Birthday

My birthday was a month ago, and seeing as i was pretty busy all that month, i wanted to write this today :)
It's not very- well, lighthearted, but i hope you see what i am trying to say.

Look at me, I'm older.

Look at me, so different from that frail young girl you used to know.

Are you sad, sister? That i no longer dwell upon you, begging for you acceptance?

I am stronger now.

So let me put on my birthday dress, twirl 'till the white polka-dots blur.

And let me relive:

Tuesday, November 15th, years ago:

'Peggy! Rose! Get in the car!' A middle-aged Filipino woman comes bustling through the doorway, ushering the two startled young girls out the door to where their youngest sibling is already waiting. 'See? Even Izzy is in the car already!' she scolds.

'Shoot!' The smallest exclaims suddenly as the car is backed out of the driveway. 'I don't have socks!' the girl had run straight to the car from the house, clutching her shoes in one hand. The nanny sighs in exasperation, but the middle child rummages around in her blue backpack, pulling out a pair of socks.Why she has socks in her bag, the others have no idea.

The girl with the missing socks whines, 'But they're matching!' and the nanny calmly (more like slightly harassed-sounding) explains, 'You don't really have a choice, though, do you?', and the child slumps down in her seat and gives in.

 

Friday, January 21st, years ago:

They family is at the table, eating a silent and awkward dinner. The youngest fidgets, and the mother snaps, 'Don't play with your napkin, put it on you lap!' and the girl flinches slightly, and sets it down upon her restless legs. The meal continues, the father  doing work on his phone the entire time.

The oldest stills her hands from tapping at the tabletop, and she winces and averts her eyes from the middle child's attempt to hide her food., knowing that there's nothing she can do within sight of her mother. Her sister would be too mad, too embarrassed.

Eventually the mother exclaims exasperatedly, 'Fine, dinner is over. Margaret, Rosemary, Isabella, you are excused.' and Rose hurriedly leaves the room. The father just stands up, still distracted, and walks out of the room.

'Mum?' The youngest speaks first. The woman says 'Yes?' but it is clear she isn't listening. 'Mum! We need to talk!' and she stops, slightly worried now, at the tone of her eldest's voice. 'She's not eating properly.' Peggy says, eyes starting to well up with tears. 'Mummy, Rosie's sick!' exclaims the smaller child.

And everything the woman has been trying to deny rushes back st her.

 

[Many long nights:

Shouting fills the air, and Izzy whimpers, pressing her hands to her ears to try and block out the angry yelling. And her door creaks as one sister slips in, the other padding over from her bed across the room. Peggy slips in behind her, cradling her to her chest as she adds her palms over top of the smaller hands, making sure not to press too hard. Rose runs a comforting hand over her back, the youngest's face hidden in her oldest's sister's chest.

And soft singing fills the air, thinly covering the scene below.]

 

Sunday, April 1st, years ago:

'Children? We need to talk to you.' The mother calls, and the pre-teens come scurrying over, laughing and jostling each other. But they grow serious as they see their parents' grim faces, and the two tall people glare at each other.

They are sat down on the couch as the two adults tell them. 'We've filed for a divorce.'

A moment of silence. And then the scent of complete and utter betrayal fills the air as the two older girls star to cry angry tears. The youngest tries to digest this. The dog growls.

And then they're off. The lock themselves in the attic as their parents rattle the doors, pounding on them and shouting for them to come out while their children cry above.

The man and the woman have to call their daughters' uncle to tear the door off the hinges.

It locked from the inside.

 

Monday, August 11th, 2014, midnight:

A song drifts out the open window. A song, taught and learned. A cyclist out for a midnight ride stops and listens, smiling before continuing on his way.

And then all is still.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed