When I was 12 years old, I walked the half-mile to the neighborhood drugstore. I spent my complete month’s allowance on a bottle of the year’s popular cologne. It was an excessive but poignant Christmas present for my mother and I purchased it weeks in advance, painstakingly carrying it home and leaving it wrapped and unattended on a bookshelf.
I impatiently anticipated the holiday. My younger brother, just 4 years old, couldn't resist the attraction. One late afternoon I came across the present on my bedroom floor, it's bottle shattered, its box unwrapped. Heaven Scent by Helena Rubenstein spilled carelessly on the floorboards, trickling into the crevices of the hardwood.
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