Happy Birthday
March 25, 2005
Age Six
The party is in full bloom.
Adults are talking with each other, drinking alcohol from their tall glasses, talking over each other, faking smiles, gossiping behind each other’s backs, having a good time.
It’s misery.
I am pushed around by Linda and Marcus, introduced to strangers and fawned over, then carted over to yet another group of strangers. I doubt they even remember my name. I don’t remember theirs.
Linda and Marcus brag about how generous they are, taking in a strange child that may or may not have a concerning past. I’m tired and bored. I hate this. I want to go away. I want to eat some cake and ice cream. I want to open presents. I don’t want to stay all night. I don’t want to eat tiny crackers with cheese. I don’t want to watch long and boring speeches.
I don’t want to be here.
I’m now being shown to a fancy and rich lady. Linda is trying to get me to smile and say hello. I don’t I stare at the lady and ask her why she needs so much makeup. Linda’s not happy. She’s talking through her teeth as she pushes me behind her. I bite her dress. She excuses herself and drags me across the great hall, pretending everything is alright. No, everything is not alright. I’m going to get hit. I just know it. I said no. I’m not supposed to say no.
She throws me in the bathroom and locks the door behind her. I don’t bother standing up. She’ll hit me either way.
Linda grabs my hair and I don’t scream as she yanks my head back, though my eyes sting from hiding the tears. “Why can’t you just be happy?” she asks me. “I have given you everything, you ungrateful brat!” She throws me against a stall door. I hit my head and whimper. I think I’m bleeding. I touch my forehead, and my fingers are covered in red as I look at them. Yes, I’m bleeding.
Linda continues to yell. Her voice is screechy and annoying. I hate that too. I tune her out. I’ve heard it enough times to know what she’s saying. Instead, I fall to the floor. My purple dress is crumpled and the floor is dirty, but I don’t care. My head hurts.
Linda latches onto my wrist and yanks me up off the ground, screaming in my face. I think my wrist just popped. “You will enjoy this party, you selfish bitch, or you’ll be punished. Got it?” she asks. I nod my head, too afraid to say anything back. It hurts—my wrist and my head—but I don’t say anything about that either. She smiles and lets me go. I fall to the ground and my legs crumple beneath me. She pulls me to my feet with a single yank, then hands me a handkerchief. “Now, clean yourself up. You need to be presentable.” I take the cloth and wipe up the blood, shaking. She pats my shoulder. “There. And this never happened, correct?” I nod. She nods too and steers me to the bathroom door.
I’m shown around again. I smile and say hello. I pretend I’m enjoying the party. People love Linda and Marcus because of me. They ask how old I am. I say six. They seem to think that six-year-olds only speak gibberish since they gush over my large vocabulary. Of course, I tell them it’s because of Linda and Marcus—my heroes.
I want to go. What can I do to leave?
I see some candles on a table. There’s a big curtain above them. I get an idea.
Linda and Marcus don’t notice my escape. I easily slip away, sliding between the bodies of the other adults. The curtain looks like a good escape. I could just blame it on the candles.
Women shriek as the curtains are engulfed in flames. I’m pretending it was an accident by falling to the floor and dragging tears to my eyes. They all fall for it. The tipped over candle is helping.
But Linda and Marcus aren’t fooled. My eyes widen as Marcus stalks up to me and drags me across the floor by my feet. I’m kicking and screaming. People are watching in shock. Linda is walking behind us. She looks furious.
Marcus throws me out in the snow. I land on my arm and scream in pain as it twists under me. Linda crouches next to me. “You just had to enjoy the party, Theresa. How hard could that have been?” I’m crying now. It hurts. It really hurts. Marcus is on the phone. It’s my social worker. I can hear her talking to Marcus.
They leave me in the snow in favor of the party.
I lie there.
Happy birthday to me...
Broken.
Happy birthday to me...
Bleeding.
Happy birthday dear Tessa...
A car pulls up. It’s my social worker. She clicks her tongue and picks me up, ignoring my screams of agony and defiance.
Happy birthday... to... me...
