Responsibility

I get all weird about presents
My heart starts to pound, my palms sweat
I plaster a calm expression on my face but
Not from the joy of it, the tearing open of paper, the revealing of a surprise
We were learning Responsibility and Planning
My sister was thirteen
Old enough, my Father said, to pick her gift
She wanted a record player
Wanted one so bad she listed it twenty times on her list
“Is this all you want? Think about it, are you sure?”
“Yes!” she said, again and again
I wanted a Chatty Cathy doll, a wallet, pink ballet shoes, a Kodak camera
A pair of fishnet stockings, and a paint-by-number kit
On Christmas morning there was one present under the tree for my sister
She ripped it open, clapped her hands, yelled “Yahoo! Thanks!”
I admired it with her. Cream and pale blue with a black turntable, Perfect!
My dad said, “Forget anything?”
“No,” she said. “This is all I ever wanted!
“Too bad you didn’t ask for records.” He said, lighting his pipe.
She didn’t cry. She set her jaw hard and pretended it didn’t matter that she would have
No music on Christmas Day.
I had to open my gifts next, listen to everyone ooh and ahh over them
Say thank you, oh I like it so much while I felt
Like a huge ball was lodged in my gut
Later, I sat in my closet where
I cried and stuck my tongue out at my new chatty doll
That night I kissed my sister’s cheek while she slept


Joy Arnett
October, 2008
Portland, Or