It’s Christmas Eve and we’re spending it in the hospital. It is just me, Mom, LaoLao, and Granny Dee. Aaron and Monica are with their families. I brought some tinsel and wrapped it around Marcus’s bed but Granny Dee made me take it down. She said it wasn’t dignified. I wanted to shout at her that getting in a drunk driving accident isn’t very dignified either, but instead I shrugged and took it down.
Between track practice and studying for finals, I’ve been managing to visit Marcus a few times a week. I wish it could be more, but at the same time … it never feels like him I’m visiting. It’s just a body lying there. The nurses say he knows when we visit, that it will help make him better … and sometimes I believe them. And sometimes I think they might as well be telling me Santa Claus is real.
His bruises are all gone. And his ribs have almost healed. But his leg is still shattered and he hasn’t woken up or given any sign that he’s going to. I wonder how long he’ll be like this. Suspended in a false sleep.
When we arrive, my mother smooths his hair, kisses him on his head, and wishes him Merry Christmas. Granny Dee sings a Christmas hymn. LaoLao holds his hand and whispers to him in Mandarin.
I stare at his face, willing him to open his eyes. But they stay shut. His chest rises and falls, the machines around us hum, and on he sleeps.
Our own Sleeping Beauty. Snow White. Rip Van Winkle. Marcus. My brother.
Leaving him is always hard, but tonight I feel like my intestines have unraveled and are wrapped around his hospital bed, and as I walk away they stretch and stretch and drag behind me and who knew that my insides could stretch this far without breaking, and I wonder how nobody else can see that I’m unraveling from the inside out and it hurts like hell.
The next morning I’m sitting in our living room watching some dumb Christmas movie when the door opens. It’s Aaron and he’s carrying a wrapped present.
“Hey,” he says. He puts the present down in front of me. “Merry Christmas.”
I haven’t gotten dressed yet and am wrapped in a ratty red robe. I tighten it around me.
My mom bustles in from the kitchen, face red from cooking Christmas dinner. “Aaron! Merry Christmas! What a wonderful surprise! Do you want to stay for dinner?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No thank you, ma’am. I just came by to wish you all a Merry Christmas. How’s Marcus?” Behind his words I hear that he’s hoping for a Christmas miracle like we all were yesterday.
“He’s … fine. No change. But he’s hanging on, and that’s something,” says my mom. She spies the present. “What’s this?”
Aaron rubs the back of his neck. “Aw, it’s nothing, really. Just something for Wing.”
We didn’t do presents this year. Couldn’t afford to, what with Marcus’s hospital bills. We did do stockings, but they were mostly stuffed with things we need, not things we want. Socks, toothpaste, that kind of thing.
“A present for Wing?” My mom’s face is puzzled. “That is kind of you, Aaron. You’ve always been so good to Wing.”
Like he’s nice to me out of the goodness of his heart. Just because I’m his best friend’s little sister. Not because he wants to be. Not because he really cares about me. Not because of me.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes on the television.
My mom mutes the Christmas movie and sits down next to me on the couch, both her and the couch sighing as she settles into it. “Wing, aren’t you going to open your present?”
Aaron hasn’t sat down. He’s standing over us, a shy, expectant smile on his face. A smile that makes me smile back without even realizing it. I take the present, a rectangular box, and gently tear off the shiny wrapping paper. And gasp.
It’s a shoe box. Not just any shoe box. A Riveo shoe box. I whip my head up and stare at Aaron, who’s looking both pleased with himself and anxious.
“Riveo? You can’t afford Riveo shoes.”
He shrugs. “You haven’t even seen them yet. For all you know it’s just a shoe box.”
I open it, not knowing what to expect. Nestled inside, like kittens in a basket, are the most beautiful shoes I’ve ever seen. They are green and pink and perfect.
Riveo running shoes.
“Do you like them?” Aaron’s voice is shot through with expectation and anxiety, and I look up from the shoes to his face. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s like a puppy hoping someone will take him home. My heart does a backflip into my stomach at the sight of him – but I can’t keep the shoes.
“Aaron,” I say, holding the box back out to him. “I can’t take these, and I…” My mom takes the box out of my hands, and I desperately wish she weren’t here. “I don’t have anything for you!”
“She’s right, Aaron,” says my mom. “We can’t accept this. It’s too much. You should return the shoes.”
Aarons smiles a crooked smile. “I got a Christmas job,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Just for December. Down at Lenox Square Mall. At the Riveo store. I got a staff discount.”
Even with a staff discount, I know these shoes must have cost him half his paycheck. I hope he got himself a new pair too.
“Isn’t it pretty tough to get a seasonal job at the mall?” I ask.