Sister City

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

I'm not sure what I expected. Another gymnastics figurine, perhaps. A five dollar necklace from Target was more likely. There was no need too get me an apology gift, there wasn't really a need for an apology. I knew just how far onto my tip toes I had stretched in the hopes of feeling his lips against mine for a brief second. This whole mess was my fault and I should be the one apologizing.

I was going to dump the box in the trash can. I swear I was, but I couldn't. I did, however, find the gumption to store the box in the bottom drawer of my computer desk that is full of crap and junk. With any luck, I wouldn't have to look at it any time soon. It was doubtful that I would have to look at it ever again; unless Mom went on one of her obsessive compulsive cleaning streaks. The bottom drawer was where it would stay. I didn't need to look at it. I had absolutely no desire to see what was in the box.

I had to force myself to go out into the living room. I sat on the edge of the couch throughout the last half hour of the movie. Josh Duhamel held no sway over me, even when his shirt was shredded and hanging on by a thread, literally. My brain was focused on the bottom drawer of my computer desk; and by focused, I mean obsessed. It was as if the box had taken on a life of its own; started beating in my brain, as it were, much like the Tell Tale Heart. I think I know how Poe felt when he wrote that poem. I tolerated the brief conversation after the movie about whether or not there would be a fourth movie. I kept thinking of excuses to make to get back into the bedroom with enough privacy to open the box. I'd take any excuse; but I couldn't come up with anything that wouldn't sound fishy enough to have people checking up on me. I couldn't even claim that I had to pee because the bathroom was at the wrong end of the house.

I ignored the good-natured fighting over the remote, tolerated the episode of The Big Bang Theory where Sheldon goes to jail, and attempted to participate – and appear normal – in the conversation planning my shared birthday in a few weeks. After a few weird looks, I finally just left the room with no excuse or explanation. I stalked down the hall toward my bedroom, but at the last moment veered left down the hallway leading to Luka's bedroom. I thought about crawling up into Lex's loft and hiding there for a good long while. Halfway down the hallway I changed my mind. I wasn't going to let that damn box run my life. Plain and simple. I'd go open it and have this nonsense over with once and for all. As I was about to make an abrupt about face, I realized how stupid I was going to look. After all, I hadn't just been sauntering down the hallway, no; I'd been striding like a woman possessed. Not knowing what else to do, I threw my arms up in the air and began to mutter about the addictive qualities of In'N'Out french fries.

“Of course they're addictive. Has anybody ever eaten just one?”

Everyone seemed a bit concerned, but nobody followed me and I figured that gave me a minute or two of uninterrupted solace to open the box. I closed the door behind me, still muttering about In'N'Out attempting to brainwash the general population.

The drawer was full of crap and junk just as I'd left it a few hours before. The box was still there, under an empty Cher CD case, several unopened packages of glow-in-the-dark bracelets, a few loose pieces of scrunched printer paper, and a box full of old movie theatre stubs.

I pulled the box out of the drawer and flopped down onto the bed on my stomach. The box sat on the pillow, staring at me in an accusing manner, but there was no time to waste. The card was simple:

To: Rin

From: Marcus

The wrapping was obviously done by a boy. I yanked at the ribbon and tore at the paper. I hesitated for a mere second before pulling apart the two box pieces. A small piece of fluffy white cotton fell out along with a delicate gold bracelet. I recognized the small flowers immediately. For nearly a decade, I had seen that bracelet in a family portrait in the hallway of the Stephenson house every time I hung out there, which was pretty close to every freaking day. It graced the wrist of Ileana Stephenson as she pulled Marcus tightly against her and leaned lovingly against her husband.