Christmas Cookies

There was the time, I think it was the first time, I heard Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime." I was in a white Jeep Cherokee, and my blonde girlfriend was driving. She started singing along before I could ask what the song was. She told me.


"What?" The question sounded recorded.

"Nothing, I just didn't know he'd done a Christmas song."

The rest of the ride to her parents' house was silent, except for Sir McCartney and the children's choir. We arrived at the two-story colonial, she turned off the car, and we sat not talking for a minute. We each took the other's hand, and I stroked her right ring finger with my left thumb.

She said she should go inside, and I said I should go home. Getting out of the Jeep, I held on to her hand until I couldn't reach it anymore; we said good night across the hood.

The next day was the last school-day before Christmas break. In the parking lot after school, on the ground next to the driver's side of my car, I found a box of cookies (really, two plates, one upside down on top of the other, tied together). With the cookies - a baker's dozen chocolate chip - there was a note, and above the signature was written "I'll miss you." I looked across the lot directly behind my car, and the Jeep was not there. I read the note again and drove home. Later, I noticed the wire holding the plates together was dressed as holly ivy.


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10:03 AM  

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