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Before: Christmas in Terminal A... Part Three


Nick

I didn't sleep so good that night. I think I still felt kina guilty about forgetting Dogface's good present or something. Or maybe my body just didn't like the whopper and fries when it'd been promised a real Christmas Dinner. I dunno. I just know I didn't get a whole lot of sleep and I stayed awake most of the night watching Christmas Story go over and over and over again and, as the sun rose, seagulls weaving between the clouds outside the winow.

Around the millionth time that Ralphie had settled in for a long winter's nap hugging his Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle (with the compass in the stock), I glanced over at Dogface. She was sleeping peacefully, but I could tell she was going to wake up soon because her nose was twitching. Her nose always twitched just before she woke up. Not quite ready to face her yet, I rolled off the seats and walked to the bathroom across the hall, noding hello to a disgruntled security guard who was just leaving the john. I took my time in there, avoiding going back out for as long as possible. I brushed my teeth with my fingers and messed with my hair a little. I studied myself in the mirror, leaning closer to get a real good look at the weird crinkles around my eyes that were beginning to appear.

Over the years, I've spent a lot of nights in airports. Its just something that comes part and parcel with the jetset life that I lead. Once, in Stockholm, we celebrated Kevin's birthday in an airport. It was utterly depressing. Basically, I'd grown up in an airport. Also depressing. And Miami was an airport that I frequented. In fact, for awhile, Miami had been my key international airport for travelling in and out of. There was a time that I'd stood, perhaps in front of this very same mirror, and stared back at the reflection of a teenage kid with 90's fashion sense and a bowlcut.

I wondered how different I was, really, from that teenage kid.

Not very, I decided.

I wondered how proud of me that kid would be? Would he be at all?

I took a deep breath and decided standing in the restroom thinking about bygones and avoiding Dogface wasn't going to make the day any less depressing, so I headed back to out little encampment.

Dogface was standing up, stretching, when I got back. She looked up from clutching her ankles, her hair all dangling in her face. "Where'd you go?" she asked, "I was hoping you'd at least have coffee when you came back."

"Bathroom," I replied, dropping onto my seats.

Dogface stretched to one side, enlongnating her legs. I noticed the security guard do a double take as he patrolled by. She stood upright, rolling her spine and eclipsing the staring robo-cop. "Think Starbucks is open yet?" she asked.

I shrugged, "I ain't got a clue."

Dogface rolled her neck, which made a popping sound, then sat down, apparently done stretching for the morning, and pulled her bag closer to herself. "You're not sick, are you?"

"Sick?" I asked.

"Well you were in the bathroom forever."

"Yeah."

"So you're fine?" she asked.

I winked. "I'm fine, babe."

Dogface rolled her eyes, "You're such a pervert. Oh and have I mentioned obnoxious?"

"You love it," I said.

"You wish." She chucked a box at me suddenly - a red box with a big silvery bow on top. "Merry Christmas, jackass," she added.

I hesitated for only a moment. I mean, I felt guilty, but dude it's a present. So I ripped open the paper and stuck the bow to the side of my head (because, really now, what else do you do with bows?). Insie the box was a Ninja Turtle action figure - Donatello. When I was ten, I wanted Donatello so bad that it hurt. I asked for him every damn day from Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. But I didn't get him. Until now. I looked up at Dogface as I pulled Donatello from the box. "Holy fracking hell," I gasped. "How did you ---?"

Dogface grinned. "I found a collector selling his old figures on eBay, and I asked if he had the 1990 Donatello figure and described it and he did and voila."

"Shit this is awesome." In the box was all the accessories that Donatello was promised to have come with. I snatched the pieces up excitedly, "Holy shit I'm totally playing with this. Like everyday. On my living room carpet."

Dogface laughed.

At the sound of her laugh, a spark of guilt crawled through me again. I felt even crappier for leaving the LP at my mom's house and a part of me wanted to open my bag and freak out, pretend that I'd just now found out that I'd left it, and just completely bypass giving her the lame ass airport store gift altogether. But I didn't want her to think that I was faking having forgotten it, either, like I hadn't gotten her anything at all. Which was such a me thing to do. The fact was, I'd forgotten quite a few holidays in the past. Christmas, Birthdays... you name it... So instead of telling her, I pulled out the newspaper wad encasing the replacement gift, and I held it out to her.


Ashley

"Here." Nick thrust a ball of newspaper at me. It was my crossword from the night before. I took it and stared at it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your present," he answered.

I hate to even admit this - I mean, I feel like a total bitch for feeling let down, but I mean... I don't know. I always made this big shtick about not wanting anything for Christmas, so really I shouldn't have expected anything. But still, even though I said I didn't, I really did want something, and especially something from Nick. Something from Nick that would mean something to me. Which is why I went out every year and I painstakingly spent time researching and thinking of the perfect gift that he would treasure. Every damn year. But, like it always was with Nick every year and every other day of the year, I was always an afterthought for him. If he even thought of me at all, that is.

I smiled, depsite the pit of ache that was beginning to collect in the cess pool of my heart. "Thanks," I managed, my smile almost hurting my mouth to hold in place. I opened the paper slowly, my fingers trembling. All I wanted in the world was to peel it back and find something special in there. That's all I wanted. Please don't let it be a let down, I prayed silently with all my might. But the paper parted and in the center was a cheap necklace with a small bulb of beach sand hanging at the end of it with teeny tiny sea shells buried in the sand. It had a tag on it that read Greetings from Miami in a Flamingo pink font where the i's were dotted with little flowers.

"Oh wow. Pretty," I forced the words out of my mouth, and I reached up and attached the necklace around my neck. It felt heavy. It felt like it was shrieking he doesn't love youuuu at me. I touched it, smiled with a little too much teeth, and nodded, trying to prove to him that I liked it.

Nick smiled weakly back.

A really awkward moment passed between us, neither of us really looking at the other. Finally, Nick stood up. "Breakfast," he said.

I nodded and stood too, balling up the newspaper. "Sounds good."

"Yeah, coffee sounds good," he nodded.

We gathered up our stuff and set off in silence towards the Starbucks down the hallway, neither of us saying anything. At the kiosk, the barista apologized that they were just opening and the coffee would take a couple minutes to brew, and we stood around waiting while the coffee steamed and hummed and the barista set up all the food in the case. A family walked by briskly in the midst of a stream of single-looking solo flyers and the mother was pulling the kid along, looking hurried. I overheard the kid asking her a question, to which she replied, "Santa visited gramma's house, don't worry, there's lots of presents waiting for you there..."

I didn't realize Nick was watching them, too, until he leaned closer. "When did you stop believing?" he asked.

"I never really did," I replied, shrugging. "Santa doesn't really visit foster homes." Nick looked uncomfortable, like he always did when my childhood came up. He rubbed the back of his neck. "When did you?" I asked, "I don't remember you ever talking about it."

He licked his lips, "When I didn't get Donatello."

"Do you believe again?" I asked.

Nick shrugged, "No 'cos this year I asked for a Holiday Ho and I didn't get one."

"You get one of those every year," I replied. "Maybe Santa sent you something else."

Nick shrugged. The barista called us over and Nick galloped over for the coffees. He came back a second later and put mine in my hand. "Do you think you'll tell your kids there's a Santa someday? Even though you didn't believe in it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know if I even want kids," I answered.

"What? Why?" Nick asked.

I hesitated. The real reason was because I didn't think I'd ever find someone that I wanted to have kids with, or would want to have kids with me. But I felt dumb saying that to Nick, of all people. So I just shrugged again and replied, "They might grow up to have my nose."

It was much, much later that afternoon, on board the plane, on the way back to Los Angeles, probably somewhere over Kansas, when Nick turned to me, tapping my hands to get me to take my headphones off. I looked up at him. "What?" I asked.

"You should tell them."

"Tell who what?" I asked.

"Your kids," he replied. "When you have kids someday, you should tell them about Santa Claus."

I stared at him. I'd almost forgotten the conversation by then. "But I-"

"No buts," he shook his head, "You'll have kids. They'll have perfect noses."

I snorted. "You don't even know if I'll ever get married, not to mention have kids."

Nick shook his head, "You'll get married. And you'll have lots of babies and you'll name them really boring, generic names, and you'll tell'em about the fat guy that leaves toys under the tree."

"Nick, I can't even remember the last time I went out on a real date with someone," I laughed.

"Only because you're holding out."

"Holding out?" I laughed, "For what?"

"A follow-up kind of guy," Nick answered.