Page 20 of Pining for You

Once I’m seated upright again and sure I haven’t caused any major cranial damage, I tap my pen against my chin.

Now, a documentary—that’s a serious endeavor.

If I could make a film that attempts to prove the way Christmas magic manifests in the real world, maybe I could accomplish a couple of goals all at once.

I put my pen to paper now, and it all starts flowing. The wall comes down. I get lost in the idea taking shape, and everything else falls away.

I could use the experience in my Statement of Purpose. I could describe the idea—that I decided to undertake a small personal research project, to seek out magic in the real world, so I could develop my unique point of view, helping me bring the magic of Christmas to screens in an original way, a modern way, one grounded in reality (while also upholding my lifelong goal of diversifying the holiday canon). Explain that this will help me to make films that aren’t derivative or trite—films an institution would be proud to claim came from one of their alumni.

A statement like that would prove my conviction, my initiative, my dedication and work ethic, and demonstrate that I intend to make them proud with my unique, well-informed, thoroughly researched, and very meaningful work.

Plus, adding documentary filmmaker to my résumé gives a sense of gravitas—someone with that credit is definitely doing work with purpose.

I have a reel on YouTube, and I could upload it there, and even share it as supplementary material. Izaac is always saying I need to do something to stand out, and this is kind of like extra credit.

I look up at the photo of my friends and me, and the one of Naomi, Michelle, and me beside it. I think of all the abandoned traditions this year, and the stress everyone around me seems to be under—all of which is making them forget about the magic of the holiday. It seems like everyone I know could use the reminder right now. Maybe a film like this could be a gift to them, too, in a way.

And maybe, just maybe, if I put it out in the world, it might even find Eve. Show her that there are kinds of magic that can be proven, and remind her of the joy that comes with belief.

I mean, a girl can dream, right?

I’ve never made a documentary, but I have made tons of movies with my mom’s old camcorder, and honestly, this feels even easier—no script to write, no set to scout, no actors to cast (usually it’s my friends and coworkers).

I reach for the camcorder where I left it at the corner of my desk. It’s a handheld, the kind that still requires an SD card. She gave it to Michelle and me years ago to make home videos when we built snow castles and went sledding, and I loved it so much she told me I could keep it.

After that, it was like an extension of my hand. For years, I used it to immortalize moments or try out techniques. Until recently, when life got less fun to film, and there were more moments I’d rather forget.

But now I pick it up and feel the old thrill.

I remove the lens cap, carefully because the thing feels ancient and irreplaceable. All I have to do is decide where to point and hit Record—and it’s perfect timing, too; we have so much going on in the next few days with our group hang, and the Cooper Bazaar, and the party. The evidence should come naturally, and I can cut together the narrative later, a story that sums up my findings based on what I capture, right?

There’s a flutter in my stomach—but it’s familiar this time. Not butterflies or sparkles, but pure, artistic inspiration. It’s what I’ve been missing.

When I finally slap my pen down on the notepad, I shake out my hand. It’s cramping up from all my furious scribbling, but it feels so good. My eyes adjust to the real world again, and there’s starlight peeking through the darkened bedroom window like twinkle bulbs. And it dawns on me—the very first thing I’ll capture. I get up, grab my coat and the camera, and leave my room behind.

6

December 23 (Christmas Eve2)

“Pag’s pancakes are proof of miracles, don’t you think?” Cash asks at breakfast the next morning.

“Honestly, it’s magic and a miracle that we are finally situated,” Izaac says.

It’s true, it did take a full five minutes for us to maneuver around one another and remove all our layers before we could settle into our booth. If I could, I’d just live in my cozy sweater era for always. But in the winter, wearing enough clothes to be warm-ish outside makes everything so freaking hard.

“Order up!” shouts Lazo, the surly owner of Pag’s, and we all pause to take giant whiffs of the fluffy, syrupy flapjacks floating by on the servers’ trays.

“Soooo, what’d Naomi think of Marley?” Cash asks the second we’re situated. He’s rocking back and forth in his seat, rubbing his hands together, looking like a slightly unhinged but loveable elf. He’s in good spirits this morning; actually, everyone seems to be, which feels like an auspicious start to our movie marathon day. More of a reason to get this part of the conversation over with and move on to the good parts.

“Hard to say,” I reply. “Didn’t make it ’til she got in to find out.”

When I left the house this morning, Naomi was still asleep. I assume she saw the tree, since she would have had to pass him on her way to bed, but then again, sometimes my mom comes home so tired that she doesn’t know which end is up. Which makes me feel bad, and mad, and sad, and all the things. But right now, it also means I really don’t know the answer to Cash’s question.

“Oh, well, I’m sure she’ll love him,” says Cash quickly, because they all know the drill by now with Naomi, and they know me better than anyone.

“He’s right,” Izaac adds. “She just needs to meet Marley when she’s well rested.”

“I never would have let him go home with you if I didn’t believe that,” Diya chimes in, dropping her curmudgeon vibe to offer her encouragement too.