Syd Writes Stuff

The first time you’re seven and he’s turning nine. You don’t know what to give him really; there isn’t much money at home and the last frog you gave him ran off, so there’s not much to do.

You find baseball cards though, his favorite team, in the alley behind the grocer’s, and they put the moon in his eyes. It’s a good gift.

The fifth time you’re eleven and he’s turning thirteen. It’s still hard to find something, more so because somehow you’ve managed to find the perfect thing every other time. He says he doesn’t need anything and you believe him; he’s the kind of person to say that and mean it, every time. But the thing is, you think to yourself in the kitchen, he’s the kind of person who deserves it even more just because he always says he doesn’t need anything.

It’s not so much the needs as it is the wants, you reason, and that’s why you ask your mother for help with cookies.

The eleventh time you’re seventeen and he’s turning nineteen. You’ve got an idea for this present but you’re nervous; your mother asked you where you were going so dressed up and you said dancing, which isn’t a lie, and yet. Your gift lies outside of dancing. You get to the dance hall and he’s there with a girl and something curls inside your chest. In your head it’s like a dragon wrapping around your gift to him, and you think about leaving. But then he smiles and pushes away from her to come to you, and when you hug him he lingers and you’re very much aware of his hands between your shoulders and on your lower back. He says something about your outfit and says you look sharp and that’s enough to make you stay.