vii. gifts - 12/24
Valentina and I exchanged gifts today. I gave her a jar full of beads and a candy cane striped tutu, because she always complains about how she had to leave behind all the tutus she used to wear in high school when she moved from California to New York. She was so excited that she pulled the ridiculous thing right over her jeans, because, as she said, “That is the only way to wear a tutu.”
I consider Valentina to be my friend, and she’s certainly one of the few people in New York that I know I can count on. But I guess I didn’t realize that somewhere along the way, she’s actually ended up knowing me a lot better than I thought she did. I never really saw how well she was paying attention.
I’m talking about the Christmas present she gave me, of course. I don’t know what I was expecting when I peeled away the wrapping paper; something generic, maybe: a bottle of scented lotion or a t-shirt or a gift card to the bookstore. But it wasn’t.
She had given me a photograph, professionally printed and tucked into one of her handmade beaded frames. It’s a candid shot of you and me in front of the Christmas tree at your house last year, our shoulders draped with strings of lights, our lips curved into unbridled laughs. I’m leaning into you, looking slightly off-balance, and the stepladder next to us reminded me of how I fell while trying to hang an ornament and tumbled straight into your arms.
I had never seen the picture before; Valentina told me that she had found your aunt on Facebook, and Sheridan had been more than happy to help. And I started crying right there, sitting on the floor in the middle of our dorm room, and I’m not sure whether the tears were happy or sad but they might have been a little bit of both, because on one hand Valentina had given me the perfect gift, but on the other hand it suddenly hit me that I won’t be going home for Christmas. Plane tickets aren’t cheap and the snow makes travel unreliable, so I’ll be staying right here.
Valentina is a psychology major and I guess that means she knows a thing or two about dealing with emotional roommates, because she just reached over and squeezed my hand and held on until the tears ran out.
She’s at a Christmas Eve party right now, which she invited me too but which I once again declined. She’s going to another party tomorrow, too, but she didn’t invite me to that one. I guess she’s realized that I’m just going to keep turning her down.
I took a picture of my present from Valentina and sent it to you, but you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably busy with preparations for Christmas. Everyone is, right? I’m sure my mom is cooking up a storm, my relatives are all pouring into the house, my sister is trying to decide which of her flings she wants to resurrect and invite to the party so that she has someone to kiss under the mistletoe.
I should be looking forward to Christmas; it is, after all, the most wonderful time of the year. But it’s also cold and lonely and I’m staring at that picture of us and thinking about my family and I love New York, Sam, I really do, but this place just doesn’t feel like home.
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dedicated to fatima because i love her very much and also because she has written me a freaking essay on every single part of this thing. oh, and merry christmas to everyone, if it's christmas where you are! (i still have an hour left)
