Thirty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And ten dollars of it was a roll of quarters. Quarters saved one and two at a time, the leftovers from cash purchases, hoarded with the embarrassment that such petty change mattered. Three times James counted it. $32.87. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but to flop down on the shabby futon and cry. So James did it. His life lately had been made up of little but scrimp, suffer, save, and smile, with scrimping predominating.
James and Talia had been living together now for three years. The love they discovered their senior year of high school was still strong, and they were more convinced than ever that they were soulmates, that theirs would be a lifetime love. But as secure as they were in their love, they were insecure with money, as both of them worked mindless part-time jobs while attending community college full-time. The modest Victorian four-plex they rented in midtown took most of their money, and the rest went to feed a wide assortment of stray cats that Talia could not resist.
James finished his cry, glad to be raised in the new generation of men not afraid to express their emotions. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and he had only $32.87 with which to buy Talia a present. His Talia. Something meaningful, something rare, something romantic—something just a little bit near to being worthy of his sweet Talia.
He left the fourplex and walked down the street. Suddenly seeing his reflection in the window of the tattoo parlor, his eyes shone brilliantly as he clutched his chest.
Now, Talia had always been the romantic one. Her senior year of high school, before she had met James but after she turned eighteen, she had dragged her best friend into the tattoo parlor, where she had tattooed on her left breast half of a brilliant red heart.
She explained to her friend, “When I meet the man of my dreams, my true soulmate, he will be as romantic as I am. He is the only one who will ever see my tattoo. I will tell him my heart belongs only to him and is only complete with him, and he will tattoo the other half of the red heart over his heart as well.”
Talia relayed that story to James after they had made love for the first time, the night she had given him both her body and her heart. James, though wildly in love with Talia from first sight, inwardly cringed at the idea of tattooing his own chest with such a heart. Though he was a sensitive man, like many men of his generation, he was still a man, and while Talia could cover her heart with a bikini top when they partook of water sports, he could not imagine displaying it for others to constantly question or worse, to mock. He loved her with all his heart and would give her the world, but this was the one thing he would deny her. And yet, though she assured him she understood and acknowledged she had perhaps acted impetuously without consideration of the different way a man bears his chest, the sight of that half heart never failed to stir feelings of guilt within his same chest. Talia noticed this, noticed that James went so far as to avoid her left breast, displaying a mysterious preference for the right one. She was disheartened, of course, but she knew that James loved her beyond proof proffered by any symbol, and thus she contained her disappointment.
Now, James knew exactly what he wanted to give Talia for Christmas. He swung open the door to the tattoo parlor, and rather brazenly asserted that he needed a tattoo of half a heart on the left side of his chest for $32.87. The too-white girl with the multiple nose rings scoffed and spewed out her minimum charge per hour, but after James conveyed his story, her cheeks flushed and her hardness melted, and she wouldn’t take a dime from him, let alone a roll of quarters.
Oh, and the next hour flew as fast as Cupid’s arrow when it has finally found its mark. Forgive the cliché—James was becoming a marked man now, marked indelibly with his love for Talia. With every sear of the flesh, with every tear of pain that fell from his eyes, his love beat strong and true. He soared into the pet store and plunked down all of his money to buy can after can of cat food, imagining Talia’s delight at being able to offer the stray cats something beyond bags of generic kibbles and bits.
At 7 o’clock the eggnog was poured, holiday music was playing, and pine incense was burning, much like the symbol of love on his chest. But Talia was late. Talia was never late. With his hand clutched over his heart, James sat at the table and waited, stacking and restacking the cans of cat food, tuna here, salmon there, poultry in between, such a fancy feast. Then he heard Talia’s footsteps on the flight of stairs.
The door opened, and Talia stepped in and closed it. Her eyes seemed pained somehow, and there was an expression in them that James could not read. Talia’s left hand was empty and hung limply by her side, but her right hand hovered over her heart as well, almost as if in knowing empathy, James believed, for the pain he had endured earlier for their love. Yes, he thought, we are that connected.
"You got me cat food for Christmas” she said, half a question, for it was a strange gift indeed. She walked toward the table as if in a trance, letting her left hand glance over James’ shoulder as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Are you going to make me wait until the stroke of midnight to open a can?” she said with a lame smile.
Impatient to replace the distant look in her eyes with the surprise he bared on his body, he pulled Talia close, and she straddled him there on the kitchen chair. “Let’s open our gifts now!” he said, and without waiting for her consent, he lifted the worn sweater over his head and let it drop to the floor. Simultaneously, Talia’s mouth dropped open as her eyes lit upon the flaming red tattoo on her beloved’s youthful chest.
James could swear it was pain that crossed her eyes in that moment, though he could not understand its cause. “You. . . you. . . ?” she stuttered, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied. “You told me you would know your soulmate by this tattoo, that he would complete you and together your two half hearts would beat as one.”
“I. . . I. . .” Talia muttered.
“It’s a little raw,” James acknowledged, “but shed your shirt, my love, and let’s press our hearts together and truly become one.”
He must have really shocked her with this romantic and generous gesture, he thought, because she made no move to remove her shirt. Or perhaps she was lamenting the gift she would have to give him in return, for she had no money either and her gift therefore must be modest.
“It doesn’t matter what you got me,” James reassured her as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt from the bottom up. “What matters is our love which is as indelible and as forever as our two matching tattoos.”
He unfastened the top button and slowly pulled the two halves of Talia’s shirt back to reveal bandages—bandages?—on the left side of her chest. Now it his mouth’s turn to drop open as he raised his eyes to meet Talia’s. Now he understood what was causing her pained expression. His racing heart seemed to beat in slow motion as Talia removed the bandage. And then he saw it. Where her tattoo used to be, now only blotchy red skin remained. He couldn’t take his eyes off the inflamed site, couldn’t make his mind comprehend what she had done.
Talia spoke haltingly. “I was late tonight,” she said, “because I was having it removed. It was my Christmas gift to you, because I knew it just made you feel bad, and because I realized that a symbolic heart means nothing when you have every ounce of my literal heart.” She tenderly lifted his chin until his eyes met hers again.
“Merry Christmas, my one true love.”
The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly ones that could be exchanged, or maybe gift cards. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a Victorian four-plex who gave each other the most untimely of presents, but also the wisest. For let it be said that those who give presents from the heart are the wisest. They are the magi.
There was clearly nothing to do but to flop down on the shabby futon and cry. So James did it. His life lately had been made up of little but scrimp, suffer, save, and smile, with scrimping predominating.
James and Talia had been living together now for three years. The love they discovered their senior year of high school was still strong, and they were more convinced than ever that they were soulmates, that theirs would be a lifetime love. But as secure as they were in their love, they were insecure with money, as both of them worked mindless part-time jobs while attending community college full-time. The modest Victorian four-plex they rented in midtown took most of their money, and the rest went to feed a wide assortment of stray cats that Talia could not resist.
James finished his cry, glad to be raised in the new generation of men not afraid to express their emotions. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and he had only $32.87 with which to buy Talia a present. His Talia. Something meaningful, something rare, something romantic—something just a little bit near to being worthy of his sweet Talia.
He left the fourplex and walked down the street. Suddenly seeing his reflection in the window of the tattoo parlor, his eyes shone brilliantly as he clutched his chest.
Now, Talia had always been the romantic one. Her senior year of high school, before she had met James but after she turned eighteen, she had dragged her best friend into the tattoo parlor, where she had tattooed on her left breast half of a brilliant red heart.
She explained to her friend, “When I meet the man of my dreams, my true soulmate, he will be as romantic as I am. He is the only one who will ever see my tattoo. I will tell him my heart belongs only to him and is only complete with him, and he will tattoo the other half of the red heart over his heart as well.”
Talia relayed that story to James after they had made love for the first time, the night she had given him both her body and her heart. James, though wildly in love with Talia from first sight, inwardly cringed at the idea of tattooing his own chest with such a heart. Though he was a sensitive man, like many men of his generation, he was still a man, and while Talia could cover her heart with a bikini top when they partook of water sports, he could not imagine displaying it for others to constantly question or worse, to mock. He loved her with all his heart and would give her the world, but this was the one thing he would deny her. And yet, though she assured him she understood and acknowledged she had perhaps acted impetuously without consideration of the different way a man bears his chest, the sight of that half heart never failed to stir feelings of guilt within his same chest. Talia noticed this, noticed that James went so far as to avoid her left breast, displaying a mysterious preference for the right one. She was disheartened, of course, but she knew that James loved her beyond proof proffered by any symbol, and thus she contained her disappointment.
Now, James knew exactly what he wanted to give Talia for Christmas. He swung open the door to the tattoo parlor, and rather brazenly asserted that he needed a tattoo of half a heart on the left side of his chest for $32.87. The too-white girl with the multiple nose rings scoffed and spewed out her minimum charge per hour, but after James conveyed his story, her cheeks flushed and her hardness melted, and she wouldn’t take a dime from him, let alone a roll of quarters.
Oh, and the next hour flew as fast as Cupid’s arrow when it has finally found its mark. Forgive the cliché—James was becoming a marked man now, marked indelibly with his love for Talia. With every sear of the flesh, with every tear of pain that fell from his eyes, his love beat strong and true. He soared into the pet store and plunked down all of his money to buy can after can of cat food, imagining Talia’s delight at being able to offer the stray cats something beyond bags of generic kibbles and bits.
At 7 o’clock the eggnog was poured, holiday music was playing, and pine incense was burning, much like the symbol of love on his chest. But Talia was late. Talia was never late. With his hand clutched over his heart, James sat at the table and waited, stacking and restacking the cans of cat food, tuna here, salmon there, poultry in between, such a fancy feast. Then he heard Talia’s footsteps on the flight of stairs.
The door opened, and Talia stepped in and closed it. Her eyes seemed pained somehow, and there was an expression in them that James could not read. Talia’s left hand was empty and hung limply by her side, but her right hand hovered over her heart as well, almost as if in knowing empathy, James believed, for the pain he had endured earlier for their love. Yes, he thought, we are that connected.
"You got me cat food for Christmas” she said, half a question, for it was a strange gift indeed. She walked toward the table as if in a trance, letting her left hand glance over James’ shoulder as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Are you going to make me wait until the stroke of midnight to open a can?” she said with a lame smile.
Impatient to replace the distant look in her eyes with the surprise he bared on his body, he pulled Talia close, and she straddled him there on the kitchen chair. “Let’s open our gifts now!” he said, and without waiting for her consent, he lifted the worn sweater over his head and let it drop to the floor. Simultaneously, Talia’s mouth dropped open as her eyes lit upon the flaming red tattoo on her beloved’s youthful chest.
James could swear it was pain that crossed her eyes in that moment, though he could not understand its cause. “You. . . you. . . ?” she stuttered, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied. “You told me you would know your soulmate by this tattoo, that he would complete you and together your two half hearts would beat as one.”
“I. . . I. . .” Talia muttered.
“It’s a little raw,” James acknowledged, “but shed your shirt, my love, and let’s press our hearts together and truly become one.”
He must have really shocked her with this romantic and generous gesture, he thought, because she made no move to remove her shirt. Or perhaps she was lamenting the gift she would have to give him in return, for she had no money either and her gift therefore must be modest.
“It doesn’t matter what you got me,” James reassured her as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt from the bottom up. “What matters is our love which is as indelible and as forever as our two matching tattoos.”
He unfastened the top button and slowly pulled the two halves of Talia’s shirt back to reveal bandages—bandages?—on the left side of her chest. Now it his mouth’s turn to drop open as he raised his eyes to meet Talia’s. Now he understood what was causing her pained expression. His racing heart seemed to beat in slow motion as Talia removed the bandage. And then he saw it. Where her tattoo used to be, now only blotchy red skin remained. He couldn’t take his eyes off the inflamed site, couldn’t make his mind comprehend what she had done.
Talia spoke haltingly. “I was late tonight,” she said, “because I was having it removed. It was my Christmas gift to you, because I knew it just made you feel bad, and because I realized that a symbolic heart means nothing when you have every ounce of my literal heart.” She tenderly lifted his chin until his eyes met hers again.
“Merry Christmas, my one true love.”
The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly ones that could be exchanged, or maybe gift cards. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a Victorian four-plex who gave each other the most untimely of presents, but also the wisest. For let it be said that those who give presents from the heart are the wisest. They are the magi.