From the Past, With Love

Sarah Jane arrives back at her apartment sometime around ten. Maybe eleven. Actually, closer to midnight when she checks her smartwatch. She can’t be blamed for her inability to identify time correctly. The three-hour drive from her mother's house had numbed her mind from the earlier events of the day. From the conversations she’d had to partake in with distant relatives she only sees once a year on Christmas Eve. From her mother’s insistence that she stay out of the kitchen while she cooked, all the while pleading for Sarah to help when she gets overwhelmed. And from the overall exhaustion that often plagued her around this time of year. 

Really, Sarah didn’t care what time she got back to her place. Just that she got back. 

She drops the bags of gifts in her hands onto the floor, then steps out of her four-inch stilettos, an insistence from Grandmother Ruth that she dress appropriately for the holiday. As if there were a time when Sarah ever dressed inappropriately. But if a woman's clothes weren't causing her to suffer, then she wasn’t trying hard enough. And because Sarah hadn’t had the patience to endure yet another chiding from her grandmother, she adhered to the outdated practices. 

That, unfortunately, did not also apply to her brother. 

Ashton had arrived late, and unfashionably so. Dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt ripped at the bottom, and an oversized jacket, he was greeted at the door with unabashed enthusiasm. It was a miracle he’d arrived at all, and so grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins alike treated his coming as the second resurrection of Christ. Sarah's brother came bearing no gifts. Nor had he made anything to contribute to the meal. The simple act of driving the twenty minutes to their mother's house was more than enough of a benefaction to the family. 

“We don’t see him that often,” Sarah’s mother says while Sarah mashes the potatoes. The older woman takes a sip of red wine, her lipstick leaving a mark on the glass the same shade of maroon. 

“You don’t see me that often, either,” Sarah notes. 

“Yes, but you’re such a wonderful daughter. Your brother… it's a miracle he’s here, Sarah.”

Was it? 

A miracle was Jesus turning water into wine. A miracle was Captain Sully landing his airplane in the Hudson without a single loss of human life. A miracle was Sarah's continued tolerance of her her mother's. A miracle was Philippe Petit's successful highwire walk between the two Twin Towers without a safety harness. 

How was Ashton's appearance at their Christmas gathering even remotely comparable? 

Sarah pursed her lips and kept her eyes down on the bowl of potatoes. If there were any miracles to be had in this household, it was Sarah's continued tolerance of the differing standards her mother had her two children.

Ashton and Sarah shared few words between them, according to Sarah’s preference. Her brother seemed keen that night to speak with her, which wasn’t necessarily out of character for him. Ashton often used Sarah as an anchor during these events. He didn’t particularly like to interact with anyone else and often grumbled that people asked too many questions of him. Sarah didn't realize that such questions as, “How’s everything going?” and “What are you up to these days?" were such hostile intrusions. 

Yes, horrible, Sarah thought to herself. How terrible for Ashton to endure such a line of questioning. 

But that Christmas Eve, he was particular about grabbing her attention. Sarah afforded him a few seconds here and there, but otherwise she kept her distance, preferring to listen to her aunt’s abysmal plight of having to switch to generic brands this year and what a shame it was that she could no longer shop at Neiman Marcus as often as she used to.

The night proceeded as scheduled. Her mother called everyone to the kitchen to make a plate for themselves. Someone said a prayer to bless the meal, despite the fact that no one in the family was religious or belonged to a church of any kind. And, after everyone filled their bellies beyond capacity and stacked their dishes in the sink, they drifted to the living room where presents circled the tree like soldiers protecting Good King Wenceslas while he braves the harsh winter to bring alms to the poor.

As Sarah usually did each holiday season, she asked for no gifts. She made no list. She told no one anything. Because she didn’t want anything unless someone was going to write her a check to cover next month’s rent. It was a joke, of course, but her grandmother always tsked whenever Sarah made it. 

“Nonsense,” Grandmother Ruth had said during a phone call between the two. “We have to get you something.”

“But I don’t need anything.”

“Well, then, what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything either.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Grandma -”

“You need something to open.”

Defeated, Sarah muttered a simple, "All right."

Sarah didn’t mean to feel ungrateful as she sat on one of the folding chairs brought in from the garage to accommodate all the guests. After all, there were little children out there who got nothing for Christmas because their families had no money. Or because their families just didn't care about them enough to buy anything. There were kids who had no parents to begin with. And people in general who wouldn't celebrate this joyous season with anyone. 

And when it came to gifts, it’s the thought that counts anyway, right?

But what if someone put no thought into the gift? What if the gift was a generic knick-knack that Sarah had no desire for, or space in her apartment? What if the act of gift-giving itself was a way for the person doing the giving to pat themselves on the back for a good job done? 

So when Sarah dropped her bags to the ground, she did so callously. Because she didn’t care for any of the items within them. Lots of them would make their way to Goodwill shelves sometime in the next few days. And all the Reese’s cups and other assorted candy would have to find a home elsewhere because Sarah was allergic to peanuts. A fact that most of her extended family always forgot or discarded whenever they saw her. 

Once she removes her heels, Sarah makes her way to her bathroom where she sheds her little black dress and peels her stockings off her legs. She washes her face of all the makeup she’d caked onto her skin in order to achieve that “natural” glow about her. Then she changes into some cozy pajamas, makes some hot cocoa, and sits herself in front of the television to enjoy a late-night holiday rom-com. This year, her gift to herself was rejecting her mother's invitation to spend the night. Despite her insistence, Sarah stayed firm. She’d done her due diligence as the eldest child and only daughter of the family. Let Ashton pick up some of the slack and entertain their mother for once, rather than Sarah. 

Just as Sarah finds her choice of movie and settles in, the buzzer to her door sounds. Sarah ignores it, thinking whoever it is had made an error. But then it happens again, and a third time, before Sarah finally takes action. 

Throwing her blanket off her lap, Sarah walks to the door and opens it. Standing on her welcome mat is a delivery carrier dressed in brown pants and a jacket to match. He’s young, and when Sarah answers, he appears nervous as he awkwardly holds out the digital pad for her to sign. 

“Sorry, forgot this in my truck,” he stammers. “Was supposed to get this to you yesterday.”

“Forgot what?” Sarah asks. 

“A package.”

At his feet, Sarah notices a small cardboard box, but the lettering is too small for her to discern who it's from. She takes the pen from the man’s hands and signs the pad to verify that she received the item. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says as he departs. 

“Merry Christmas,” Sarah returns. 

She picks up the package and heads back inside, placing the box on the island in her kitchen. She studies the label, but the address of origin is unfamiliar to her. And no one had communicated to forewarn her of an upcoming delivery. Curiosity sparked, Sarah retrieves a pair of scissors and slices through the tape at the top holding everything together. She’s met by an intense mixture of tissue paper and newspaper, as if the sender meant to use these materials as protectants rather than forking over the extra cash for the more durable bubble wrap. 

As Sarah parts the sea of papers, her fingers graze against something soft and fuzzy nestled at the bottom of the package. Sarah removes more of the paper to reveal the precious item that all that wrapping was meant to protect. 

A bear. 

A brown teddy bear, to be more precise. 

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Sarah removes the stuffed animal from the box and examines it. The last time she’d seen this exact bear was when her mother was stuffing him into a trash bag. That version had had an ear missing and its stomach sliced right through, the fuzz tumbling out and falling to the ground. Sarah remembers crying because over the destroyed bear. She’d pleaded with her mother to fix it, or for her to give it to Grandmother Ruth to sew back together. 

“You’re too old for stuffed animals, anyway,” her mother had said. “Time to grow up.”

Sarah’s mother hadn’t even acknowledged the cause of the bear’s destruction. Ashton had gone into a violent tantrum for some petty reason or another. As if he even needed a reason those days. And he’d taken his anger out on Sarah’s most beloved item: the first gift she’d ever received on her first Christmas. Sure, the bear had gotten a little mangled and a little stained, throughout the years she’d kept him. But that didn’t mean Rocky, as she'd christened him, deserved such a traumatic ending as the one Ashton had bestowed upon him.

Sarah cried and cried all night. But her wailing did nothing. Unlike Ashton, Sarah’s mother never submitted to her daughter’s emotional outbursts. Sarah was never given another bear or even another stuffed animal after that. 

Until now. 

Tears pool in the corners of Sarah's eyes as she clutches the bear close to her chest and squeezes its plush body against hers. She can’t necessarily pinpoint what exactly she’s feeling, but it overwhelms her. She stands in the kitchen, holding tightly onto the thing she lost all those years ago, and the thing she thought she would never get back. It feels stupid, in a way, to cherish something as trivial as a stuffed teddy. But there’s so much sentiment that Sarah had attached to the bear. It had been her best friend, the thing she talked to during late nights when she couldn’t sleep because of her parents' arguing. It was Rocky she cuddled as she cried after her mother revealed to her a close relative’s passing. It was Rocky she carried around with her when she was in kindergarten because it reminded her of home. And it was Rocky that comforted her when she’d decided to run away from home, serving as her sole friend and reliable travel companion. 

Whoever sent this to her knew what a great deal this stuffed teddy meant to Sarah. 

Coming back to her senses, she digs around the box to see if there's a note or card of any kind. Taped to the bottom is a torn-off piece of yellow legal paper. Sarah scans the words through a misty haze of tears. 

Sorry for destroying the first Rocky. 

Hopefully, the second one lasts longer. 

From, Ashton

Sarah doesn't believe the words were real, so she re-reads them over and over and over again. But they never disappear or alter themselves into a combination that makes sense. Ashton sent her this? Ashton? But…it’s so thoughtful. And beautiful. And loving.

And then the revelation strikes Sarah with the force of a batter hitting a home run. That’s why he was so keen to speak with her at the party. 

To make sure she’d received his gift. 

And now Sarah felt like shit for ignoring him. 

But hopeful that this could be the start of mending their relationship. That this was a small sampling of Ashton’s ability to change. And that Sarah should start treating and interacting with him as this new iteration he was attempting to transform into, rather than the bratty, snotty kid who had ruined her moments of happiness as a child. Maybe the past still hurt her in some ways, but perhaps the future was a cure. 

Sarah found her phone and sat on the couch, still holding the bear close to her chest. She found her brother’s number and hesitated a minute, her thumb hovering over the ten digit combination. 

Maybe this is a bad idea. 

Maybe the gift was all a joke, and the bear was about to explode in ten seconds. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Well, there was only one way to figure it out. 

Sarah dials the number.