Happy Birthday
I lick the frosting off of my finger, which I swiped off of your bunny sloped nose. Your giggle, a tinkling bubble, tastes like sugar in the air. For the 365th time I lay you down in your crib, its railings a wooden white picket fence. I’ll come home to you as soon as I can.
Now my body is folded like origami; my knees tucked into my chest, and my belly still swollen from months of swift kicks to the ribs and the cravings of garlic bread and pickles. Barriers of folded cardboard surround me, threatening to fall apart before my cue. Intoxicating addictive music eats at my ears as I methodically rub the grainy body glitter onto my shoulders. The familiar knock brings me back, startling me like a fish when a bored child flicks its bowl.
I countdown. Ten, Nine, Eight. I am wheeled in, I hear a blend of cheers and jeers and can smell through my nest, the tang of stale beer, which cauterizes the sharp pinch of anxiety that has crept up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. Seven, Six, Five, I tug on my hems and adjust my straps, sequins laid down slick against my body. Four, Three, Two, On- I burst through the faux cake, reborn with a different name and identity for the next thirty minutes. As always a few hands try to grab, and words pelt my exposed skin. I stomach it for the price of the tiny cake with the pink frosting at home in the fridge and your safe fenced den where you burrow safely. My eyes zigzag through the crowd and catch the time on their greasy old stove in red numbers. 11:59. I close my eyes for a second before I continue, thinking it’s the last few seconds of your birthday, and I am able to smile.
– caroline indars hughes
