the effervescent bubbles enveloping him.
Marcus returned to his computer. He wished he were home. But he couldn’t be. He knew the minute he stepped out the door, the clone would pull another miracle, finish forming and awaken. Marcus wouldn’t leave, no matter what, until he saw the end results.
“Anything yet?” Reggie’s message read.
“You have got to be kidding.” Marcus spoke out loud. “Seven minutes and this is it. It’s text, not pony express.” Marcus simply typed, “No.” He folded his arms waiting to see her message. Reggie responded faster.
“Sorry it’s taking so long. Wrapping, you know. It is Christmas for us Christians.”
Marcus snickered and typed, “I’m Christian. Sort of.”
No matter what, Marcus had always made it home for Christmas. He never realized how lonely a person could feel being by himself on the biggest holiday of the year. A part of him hoped that everyone could pack up and come to visit him the following week. But it wasn’t in the cards, he knew. Marcus recalled how tough it had been to get Reggie out of the institute and home safely; a visit from the whole family was out of the question. But at least Reggie was coming to stay for five days, no less.
The repeated beep and ‘Marcus?’ drew his attention back to the phone. “Sorry,” he typed.
“I have to go. Seth will be up early. We’ve done this message thing for four hours.”
Marcus checked the time. “Shit.” He said. “Sorry,” he typed quickly. “You go on. Call me tomorrow? Night Reg.”
Marcus got up. He was still hungry and figured he could slip away for some food at his apartment. As he turned and moved toward the door, his phone beeped again. He lifted it and a peaceful sad smile graced his face when he read the words from Reggie. “I love you and miss you very much. Merry Christmas, Marcus”.
Marcus ran his thumb across her words. “Merry Christmas, Reg,” he whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
Seville, Ohio
The tag said, “To Aunt Rose, from Marcus,” in red and green. Reggie pulled a wrapped present from one of the huge UPS boxes and handed it to Marcus’ elderly aunt who sat on the sofa of the Leon home.
“Thank you,” Rose took the small package and felt it judiciously. “Tea towels. Bet me its tea towels. Ain’t got tea towels in a while.”
“Maybe,” Reggie said, knowing they weren’t. Tea towels weren’t offered on the online retailer where Marcus did all his Christmas shopping.
“Oh, look, how pretty.” Aunt Rose lifted a long silk scarf and a pair of driving gloves.
From his chair, George looked at Rose, eighty-four years old, then over to the box of gifts. “Now when does my son think she’s going to wear driving gloves? And me a pen? What do I do with a pen?”
“It’s a nice gift,” Reggie defended.
“You can use it for your crossword puzzles,” Kyle offered.
“Hmm.” George stared at his pen in a new light. “What did he get you, Kyle?”
“Whiz socks,” Kyle replied. “You wear them with boots. Keep your feet warm. New material, shiny and thin.” He nodded.
“Shiny socks, a pen, driving gloves, he got his mother a certificate to candles of the month.” George shook his head. “Last year he got me golf clubs. I don’t even golf. His sister a year’s worth of tanning appointments,” George chuckled. “What’s going through that boy’s head at Christmas time?”
“Thinking white,” Kyle stated.
Marybeth, Kyle’s proper girlfriend, grimaced and tapped Kyle on the leg. Softly, she stuttered, “N-n-now. Kyle, sweetheart. Please. That sounds so ugly and racist.”
Kyle tossed up his hands. “We’re family, we know. You haven’t met Marcus, have you?”
“No,” Marybeth stated. “He’s always out of town.”
“Well, let me describe Marcus for you.” Kyle looked at George. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” George said.
“Marcus is, hmm, maybe five foot nine. Nice looking. No facial hair. No sports ability.
Marcus returned to his computer. He wished he were home. But he couldn’t be. He knew the minute he stepped out the door, the clone would pull another miracle, finish forming and awaken. Marcus wouldn’t leave, no matter what, until he saw the end results.
“Anything yet?” Reggie’s message read.
“You have got to be kidding.” Marcus spoke out loud. “Seven minutes and this is it. It’s text, not pony express.” Marcus simply typed, “No.” He folded his arms waiting to see her message. Reggie responded faster.
“Sorry it’s taking so long. Wrapping, you know. It is Christmas for us Christians.”
Marcus snickered and typed, “I’m Christian. Sort of.”
No matter what, Marcus had always made it home for Christmas. He never realized how lonely a person could feel being by himself on the biggest holiday of the year. A part of him hoped that everyone could pack up and come to visit him the following week. But it wasn’t in the cards, he knew. Marcus recalled how tough it had been to get Reggie out of the institute and home safely; a visit from the whole family was out of the question. But at least Reggie was coming to stay for five days, no less.
The repeated beep and ‘Marcus?’ drew his attention back to the phone. “Sorry,” he typed.
“I have to go. Seth will be up early. We’ve done this message thing for four hours.”
Marcus checked the time. “Shit.” He said. “Sorry,” he typed quickly. “You go on. Call me tomorrow? Night Reg.”
Marcus got up. He was still hungry and figured he could slip away for some food at his apartment. As he turned and moved toward the door, his phone beeped again. He lifted it and a peaceful sad smile graced his face when he read the words from Reggie. “I love you and miss you very much. Merry Christmas, Marcus”.
Marcus ran his thumb across her words. “Merry Christmas, Reg,” he whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
Seville, Ohio
The tag said, “To Aunt Rose, from Marcus,” in red and green. Reggie pulled a wrapped present from one of the huge UPS boxes and handed it to Marcus’ elderly aunt who sat on the sofa of the Leon home.
“Thank you,” Rose took the small package and felt it judiciously. “Tea towels. Bet me its tea towels. Ain’t got tea towels in a while.”
“Maybe,” Reggie said, knowing they weren’t. Tea towels weren’t offered on the online retailer where Marcus did all his Christmas shopping.
“Oh, look, how pretty.” Aunt Rose lifted a long silk scarf and a pair of driving gloves.
From his chair, George looked at Rose, eighty-four years old, then over to the box of gifts. “Now when does my son think she’s going to wear driving gloves? And me a pen? What do I do with a pen?”
“It’s a nice gift,” Reggie defended.
“You can use it for your crossword puzzles,” Kyle offered.
“Hmm.” George stared at his pen in a new light. “What did he get you, Kyle?”
“Whiz socks,” Kyle replied. “You wear them with boots. Keep your feet warm. New material, shiny and thin.” He nodded.
“Shiny socks, a pen, driving gloves, he got his mother a certificate to candles of the month.” George shook his head. “Last year he got me golf clubs. I don’t even golf. His sister a year’s worth of tanning appointments,” George chuckled. “What’s going through that boy’s head at Christmas time?”
“Thinking white,” Kyle stated.
Marybeth, Kyle’s proper girlfriend, grimaced and tapped Kyle on the leg. Softly, she stuttered, “N-n-now. Kyle, sweetheart. Please. That sounds so ugly and racist.”
Kyle tossed up his hands. “We’re family, we know. You haven’t met Marcus, have you?”
“No,” Marybeth stated. “He’s always out of town.”
“Well, let me describe Marcus for you.” Kyle looked at George. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” George said.
“Marcus is, hmm, maybe five foot nine. Nice looking. No facial hair. No sports ability.
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