“I low-key want to thrift it this year.” This was what my friend said when seeing a reel of an old audio CD on the shelf of a thrift store.

“It could be the last chance for you to get it before your father’s illness becomes more serious. I will take you to the store after school” I said.

“Thank you.”

That CD was special. It recorded the voice of a singer who was his mother. But she left when he was nine. She had always believed that she belonged to a grand stage. I met her a few times when I was little. She was the ideal model of beauty for little girls in our neighborhood with black wavy hair and a bright face. They were a beautiful family. The laughter that came from their house never ended until one day.

One man moved into our neighborhood. He was tall and polite. When he arrived, he had nothing other than a small bag with one or two T-shirts, a guitar, and many music sheets.

“I am a composer”, he said whenever someone asked him what he did. Two songs on his SoundCloud account were his entire career. The first time they met was in the music club of our town. They saw in the other person a reflection of themselves, the same passions, and each felt that their current life was preventing them from success. A week after that, they came to a conclusion that they should not be apart. They together would start to chase fame.

She left a letter, saying that she would be back. Two years later, she became a singer. Her first CD faded quietly into the crowded music industry. My friend deeply hated his mother. Once, he walked past a store selling that CD, and in a burst of anger, he demanded that the owner take them down. When the owner looked at him as if he were crazy, scolded him, and chased him out, he punched the man twice in the eyes.

He hid everything about his mother from his father. Whenever anyone tried to tell his father about her, he would immediately warn them to stop. Because his father really loved his wife. For years, he never changed the lock to their apartment. His desk was placed directly opposite the door. Sometimes, I would see him walking in the direction that people said she had gone. He would walk and walk, and when returned, he was always alone.

Since last summer, he no longer went out. He was diagnosed with cancer. He grew noticeably weaker, and some days he could not even get out of bed. But at night, my friend could still hear his father crying while staring out the window. He kept mumbling his wife’s name over and over again.

My friend wanted his father, one last time, to be happy. He thought that hearing his mother’s voice would make him feel better. He tried to find that CD, but hardly anyone even knew about the CD.
He was about to give up, but he found the album through a reel. We went to the store. When seeing his mother’s face printed on the cover of the CD, he hesitated. He wanted his father to leave the world in peace, without hoping anything about his love. But he also could not let his father continue to suffer.

In the end, he bought it. His father was better in the last days of his life. He never let go of the CD, not even when he went to bed. That was his last Christmas gift in his sorrowful life.