cellophane

“Do you wanna know what I think?” she offered. “I think that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Presents are wrapped with ribbons askew. The corners of the boxes have too much paper smushed and frantically taped along the edges.

“I never said I was good at this but they’re wrapped, aren’t they?”

Lyla laughed out loud and said, “I suppose they are,” in an amused sort of way. She tucked her chuckle back in her throat and walks out of the room, nearly tripping over a large cylinder of cellophane. The plastic wrap, sheen, but loud and crinkly. See-through, opaque with mild distortion.

“Have you wrapped the basket for the baby yet?”

“No,” Laura responded in a gruff, annoyed tone.

“Well,” Lyla waits and considers what she’s about to offer, just in case. “Why don’t I help you?”

Laura tosses her a skeptical look. “You’ve been teasing me all day about this and now you’re playing Mother Teresa? I may be a lost cause, but I don’t need charity.”

“No, no! I want to help. I have nothing better to do anyway. Look,”

Lyla grabbed the tube and the basket at the foot of the bed. Arranging the baby items in some QVC display fashion she must’ve learned in some godforsaken, stereotypical high school elective geared toward domestication, Laura thought; Lyla suddenly created a piece of art out of tissue paper and ribbon, filling the basket with blue booties, binkies, and bottles. In the back, she added little books and in the front she arranged the toys so that all could be seen. Then she fearlessly released the cellophane from it’s containment and rolling out a ginormous piece, centered the basket on top of it, smack dab in the middle. Once Lyla was satisfied, and with an all-knowing smile, she used scissors to cut and grabbed both ends.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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