New Year's Kiss

The house was full again and Crystal couldn’t contain her excitement. She was allowed to stay up all night tonight and wasn’t exactly sure why. Mars slept soundly in his bed and Crystal petted him gently on the head. He opened one eye before slowly shutting it again falling effortlessly into a sound sleep. They young girl looked at the dining table and marveled and the line of bubbles floating in perfect lines towards the surface of the golden liquid.

She wanted a taste of it and her Grandpa Ray took her on his knee and gently lifted to the glass flute to her lips. The bubbles tickled her nose, which she enjoyed. But her delicate, young palate was not exactly ready for alcohol. Attempting to be nice, she tried to curl the corner of her lips into a smile without having to swallow the champagne but only managed to dribble her tiny mouthful onto Grandpa Ray’s lap. She apologized profusely but her Grandpa assured her that no apologies were necessary as he chuckled at the young child.

“Is it Christmas again already?” Crystal asked innocently.

“No, child,” Grandpa Ray answered laughing heartily, “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Do we get presents?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then what do we do on New Year’s Eve?”

“We stay up until midnight and celebrate the end of this year and the beginning of next year.”

“How?”

“By being with the people we love most,” Grandpa Ray replied. He saw that her curiosity had yet to be sated. “We also count down the last seconds of the old year and when the New Year is finally here, we give a big kiss to someone we love.”

“Okay, baby,” Crystal’s father interrupted. “Grandpa Ray has to go to bed.”

“But he’ll miss the New Year!” Crystal pleaded.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve seen plenty,” Grandpa Ray said as he got out of his chair and leaned over to kiss his granddaughter on her forehead. He winked at her and smiled as he went quietly into his bedroom.

“Good night, Dad. I’ll wake you up in time for the game tomorrow,” Crystal father said, “Crystal, let’s go find some of your friends.”

Crystal walked by her father’s side around the house with the ulterior motive of finding someone to kiss. A few of her friends from school were loitering around clinging tightly to their dad’s pant leg or mom’s skirt. Some were nibbling away at the array of snacks arranged on the dining table. And the others were asleep on the couch.

Gary Timm was sipping a cup full of punch in the den. Crystal wasn’t sure if she was ready to kiss a boy, but Grandpa Ray said it was what people did on New Year’s Eve. She checked her dress and dusted herself off and fixed her hair and slowly walked towards the unsuspecting boy. Crystal was a precocious young tyke but was unsure whether she could say she loved Gary. There were hints of a schoolgirl crush; nothing that lasted beyond the playground however. But she just had to have someone to kiss by the stroke of midnight.

Just then Gary’s mother took Gary’s hand and walked him towards Crystal’s mother. Gary’s father was putting on his overcoat and talked with Crystal’s father before they shook hands.

“Thank you for having us but we promised my husband’s brother we would be over at their house for the countdown,” Gary’s mom said to Crystal’s, “Say goodbye to your friends, Gary.” Gary said goodbye to Crystal and the other children and her only hope at a New Year’s kiss went out the door.

A lot of time had passed as Crystal carefully watched the ticking clock on the mantle over the fireplace. As each minute passed, another friend would pass out on the living room sofa, later tucked in by their respective parents. Eventually, Crystal was the last one standing. Her mother passed by to check up on all the other children.

“Mommy,” Crystal asked, “How much longer until midnight?”

“I can’t believe you’re still up,” her mother answered, “It’s just five more minutes, sweetie. Are you sure you don’t want to go to sleep? It’s way past your bedtime.”

“I’m sure,” she answered. She got off the sofa and walked one more time around the house hoping to find someone to share her first kiss of the New Year; of her life, actually. She looked at all her friends sleeping on the large couch and then she looked once more at the clock on the mantle.

There was a muffled click behind Grandpa Ray’s bedroom door and light streamed from the space beneath it. Crystal, curious as always, walked over to the door and placed her small delicate hand on the knob. With the other hand, she gently wrapped on the door. Footsteps dragged on the carpet towards the door and the knob was turned. When it opened, Grandpa Ray stood there in his robe and smiled at his granddaughter.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked.

“This is it, everybody! One more minute!” Crystal heard her father shout.

“Ah,” Grandpa Ray said, “It looks like I got up just in time. Did you find someone to kiss at midnight?” Crystal looked over to her friends and showed Grandpa Ray that all her options have been exhausted. Disappointed she hugged his leg and buried her sweet face into his lap.

“10 – 9 – 8!” the adults yelled.

“I just wanted to my first New Year’s kiss to be special,” Crystal said with tears in her eyes.

“7 – 6 – 5!” the crowd continued.

“If you love the person you kiss, then it will be special, honey,” Grandpa Ray said as he carried Crystal in his arms.

“4 – 3 – 2 – 1!!!” everyone shouted.

Crystal grabbed Grandpa Ray by his ears and pulled his wrinkled, smiling face towards hers and pecked him lightly on the nose. He returned the favor with a kiss on her cheek as he smiled at his granddaughter.

“Happy New Year, honey,” he said.

“You’re right, Grandpa Ray,” she said, “That was really special. Happy New Year!” And with that she threw her arms around her neck and embraced him tightly, falling asleep almost immediately after laying her head on his shoulder.

Gift Wrapped

Tucked away from the nice crowded streets of the city, away from the bright lights of the frosted windows of storefronts that warmed the noses and cheeks of last minute shoppers, in the darkest and narrowest of the city’s alleys is where the formerly employed James Bailey currently finds himself. The voices of street carolers reverberated coldly against the unfeeling brick and concrete of the alleyway just barely reaching the ears of the alley’s inhabitants.

Mr. Bailey was asked to empty the contents of his desk just three days before Thanksgiving. Five years of loyalty and memories that accumulated on his desk were to somehow find room in a small cardboard box. Reading the newspaper didn’t make him feel any better. He still felt alone no matter how much of the state had been victimized by the crashing economy. As the weeks passed, his usual optimism melted away and cynicism was quick to take its place. It was not until he finally took off his wedding band for the first time in seven years that he only saw the emptiness in glasses of water. Shortly after, he was kicked out of his one bedroom apartment.

Now, here he stood with a box of his office trinkets, a duffle full of clothes, and a face hiding behind the most unkempt five o’clock shadow he has had since his college days. Bailey gritted his teeth together hoping the grinding sounds would keep his mind off his world falling apart from around him. Merry Christmas indeed, he thought to himself muttering a “humbug” in sardonic fashion.

Opposite of the dumpster was a woman just a few years older than James huddled closely to two small mounds of clothes that seemed to breathe. A man who smelled of garbage water happily strutted into the alley and smiled at Bailey.

“Pardon me, sir,” the man nodded to Bailey, “Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, sure,” was all Bailey could respond. He saw that the man was hiding something behind his back. Bailey was hoping, praying to God that it wasn’t a weapon of some sort. But the man just passed by and walked towards the woman and the mounds of clothes wriggled to life. Two children, a young girl and a younger little boy, got to their feet and smiled large smiles across their smudged faces. They ran to meet the man with what looked like a wad of newspaper behind his back.

“Daddy!” the two children shouted as they ran to embrace their father.

“Honey, what are you hiding?” the woman asked.

“Hiding?” he asked, playfully feigning ignorance, “What should I be hiding, sweetheart? It’s Christmas! I would never hide anything. Especially--,” he took the newspaper from behind him and presented it to his children, “Your Christmas presents!”

The children laughed and carried the wad of newspaper to their mother. “Can we open it now?” Their mother looked at their father and eyed him with pseudo-suspicion as if ask, what could you have possibly gotten them? He furrowed his eyebrows as to respond, let them open it and find out.

“It’s your present, children,” the mother responded and couldn’t help but smile, “Go right ahead.”

The two little ones tore into it with the ferocity of a rabid panther digging into newly pounced prey. Shreds of newspaper exploded in a flurry over their eager young heads. The little one lifted it high into the air and it was welcomed into the coziness of the alley with an awestruck sigh from the children. Bailey’s curiosity was aroused and leaned his head over to get a better look at what it was the father got his family.

“What could he possibly have gotten them to warrant such a reaction from those kids?” Bailey thought to himself. “I could swear that’s nothing but a dirty, old blanket.” He listened carefully hoping to decipher what was going on. To be in this particular alley, it would have to be something more than a hand me down blanket.

“It’s—It’s—,” the little boy squinted at the gift, “It’s a cape!” He wrapped it over his shoulders and tied the corners running in a small circle around each member of his family. “All I have to do is put it on and all of a sudden I have the strength of one hundred men and can fly all over the world.” Breathing heavily from his short flight, his smile widened from ear to ear as he embraced his father. The young girl untied the blanket from her brother’s shoulders.

“A dress!” she exclaimed, “Daddy! It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever had! Thank you so much!” She draped it in front of her and twirled around letting the cloth fly outwards as if it were the long skirt of an elegant ball gown. She danced with the blanket in hand, her gentle smile and sparkling eyes glowing with each turn and sway she made, the music still playing in her head when she wrapped her arms around her father.

The patriarch of the family curled the corner of his lips, letting his eyes shine on his wife who slowly smiled with him. “What do you see, love?” he asked his wife. She looked at him lovingly and before she could answer the little boy let out a sneeze that echoed throughout the entire alley. She took the raggedy old blanket and wrapped it around the children hugging them tightly as she looked back at their father.

“I see the perfect Christmas gift,” she said to him. “I love you,” Bailey could see her mouth the words to her husband. The scene warmed James Bailey’s heart and he got to his feet and walked towards the warm street. The carolers had made their way around the corner and they approached him smiling with lit candles in hand singing, seemingly just for him.

The family slowly emerged out of the alleyway and watched as the carolers merrily sang their merry tunes. The two children began to sing along with them before their eyelids slowly and heavily closed shut. The mother took them to their corner and tucked them in tightly together and watched them sleep sweetly. The father looked at James and smiled cordially.

“Merry Christmas,” the man greeted James.

“Merry Christmas,” James responded. When the carolers passed the alley, the smiles on everyone’s faces warmed them the rest of the night. James took a seat next to his meager possessions and shut his eyes, still smiling.

The Santa Pact

The house smelled of peppermint and pine with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies subtly, softly, slowly but surely wafting in from the warm oven. On the stovetop, mother prepped the ingredients for hot chocolate later on just before sending everyone off to bed. Lights of all colors flickered on the walls from the Christmas tree, just a few presents sprinkled about the base. Pine needles were scattered about in the empty spots, the hardwood slightly sticky from the tree sap.

Father was on the front porch juggling a string of lights as he cautiously climbed the short step ladder to adorn the trimmings of the house. The sound of the large colored bulbs tinkled dully against one another. When one refused to light, he would replace with a whole new bulb being careful not to repeat the pattern of colors in line.

Meanwhile, the extremely precocious eight-year-old child, Billy Ditko, sat in between the tree and the fireplace which had died down to a lazy pile of ash and desperately glowing embers. There was enough warmth to entice him to lie down right there on the floor and take a nap, but he had, as he called it, very important work to do before going to sleep.

With a sharpened pencil in hand he laid the clean sheet of paper on the floor and began to write the following letter:

Dear Santa,

I know that you have already received my wish list for this year several weeks ago, and I hope that this will not be misconstrued as a vain attempt to test the limits of your “nice” list. I, as much as anybody else, do greatly enjoy not being on the “naughty” list. But I digress. This letter is in regards to an incident that happened at school just before the winter break in which a bully (who shall remain unnamed since it is likely that he is already in your aforementioned “naughty” list) aimed to manipulate me into thinking that you, Santa Claus, do not exist.

Being of scientific mind, I aim to definitively and empirically prove to myself that you indeed do exist. Your part is minimal and requires only your signature below. I fully intend to keep the results of this experiment to myself and thus call this letter “The Santa Pact.” While it would be nice to meet you in person, your autograph will suffice in proving that my faith in you is not all in vain. Thank you.

Signed,

Billy Ditko

I, Santa Claus, do hereby proclaim myself as an entity in exisitence:

Signed:

Dated:

“Billy!” mother called, “The hot chocolate will be ready in a few minutes. Will you let your dad know?”

“Yes, mother!” Billy shouted back. He hastily folded the letter and stuffed it inside his Christmas stocking and carefully hung it back on the mantle before running outside to call his father.

As the Ditko family finished up their hot cocoas, mother prepared some fresh cookies for Santa. She placed them on a small plate along with a tall, cold glass of milk by the fireplace. Billy helped and even suggested putting the cookies on the coffee table so that Santa would not accidentally knock them over onto the floor on his way in the house.

The next day Billy, still in his pajamas, ran to the living room and saw that the glass of milk was half gone, and the plate of cookies half empty. The presence of presents underneath the tree was noticeably fuller including a large box with Billy’s name written on the side of it. Mother and father came out of the master bedroom and watched their son’s excited face, his eyes glowing with wonder. It never gets old to watch, even after eight years.

Instead of running to the large box or half eaten plate of cookies or even to the window hoping to get a glimpse of flying reindeers pulling a sleigh, mother and father saw Billy walk over to his stocking on the mantle. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and a look of disappointment draped over his innocent face.

“Honey,” mother called gently, “What is that?”

“It’s an experiment,” Billy replied, “I wanted to prove to myself, scientifically, that Santa exists so I asked him to sign this pact I wrote up last night… It’s blank.”

“Did you know that was there?” Mother asked father.

“I had no idea,” father whispered back.

“I deliberately didn’t tell you two about it,” Billy said, “No offense, mom and dad, but I didn’t want you to pass of some cheap forgery just so I would still believe in Santa Claus. This could only mean one thing.”

“Billy,” father approached the young boy. He tried to hide the worry from his eye, “I guess I have something I have to confess.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Billy asked, frustrated.

“You’re not stupid, sweetie,” mother commented.

“It was my fault for not giving Santa enough time to read this pact ahead of time!”

“I’m not following, Billy,” mother said.

“I even asked to move the cookies out of the way. Of course!” Billy shouted.

“Are you okay, son?” father asked.

“It all makes so much sense now!” Billy smiled and laughed. “Look at all these presents. And look at the cookies; he didn’t have enough time to finish them all! He needs the cookies for the sugar content. That’s what keeps him up all night! He’s so busy trying to get everyone their presents that he didn’t have enough time to see my letter! It’s pretty self-centered of me to think that he would make time to partake in this pact. If he had, some poor little boy or girl on the other side of the world may not have gotten their presents on time! That’s why he didn’t sign!”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, son,” father said, “Next time you better let me handle the postal transactions to the North Pole, okay?” Father smiled and took one of Billy’s presents and handed it to him. The child was about to tear into the carefully wrapped package before stopping himself.

“Gee, I hope this little stunt doesn’t get me on the ‘naughty’ list for next year,” Billy said. “It was all in the name of science. Do you think Santa will understand, dad?”

“I’m sure he will, son.”

“Am I still a good kid, mom?”

“The best,” mother corrected, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Season of Giving

Mars bent forward leaning all his weight on his hind legs using his front paws to swipe unsuccessfully at his head. He didn’t like it when people tried to put human clothes on him especially hats and especially on days like this when there were others in the house. The youngest one saw him struggling and took it off for him. She was always his favorite. Mars leapt into the child’s arms and licked her hands and rosy cheeks and was reciprocated with giggles as his tail wagged uncontrollably back and forth.

“Crystal!” the mother’s voice yelled, “I told you not to play with Mars when you have your nice dress on. Now you have dog hair all over it!”

“Sorry, mommy,” Crystal answered, “He doesn’t like the hat so I took it off.”

Crystal’s mother continued to scold her as Mars pranced out of the bedroom noticing the peculiar abundance of lights in the house. Not only were all the lights on, but there were candles of different shapes and sizes all lit. Odd shadows danced on the walls as the small flames flickered and danced. There were lights outside climbing up the sides of the house blinking in festive rhythm. For some reason that Mars could not explain, there was also a tree inside. And it too was covered in more lights.

The small pup tiptoed and maneuvered his way around the crowd of strangers to the tree and took in the smell of pines. Boxes wrapped in paper and bags that smelled of fruitcake were strewn about the bottom. He used a box to prop himself closer to the lower boughs of the indoor pine tree. He couldn’t explain exactly there is a tree inside but then again he really didn’t care. Mars sniffed around for just the perfect spot and he finally found it. He stared intently at the very branch and lifted his hind leg.

“Mars!” the booming voice of the father shouted. He picked the dog up and carried him into his bed in the bedroom hallway. Dejected, he lied down with eyes wide open and listened for his favorite one to approach. His eyelids were all but closed when he heard Crystal’s voice.

“Daddy,” she implored, “It’s the season of giving.”

“Honey, I don’t have time for this,” her father responded, “Mars’ causing a lot of trouble; I had to put him on a time out.” His attention turned to one of their guests as his voice trailed off. Crystal’s footsteps approached Mars’ bed. She knelt by him and rubbed the top of his head gently. The doorbell rang and Mars bolted out of bed and barked at the front door.

Crystal ran after him and picked him up as her father answered the door. Her mother gave her a stern look and an even sterner one to Mars. Having had that look thrown in her direction was a regular occurrence in that house, Christmas party or not. Once she felt the stare of her mother’s eye she put Mars back on the floor and meticulously dusted off all the dog hair on her ruffled velvet dress.

Their newly arrived guests were the Thompsons whose oldest daughter was Crystal’s best friend from school. The two giggled and exchanged pleasantries before running to Crystal’s bedroom where, through the night, she had amassed a pile of smuggled cookies. They skipped to the bedroom and left Mars alone sitting on the cold tile of the foyer.

“What’s all this ‘season of giving’ business?” he thought to himself. He looked at all the strangers laughing and talking and possibly getting inebriated. He tilted his head in curiosity as he watched a couple dance, their glasses miraculously fused with to their hands. To Mars, the season of giving seemed like a hassle for a bunch of people he didn’t know.

Mars’ glistening pink nostrils began to flare out as if his entire snout were palpitating. His tongue slapped against the cold tip of the nose and he sniffed harder and faster. Suddenly the smell became more apparent and lent itself a direction to its source. Mars sniffed more intently, his focus so hardened he was leaning towards the kitchen door and nearly fell against the wall.

He leapt up to his feet and let his palpitating nostrils lead him towards the savory smells. It led him deep into the kitchen, dodging more and more walking feet. One set of large feet forced into a pair of shoes that are too small for them terminating a pair of swollen ankles stopped in front of him on the way to the source. Mars looked up to see a painted face smiling frighteningly down at him. Whoever this was, she was swooping in one of her large pasty hands, presumably to pet the young pup. But Mars doesn’t care much for strangers and ducked down slowly away from her hands, inching away.

“Aw, the poor thing is shy,” the painted voice cackled. Mars also hated being called shy and scoffed as he walked away and got back to his scent trail.

It led him towards the oven. The warmth seemed to welcome him. The smell further enticed him. He slowly put one paw in front of the other and was cut off by Crystal’s mother who seemed not to notice Mars’ presence in the kitchen. He could hear the sizzling and bubbling of the fat underneath the turkey’s crispy golden brown skin. The aroma of the savory herbs filled the air. The sweet scent of various spices perfumed the air. Pies sitting innocently on the windowsill cooled quietly, their innards gelling into a sweet thick filling.

Mother took the large turkey to the dining room and placed it at the head of the dining table out of Mars’ sight. He stretched his neck upward as far as he could hoping to see the turkey again, but to no avail. Leaning back, the young dog got on his hind legs and hopped towards the table, and still could not see the titillating roasted bird. Rather than wasting any more energy on a lost cause, the little pup slithered underneath the table and sat quietly.

Sitting on top of the upright piano, the cat yawned pausing only to stare hungrily at the turkey on top of the dining table. The strange lady with the large ankles and pasty hands approached the cat and gave the cat some unseen treat. The cat ate it up hungrily and licked its chops meticulously. Almost teasingly so, the feline stared at Mars with loathsome self-righteousness in her eyes as if she were winking at the lonely pup sitting quietly underneath the dining table.

His claws softly click-clacked on the hardwood floor as he crawled out from his hiding place, weaving around the wooden chairs. The smell of the fireplace began to swell and warm the entire house. It drew him close to the hearth and he encircled a spot before lying down on it. His behind was being toasted nicely by the roaring fire. Mars then let out a quiet sigh as his big brown eyes darted back and forth at the strangers in the house in their funny sweaters. His stomach grumbled a low grumble that only his puppy ears could hear but he closed his eyes.

“If I can’t eat,” he thought to himself, “At least I can sleep.” But before he could settle he could her footsteps hurriedly scurrying towards him. Immediately, he thought it was someone come to throw him back into the bedroom hallway. But it was Crystal, his favorite one. She held something in her hands. It was a small handful of turkey meat. She waved it in front of his mouth and he gobbled it down with much gusto. He licked along the sides of his mouth and all over her hands, thanking her for the tiny feast. “So this,” Mars thought, “is the season of giving!”

The Decision

“Has she made her decision yet?” the voice asked through the buzzing filter of the cellular phone.

“No,” he answered, “She told me to meet her and she hasn’t come yet.” His eyes were itchy from the wind. The corners were tender and slightly puffed, it stung whenever he blinked. He sniffled quite loudly into the phone.

“Are you okay, Rick?” his sister on the phone asked.

“I’m fine,” he responded, “My allergies are killing me right now is all.”

“All right, come over to my place tonight. Let me know what happened.”

“Okay,” he answered and pushed the “end” button. He looked out into the distance, noticing the clouds gracefully gliding across the bright blue sky. The phone was cradled in his palm as he fiddled around with the buttons. He got to his feet feeling uncomfortable sitting on the planter this whole time. He walked in a small circle and for a moment or two just stared at the music store down the street.

It was in that store that he bought his first vinyl record for her. He hadn’t listened to much music, hadn’t paid attention to the nuances of rhythm and melody and harmony until he met Christy. She brought that into his world and now he can’t turn on the radio without hearing the pieces come together, sometimes brilliantly and sometimes chaotically. He knew what she liked just after a few weeks of listening to music with her in her bedroom. And she knew him even better. They would hold hands walking down the very same street talking about movies that nobody else ever saw and music that had gone out of style twenty years before either of them were born.

His eyes closed as the winds started to pick up, forcing his hands deep into his own coat pocket. When they opened again he looked down the street. He strained his eyes to look deeper than his limited sight would allow. Then he swung his head to the other side and strained his eyes again. She hadn’t arrived yet. But then again she wasn’t due for another- he looked at the clock on his cell phone and thrust it back into his pocket- she wasn’t due for another half hour or so. Then he would know her decision. He turned around sharply and looked through the sliding glass doors of the bowling alley he stood in front of. There was an arcade with old games beeping away begging for your quarters in the far corner.

All he could remember before they met was that he was lonely and sometimes alone. And the only place where he could distract himself would be in front of the electronic blue buzzing of the arcade games. He would sit on the tall bar stool with the worn leather and chewed rubber foam cushion exposed on the side like a crusted wound. At the time he needed the stool to reach the screen and see, but now he would only use the stool when his legs were tired, when he was tired. He hadn’t put many coins into any of those machines since he had first met her. Looking back on their time together seemed like eternities ago, but it was in fact just a few months earlier.

They didn’t meet in school or the gym or some café but in the hospital. She was aspiring to go into some prestigious medical school. He didn’t know which one; he didn’t care at the time. But she was a volunteer at the hospital. There were other volunteers but the majority of them were perfectly content with the title that they could neatly put on their résumés. She was different. She wanted to help people and couldn’t wait to go through ten more years of school to do it. And he loved her for that. He wasn’t a volunteer, but he was a regular. It was the third time that year that he was in the hospital, but only the first time that he had seen her.

He was confused about her at first. Intimidated and paranoid he wondered why she visited him every day. What had he done to deserve such a privilege? His only visitors were his parents and sister and most of the time they were angry and crying. There was other family around but it would have been for appearances’ sake only. Name was the only thing that made them family. So he asked that no one else told where he was.

A genuine smile was a welcome change but it looked odd to him coming from a complete stranger let alone a pretty girl. All he knew was that he enjoyed it when her smile was directed towards him. It wouldn’t be the first time he felt selfish about something but the first time he felt happy about it.

“That’s a great book you’re reading there,” she said. The lilt in her voice was sweet and soft and warmed him like a song that he heard for the first time and it would be the first time every time she spoke. He was unsure how to respond so he clutched the book in his hand. The burgundy cover was worn as thin as the yellowed pages in between.

“I know. It’s not the first time I’ve read it,” he kept looking at the book cover, secretly wanting to thrust his gaze into her eyes. “I can relate to the character in the book. It’s sad that that’s the case, I know.”

“Well,” she said. Her voice raised his eyebrows. She was contradicting him in a way that he had wished somebody had years ago. “It’s not necessarily a sad thing. I mean, sure, the main character is in a dark place throughout the entire novel. But in the end, he’s still alive, isn’t he? After all, he is smart and strong and tender and loyal. He sees the rest of the world crumbling around him, but he’s still around to tell the story. That’s always good news, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” he actually agreed but never thought about it before. It wouldn’t be the first time that her perspective on something would be the freshest to his eyes. He wanted to smile but didn’t know if it would scare her, but his eyes smiled and she smiled back at him. Finally, the corners of his mouth tightened into a smile. He was unsure whether she saw but by the time she left he was sleepy and he didn’t care as much. He closed his eyes and let his lips part ever so subtly, the corners still gently curled upwards.

When he got out of the hospital he never expected to see or hear from her again. That was just the way people became involved in his life and he had grown accustomed to the pattern. But she was insistent on breaking that pattern by calling him every night to talk about nothing and ask him how his day was. He wasn’t used to the attention and confessed his suspicions to her which led to their first fight. She called the following night even though he felt he didn’t deserve it. His half empty glasses were starting to appear half full.

She fell for him before he fell for her and they soon became a package deal; you couldn’t find one without the other close behind. The muscles in his cheeks grew sore having been used more than usual when she was around. Talking and laughing and having memories to write about were what the following months were filled with. Some months later, Christy’s applications to medical schools warranted responses with thick envelopes in the mail.

Secondary applications (not to mention the fees), invitations to interviews, and visits to various campuses separated them for days at a time but he was happy for her. He would tell himself that he truly was. Whenever she would come from some cross country trip to some Ivy League school they found each other like magnets. Neither the past nor the future existed when she curled up in his arms. Words were hardly spoken for the first half hour that she would return but none were necessary. There was only one school that she really wanted to go to and one day a response arrived.

He was with her when the envelope was dropped in the mail slot. She held his hand tightly as she took the letter into her hand and opened it. The sound of the paper ripping was deafening even more so with the unfolding of the letter. Their eyes shivered as they read the words to themselves. He smiled and laughed and told her how proud of her she was. Her eyes kept looking at the paper in disbelief or disappointment, he couldn’t tell. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and gently kissed her on the cheek but her arms wrapped around him loosely. He realized she would have to move away for the next ten years if she were to accept the school’s offer.

“Meet me tomorrow,” she told him, “at three o’clock. I’ll tell you then.”

“Where?” he asked.

“You know where.”

His fingertips and nose and cheeks tingled in the warmth of the bowling alley. It caused him to shiver as he walked towards the arcade in the far corner. He looked at the games and saw some new ones and some of the same old ones. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a dollar and let it get sucked into the change machine. The quarters jingled into the collection bowl and he scooped it into his hands. His fingers smelled of metal and he shook the coins into his coat pocket.

He hated himself for not wanting her to go. This was her dream and what right did he have to get in the way of it? But he couldn’t stand the solitude again, not after realizing that things could be better. He gulped down a lump in his throat. His hands were cold, his face was hot, and he felt the beckoning of the electronic blue buzz just mere feet from him. Like reuniting with an old friend, he sat down on the dilapidated stool.

“You must remember this,” the speakers outside the bowling alley started to hum an old song. It was one of her favorites. It was supposed to make her happy but now there was only utter desolation following the temporary high the song was intended for.

The monotone “bing-bong!” followed the whooshing of the bowling alley’s sliding doors and he knew that it was her. He tried desperately to keep his eyes on the blinking screen in front of him as he let a quarter drop into the slot. He had never let a game slip by him. But he heard his name being softly spoken in that delicate lilt that never fails to make him just a bit warm inside. He knew her decision before she even said anything. He let the stool fall to the ground as he stood on his feet and walked towards her. He let her speak with his arms wrapped tightly around her and hers wrapped tightly around him. It didn’t matter what was going to happen, he thought, she’s here with me now.