"At Earl's workshop. He told me if I wanted, I could help him on weekends. He pays by the hour."
Mom and Mark looked at each other. In their eyes was something—surprise. Surprise that their son, who until a few months ago spent afternoons staring out the window, now had a plan.
"How much do you need?" Mark asked.
"I don't need you to give me money. I just need you not to take it away."
"Why would we take it away?"
"Because parents do that. They save for their kids. For college. For the future. And I want to save for my own things."
Mom looked at me.
"The money you earn is yours," she said. "You keep it wherever you want. Use it for whatever you want. And if someday you need help, you ask us."
"Will you help me?"
"You're our son. We'll always help you."
I didn't say anything. Words stuck in my throat, not because I didn't know what to say, but because anything I said would break the spell. So I kept eating, eyes fixed on my plate. My parents did the same.
Earl's Workshop
On weekends, after finishing homework, I went to Earl's workshop. It wasn't a real job—no contract, no set hours—but Earl paid me in cash at the end of each day, and I put the bills in a box under the bed, next to the competition check.
"You know what you're gonna do with that money?" Earl asked one afternoon while we cleaned an old engine.
"A motorization kit for wheelchairs."
"Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do it?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm learning."
Earl let out a dry laugh. "Learning. That's how I started. An old engine and a desire to fix things. Look at me now."
"And what happened?"
"I stayed in the workshop. Fixing old things. Watching other people take the money."
"Why didn't you do something more?"
"Because I was scared. Scared it wouldn't work. Scared I'd be left with nothing. Scared people would laugh at me." He looked at me. "You're not scared, are you?"
"I'm scared. But I'm going to do it anyway."
Earl nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear.
"When you have the prototype, come show it to me," he said. "And if it works, I'll help you build them. As many as you want."
"For free?"
"For whatever you give me. Long as you let me keep fixing my bikes."
I smiled. Earl did too.
That night, before sleeping, I opened the notebook where I kept my plans. On the first page, under the list of savings, I wrote:
Goals:
Learn everything I can about electric motors. Design a functional prototype before 16. Get funding for production. Sell the kit at cost for the first two years. Expand to other markets after.
It wasn't a perfect plan. There were many missing details, many missing skills, many hours of work ahead. But it was a start. It was something I had built with my hands, with my head, with the help of the people around me.
I closed the notebook and put it under the bed, next to the box of savings. Outside, the street was quiet. The light in Alex's room was off, but I knew that tomorrow we would see each other at the bus stop as always, and she would ask me how the project was going, and I would tell her what I had learned, and she would correct my mistakes, and together we would keep building.
The system was gone, but it didn't matter. Everything I needed, I had. The skills I had developed. The people around me. And a plan for a future.
And the certainty that no matter what happened, I was going to be okay.
December 2009
The news came a week before Christmas, when my mother announced at dinner that we would be traveling to my maternal grandparents' house in Oregon. "Your grandmother wants to see you, Leo. She says it's been months since we've visited, and with the whole competition thing and the project, we haven't had time for anything."
"How many days?" I asked, hoping it would be a short trip.
"A week. From the 23rd to the 30th. Your grandmother already has everything ready. It'll be a family Christmas, like before."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't complain. My grandparents had called every week since we moved to Los Angeles, always asking when I was going to visit, always sending cards and packages with homemade cookies. It was only fair that I go. But my mind was already elsewhere.
That night before sleeping, I sent a message to Alex: "I'm going to Oregon for Christmas. Back on the 30th."
Her reply came within a minute: "A whole week?"
Me: "My grandmother wants to see me. I can't say no."
Alex: "I know. It's your family. But..."
She didn't finish the sentence. I didn't know how to finish it either.
December 23rd
The airport was full of hurried people, suitcases rolling on cement floors, children crying, parents trying to stay calm. Mark carried the two large suitcases, my mom carried the bag with presents, and I carried my backpack with my computer, sketchbook, and a couple of books Alex had lent me.
Before boarding, I sent one last message: "I'm leaving. I'll send you pictures of the snow."
Alex: "There's no snow in Oregon. You're thinking of Colorado."
Me: "Then I'll send you pictures of rain."
Alex: "That's more likely. Have a good trip."
Me: "You too. Have a good Christmas."
Alex: "I'll try. But without you, it's going to be more boring."
I put the phone away and got on the plane. From the window, I watched Los Angeles grow small, the city lights turn into a map of orange dots, everything I knew recede as the plane gained altitude.
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Leo started working at Earl's workshop. He saved every dollar. He had a dream.
But Christmas took him to Oregon.
Far from Los Angeles. Far from Alex.
Seven days without seeing each other. Two days without talking. Zero days without thinking about her.
And at the airport, before boarding, she wrote to him: "Without you, it's going to be more boring."
How do you think Leo will spend Christmas with his family? Will he have fun with his new skills, or will he miss Alex? 🎄✈️💭
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