By Chloe Law
The last time I wrote to you was when I saw that Christmas mail station nestled between the elevators at the JcPenney in Santa Anita Mall. Eager to avoid my mom’s inquires about her oddly patterned and strangely colored clothes, I rushed to claim the seat at the massive red desk complete littered with broken stationary.
With my head barely over the desk, I scribbled my note in green ink, added a splash of red glitter, and signed my name—poorly— with a star. That was when I was seven though. I think I asked to be a millionaire. Wow, it’s been a while. This time I’m writing to you without the awkward doodles of Christmas trees and detached stick figure drawings of you and Mrs. Claus. Regardless, I would really like a reindeer. I don’t really want Rudolph because everyone likes him too much and I think his nose will wake me up at night. I’d like to have Comet or Vixen. Actually, maybe a find a new one and name it Tofu.