time because it’s not polite to bump into people. By the third time, she figures it’s on purpose, so she just smiles and watches Liz from the corner of her eye.

  They drop their letters into the outgoing box and Mrs. Gregson asks if they’ll be back the next day. Charlie glances at Liz when she says, “I will be.”

  When Liz agrees she’ll come again, too, Charlie’s stomach does a giddy, flip-flop butterfly thing. She ducks her head and tries not to smile, but she can’t help herself.

  As they’re walking back to the cellblocks, Liz says, “It’s movie night.” She leaves the statement open, as if there will be more words to follow that don’t quite make it out of her mouth.

  Charlie nods. She doesn’t always go to movie night. Yes, it’s something to do, but it’s crowded and not everyone showers regularly. She likes to practice her reading in her bunk instead.

  “Are you going?” Liz asks.

  “I don’t know. You?”

  “’Course. I could save you a seat. If you want.”

  Charlie can’t imagine sitting with Liz. One white girl in the middle of the Latinas would cause people to talk. “Really?”

  “Yeah, like in the back, away from the others. You know?” Liz’s shoulder touches hers again.

  Charlie stops walking completely. She wants to look at Liz, to make sure she understands what’s happening. “Serious?”

  Liz chews her lip again. “If you want.”

  She wants. She had no idea how much she wanted until right this very minute, but she definitely wants.

  “Okay.”

  “Great.” Liz smiles. It’s not the first time Charlie’s seen that happen but it feels like it. She almost takes Liz’s hand, then remembers where they are and how they’re not allowed to touch.

  When they reach Liz’s block, she turns off without really saying anything, but she’s still smiling. Charlie realizes her cheeks ache because she’s been smiling, too. She rubs her face as she passes the common area. The decorations look a little brighter now.

  She touches the Santa head as she passes by on the way to her own cellblock. Maybe she’s the bad guy instead of the good guy, like she always wanted to be, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe she and Liz can be bad guys together for a while.

  The Miracle of the Lights

  Cindy Rizzo

  On the second night of Chanukah, I constructed a makeshift menorah out of an empty glass bottle and two tightly rolled pieces of paper crammed into the opening. Bending the papers away from one another, so that the whole contraption looked like the letter Y, I lit the ends and quickly said the blessings in a quiet corner of the park in Union Square.

  I had been in this city four days—four cold and icy days—and I still had not found Tova.

  She had left our village of Am Masada a few months ago, two days after Yom Kippur. The wedding they had planned for her and the boy she’d glimpsed only once in the presence of her parents, was to be held at the end of the holidays. They had mailed the invitations over the summer and were ready to move into the whirlwind of wedding preparation on the day Tova left.

  On that morning, as I lay in bed twisting the sheets around my restless body, I heard faint scratching at my window. Because I was the eldest daughter with four brothers, I had my own bedroom, though it is generous to call where I slept a room. It was more like a large closet, but it was mine and I guarded the space jealously. No brothers were permitted to enter.

  The scratching was Tova’s signal. I uncoiled myself from the bedding and leaped over to the window. It was mid-October and mornings in the Catskill Mountains were already very chilly.

  When I raised the window, Tova’s head poked through the opening. I reached for her and she fell into my arms.

  “Did I wake you, Chavalah?” she whispered into my ear.

  I shook my head no. “I was twisting and turning all night.” My body hiccupped with a quiet laugh. “Look at the bed.”

  Tova turned her head and saw the messy tangle of white sheets and blanket. She sighed. “I know this is hard for you. But you understand why I have to go. They are fitting me for a dress this afternoon. It’s getting too difficult to pretend that I’m going through with this.”

  “I know,” I said as I held her tighter. “But thinking of you out there where you don’t know a soul and thinking of me here without you, it’s…it’s too much.”

  She handed me a small white bag. “I got us phones so we can stay in touch. I entered my number in yours. Hide it somewhere. I was only able to put ten dollars on it so we can’t speak too often or too long. But at least we can remain in contact. I will call you every week right after Shabbos. Keep it on vibrate, so no one else can hear. I can’t leave a message, so if you don’t answer, I will call the next week.”

  “I’ll make sure I can answer.”

  I raised my head and looked at her, committing to memory her dark brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, covered by a gray wool cap I hadn’t seen before. A sprinkle of pale, brown freckles spilled over both sides of the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, the color of black coffee, stared back, resolute but sad.

  I glanced down and saw she was wearing faded green khaki pants tucked into her snow boots. We were only permitted to wear skirts and dresses tailored to the appropriate length below our knees.

  “Where did you get these clothes?”

  “From the donation box next to the library. I can move more freely in these than I can in my regular clothes. Plus they are warmer.”

  I nodded and then looked down at the floor. “I don’t know when I will see you again,” I said as a tear escaped. I gulped, trying to stop myself from crying. It felt too self-indulgent in these last few minutes we had together.

  Tova lifted my chin, her expression serious, the hint of a challenge in her voice. “I don’t know either, but Chava, you will soon be facing the same choice. There will be a boy chosen for you and a wedding will be planned. You turn eighteen before Chanukah comes.”

  I put my arms around her waist and drew myself into her embrace. She held me and we stayed quiet for a few minutes. Even through the fabric of her heavy wool coat I felt the rapid beating of her heart against the side of my head. I wanted to pull her to my bed, remove the layers of cloth separating us, and touch her the way we had learned from one another last summer and the way we’d continued to touch each other when we found a stolen hour. Those moments were rare, and I knew this was not the time or the place.

  “I love you,” Tova said and then kissed the top of my head. “I always will.”

  “I love you. And I always will.”

  These were the words
we regularly repeated to one another like vows. I lifted my head from her chest and her lips reached mine. For a few seconds, I was able to forget she was leaving, forget I would soon have my own decision to make, a decision I would have to make without Tova.

  I caressed the back of her neck and moved my mouth to that place below her ear that always made her moan with pleasure. She pulled away.

  “There isn’t time.” I heard the regret in her voice. “I need to go. There will soon be men in the street heading to the morning minyan.”

  I couldn’t let her leave. What kind of life would there be for either of us without the other. I grabbed the fabric of her coat at the shoulder and pulled her back to me. “No!”

  “Shh, shh. I know. I know. It’s not easy for me either.” She put her hand on my arm and I released my hold. “Remember what we discussed. I will find us a safe place and you will come to me if you decide to leave here. They cannot keep you at home after you turn eighteen.”

  There was one more hug and then she slipped back out the window and was gone.

  * * *

  The wind off the Hudson River seemed to move right through my winter coat as if it wasn’t there at all. The cough I’d developed a few days after I arrived was getting worse, stronger and more frequent, wracking my body and leaving my muscles sore.

  My heart ached as I imagined Mama, Papa, and my brothers gathered around the menorah, lighting the candles and singing the blessings. The thought of potato latkes melting in my mouth with the taste of applesauce on my lips, made me weak with hunger.

  I walked west until I reached the Christopher Street pier. Throughout I kept careful watch for Tova and for kids who spent their days and nights on the streets, so I could ask them if they’d seen her. I had one photograph of us from last summer at the week-long camp for Hasidic girls. That was the summer when everything began, when our lifelong friendship became something more. We stood together in white and blue camp T-shirts and our long skirts, sunburnt faces turned slightly toward one another. It would not have been too difficult for someone to notice the look on our faces and figure out that we loved one another. Because of that, the picture had lived in the far reaches of my wallet. Now I kept it in my pocket. It was too dangerous to take my wallet out on the street.