Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

Missing gingerbread stars pt. I

A heated pinch inside. We'd go, me and Allen. To the sea. Or just to the lake in the Highland park. Because he knew, and it was ok. We'd go and I'd find out whether he tanned or not, maybe see barely there freckles, returning full force on his face. Watch him squint in the sunlight. I bit my lip. The ring catching between my teeth. Allen Allen Allen. I did try. I did. But I still thought way too much about him. Not only thought about him but felt him missing. Almost physically. Imagined phantom pains. Because I hadn't lost a limb when he left but it sure felt like it sometimes. Like a porcelain doll arm that had been easily severed from its soft body, snipp snipp with the scissors, and thrown onto the plane taking him away. Or like I was one of the ginger bread men mom and Julie had been all gigglingly baking yesterday night. With a leg hungrily chewed off. Or a star-shaped hole in its middle. Stupid. It shouldn't matter. He'd be back in a week. Or two. He sent me messages almost every day. Light-hearted everyday ones. That I tried to reply to. The difference between a mile to the Hills or a thousand to Duluth shouldn't matter. But it did.

The distance made me want to talk about him. Mention his name so he didn't feel so far away. At Trish the other night, laughing about the losers at the Christmas dance I'd bitten my lip more than once to keep myself from starting half my sentences with 'Allen does',' Allen says' Allen blah, blah whatever. The same yesterday night. Mom had teasingly asked me if maybe we should save some cookies for Allen and I'd scowled, stuffing my face with gingerbread hearts and stars to keep more words from spilling out. Or maybe just his name. Allen Allen Allen. I sighed, sipping the chocolate, watching mom and grandma fight over the last truffle. The phone burning in my pocket. I hadn't even dared opening his present yet. And soon the official present-opening-day of Christmas would be over. I really should just get on with it. Like it was a chore. Like hell it was. I suddenly felt all confident and Christmas-spririty. Yeah I wanted to talk to him.

"I'll just go..." I mumbled, trying to slip off the couch and away unnoticed during the truffle tug-o-war.

"Already going to hide in room with the computer?" My granddad mused, looking at me over his thin metal framed glasses.

"No just...things, I'll be back in minute," I promised quickly, and hurried up the stairs before anyone else noticed.

I apprehensively approached my desk where the gift was sitting. Like it was a bomb more than a Christmas present.

Carefully picked it up. Not very heavy for its size. Wrapped in white paper with a holly leaf print. A red string tied around it, on top of it being practically covered in tape. 'I wrapped it myself', Allen had declared proudly, handing over a big square of a gift to Trish, wrapped in the same paper. Well, that was pretty obvious. I wondered briefly what he'd gotten her. I'd gotten her a mermaid-shaped bottle of pink bubble bath, knowing it was a 50/50 chance she'd be whacking me over the head with it, declaring it was offensive to women, or loving it. Me and her had made mixed cd's for everyone else. I chose the music, she made the covers. Everyone including Allen.

I untied the string, started peeling away the layers of tape with my too short nails. Finally done, I carefully unwrapped the paper. An ordinary small cardboard box. Much like the outside, it was taped shut meticulously. I smiled to myself, starting up the tape peeling again. And suddenly, like it was hiding a laughing clown inside, the box sprung open. But there was no clown, just a lot of styrofoam peanuts and a clear plastic case. Holy fuck. He'd gone completely off the rails. I backed away from my desk like I'd discovered an actual bomb inside the box. Could fucking feel the sweat pearling on my forehead. Hadn't had a clue the Christmas gift bar was set so high.

I tiptoed over to my desk, peeking inside again. Yep. Still there. Nestled among styrofoam inside the box was an ipod. Brand new. I'd seen the ad's splashed all over the mall, the colors of the rainbow. But this was the sober black one. In a box. On my desk. For me. I'd seen the price in the ads as well. Crazy.