The Last Night

8

It was a warm night. The stars were pearls in the sky and a dark sheet of paper sheeted the sky.
And then there was Hanukkah.
The candle started to burn.
The second candle. Second night.
Coyote was there. Peyton. Mom. Dad. Me. Everyone in the Cohen family was there. Singing the prayer and lighting the menorah.
Except for Matt.
Come on Matt! Please come down from your jail cell!
We had this family tradition where we would buy each other presents and present it on any Hanukkah night of our choice.
Tonight, it was my present to Matt.
It was a diary. I think that's what he needs.
A diary.

diary
[dahy-uh-ree]
noun, plural diaries.
1.
a daily record, usually private, especially of the writer's own experiences, observations, feelings, attitudes, etc.
2.
a book for keeping such a record.
3.
a book or pad containing pages marked and arranged in calendar order, in which to note appointments and the like.

I think the cure to Matt's uptightness is expression. And maybe if I got him something he could express himself to, he would start to express himself.
But he wasn't here. He didn't come to receive his present.
So I took the wrapped package and gingerly carried it upstairs. I went next to the door to his room and heard noise spilling through the cracks.
He was watching TV.
I readied my fist and just when I was about to knock, I felt the sudden urge to pull away.
He's not even going to use your stupid present!
You're so stupid to get him this!
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
But instead of leaving, I left it by the door, hoping he would think it were a present given to him anonymously.
And then I left.