Just Like Me
by David Lubar
"Thanks. It's very nice," Deb said as she lifted the skirt from the box. She tried to
sound pleased. It wasn't all that bad a skirt, but it was the sort of style she'd
stopped wearing several years ago. Maybe she could exchange it for a something
she liked.
"You'll look so cute in it," her mom said. She pointed at the pile of empty boxes
and smiled. "A present seems to be missing."
"Really?" Deb asked. That was more like it. Each birthday, she got one very
special gift from her mom. So far, there'd been no sign of it.
"Stay right here. I've been saving the best for last." Her smile turned into a grin
as she dashed out of the living room.
Deb wondered whether her mother had gotten her the DVD player she'd asked for.
Or maybe it was her own television for her bedroom. Either would be great. She
knew it would be unreasonable to hope for both.
A moment later, her mom returned with a package that was about twice the size of
a shoe box. Deb's hopes slowly deflated as she took the present.
"Thanks." She shook it. Something solid clunked against the sides of the box. It
didn't feel heavy enough for a DVD player, and it was too small to be a television.
"Careful," her mom said. "You'll hurt her."
Her? Deb removed the paper. Since this was the last present, she didn't want to
rush. Once the presents were opened, she felt that the rest of the birthday was
pretty much just like any other day.
Beneath the wrapping paper, she found a pink cardboard box. Curly white letters
on the lid read, Just Like Me.
