Lisa sighed, crossing her arms and trying not to think about the impending holiday season. All around her, people chattered and rushed in and out of the shops, practically leaping for joy as the days ticked down.
“What’s wrong with me?” she wondered. “Christmas is supposed to be fun…”
If it was supposed to be fun, why did it make her want to curl up in a dark corner and wait for it to be over? As far as she could recall, she’d never had a particularly scarring experience around it. The sight of Cousin Clarisse in a Santa suit about five sizes too big for her didn’t count. It wasn’t like she hated holiday specials—granted, some of the new ones were a bit overdone, but she had all the good ones on tape, so that didn’t count either. She liked snow and cold weather—the ratio of sweaters to tank tops in her closet spoke for itself—so she couldn’t have been dreading the forecast of six inches on Christmas Eve. Presents weren’t that important to her, so she couldn’t have been concerned she’d get something she didn’t like. On top of that, she got along with her family—even Clarisse—so it couldn’t have been that either.
She stopped pacing as the thought hit her. Yes, it could. Her younger sister, Marissa, would be there this year. “How long has it been since we spoke?”
She furrowed her brow, straining her mind to bring up a date. Three years ago? Four? Could she really have forgotten already? The events leading up to it were still burned in the back of her mind—Mari’s falling in love with that no-good record producer just two years before Lisa’s high school graduation, her decision not to pursue painting at a college level, and the fight they’d had during Lisa’s first year of college.
“We were supposed to be artists together,” Lisa had argued. “But you just want to throw it all away for some street bum!”
“Why can’t you be supportive of my dream, Li?” Marissa scrunched her face the way she did when she was angry. Then she sighed and gazed into the distance. “I want to make albums. I want to teach the world to sing!”
“You told me that painting was your dream! You said you wanted to paint the world!”
“Well, my dream changed.” Marissa shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Lisa remembered feeling like she was drowning.
“I…I was afraid you’d be angry…”
“So you don’t trust me? You’ve known me all these years and you still don’t know me enough to…to…”
“Fine! So I was afraid! So my dream changed and I didn’t tell you! Well, we were supposed to support each other no matter what! If you can’t remember that, I’ll just go with Brett! He won’t give up on my dream!” Marissa was so angry she stomped away without looking back.
“No! Mari—I didn’t mean it like that! Mari!” Lisa wanted to run after her, but her feet felt like lead blocks. “Mari! Don’t go!”
If Marissa had heard her, she’d pretended not to. Lisa watched in horror as her baby sister turned the corner and vanished from sight.
Why hadn’t she run after her? Why couldn’t she have lied, pretended that Mari’s new dream was okay with her? Why couldn’t she have done something?
Lisa shook herself, as if to shake the memory. Not that it worked. She paced up an aisle of Nativity scenes and angel figurines, barely noticing any of it.
“It’s not like that matters anymore,” she told herself. The next semester, Lisa had changed her major to focus on medical studies. She’d found out that she actually liked it far more than she’d ever loved drawing. “Everything worked out for the better, didn’t it?”
She stopped in front of a plain wooden Nativity, staring at the faceless carved figures—Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and the wise men—and the infant Jesus. To Lisa, the scene had always meant forgiveness—that baby would someday die to redeem everyone, so that everybody could be forgiven.
“And have you exercised this? Have you forgiven Mari?” a voice inside her said.
She knew the answer. She hadn’t. A lump rose in her throat as she tightened all the muscles in her face in a futile attempt to stop the tears that welled up in her eyes. She clamped her hand over her mouth as a choked cry escaped her.
For almost ten minutes, her body shook with sobs. “Mari…Mari…I didn’t mean it…” She was certain people were staring at her. She probably looked like a fool. The way she felt, she didn’t care.
Her face was blotched red and her dark eyes were tinged pink from tears. Her nose was running, and having forgotten to bring a tissue, she wiped it on her red Christmas sweater.
A salesperson, about twenty-two, came up to her. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked, his blue eyes wide with concern.
“I—I’m fine,” Lisa replied without turning around. “I want to buy this. How much is it?”
“That?” He pointed to the wooden Nativity, as if he’d never expected it to sell. “About twenty-five dollars.” He looked again. “Oh, this one’s on special. You can get it for eighteen.”
“All right. I’m ready to check out, then.” She picked it up and went to the line. It was surprisingly empty.
“Looks like we’re in for some stormy weather…” the boy mused. “Will you want this gift-wrapped?”
“Sure,” Lisa answered.
“Do you want to write on the tag?”
“Yeah.” Lisa took the pen. What should she write? I’m sorry? It didn’t feel right. Her heart ached at the thought of giving this precious gift away, but she knew it was what she wanted to do.
She took a deep breath and wrote, “To my baby sister, Mari. I never stopped loving you—Merry Christmas from Big Sister Lisa.”