Right now, right here.
I give to you, a present.
Because I am here, right now, right here.
“I came, didn’t I?” I smiled at her, the girl with the endless glare.
“Empty handed,” she says through gritted teeth. With a roll of her eyes, she turns away harshly from me and walks away.
“It’s nice that you came.” I turn to the voice behind me. He smiles weakly, giving a friendly pat of my shoulder.
“I had to,” I reply, returning his contact. “Didn’t I?”
He shakes his head. With a final weak smile, he too walks in the direction of the girl. She looks up at him as he stands beside her, with an expression I can’t fathom. Is she happy? Is she sad? As if she felt my stare, she abruptly throws a glare in my direction. His gaze follows her eyes, but he does not mimic the coldness of her eyes when he finds me. Instead, he pulls her away, out of my eyesight. I do not bother to find them again.
My mind begins to wander, what if I just stayed in front of my couch and binge watched Netflix instead of being in the middle of this depressing social gathering?
Because it’s her birthday, I remind myself.
He comes into sight once more, and motions for me to follow him upstairs. I oblige, without even recognizing which angel possessed me today, all the way to his bedroom.
“You’re the only person she wants in this party, that’s why she’s… disappointed you were late and did not bring her a present,” he explains while rummaging through a box.
“After what she said to me yesterday, she should be glad I came,” I huff.
“She loves you,” he reminds me, his voice low and gentle. “Here.”
I take whatever it is he handed me. It’s a scrapbook. I look at him in wonder and he shrugs, leaving me inside the room to open the piece of art in my hands.
I flicker through the pages, finding my face frequently amongst the beautiful scraps of paper listing the dates of our relationship. The first movie we watched together, our trip to Disneyland, the swings I pushed her off of when we were 5…
“It’s yours,” her voice startles me. “Your present.”
Her voice trembles with every syllable, her eyes glistening even in the dim lighting from the hallway. She stands stiffly, and I don’t dare approach her glaring figure.
I smile at her and start to laugh when she cries.
“Did you really think that I would show up here without a present?”
“Other than your presence? No.”
“Here,” I pull out a perfectly wrapped pink present from my pocket. “Now you have two presents.”
Katya Tjahaja
I give to you, a present.
Because I am here, right now, right here.
“I came, didn’t I?” I smiled at her, the girl with the endless glare.
“Empty handed,” she says through gritted teeth. With a roll of her eyes, she turns away harshly from me and walks away.
“It’s nice that you came.” I turn to the voice behind me. He smiles weakly, giving a friendly pat of my shoulder.
“I had to,” I reply, returning his contact. “Didn’t I?”
He shakes his head. With a final weak smile, he too walks in the direction of the girl. She looks up at him as he stands beside her, with an expression I can’t fathom. Is she happy? Is she sad? As if she felt my stare, she abruptly throws a glare in my direction. His gaze follows her eyes, but he does not mimic the coldness of her eyes when he finds me. Instead, he pulls her away, out of my eyesight. I do not bother to find them again.
My mind begins to wander, what if I just stayed in front of my couch and binge watched Netflix instead of being in the middle of this depressing social gathering?
Because it’s her birthday, I remind myself.
He comes into sight once more, and motions for me to follow him upstairs. I oblige, without even recognizing which angel possessed me today, all the way to his bedroom.
“You’re the only person she wants in this party, that’s why she’s… disappointed you were late and did not bring her a present,” he explains while rummaging through a box.
“After what she said to me yesterday, she should be glad I came,” I huff.
“She loves you,” he reminds me, his voice low and gentle. “Here.”
I take whatever it is he handed me. It’s a scrapbook. I look at him in wonder and he shrugs, leaving me inside the room to open the piece of art in my hands.
I flicker through the pages, finding my face frequently amongst the beautiful scraps of paper listing the dates of our relationship. The first movie we watched together, our trip to Disneyland, the swings I pushed her off of when we were 5…
“It’s yours,” her voice startles me. “Your present.”
Her voice trembles with every syllable, her eyes glistening even in the dim lighting from the hallway. She stands stiffly, and I don’t dare approach her glaring figure.
I smile at her and start to laugh when she cries.
“Did you really think that I would show up here without a present?”
“Other than your presence? No.”
“Here,” I pull out a perfectly wrapped pink present from my pocket. “Now you have two presents.”
Katya Tjahaja
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