Birthday Girl
Seven Parker
It was seven days after her eleventh birthday that Annie decided to kill herself. She shoved her head down into the thick, rough blanket her mother knitted for her and wailed at the unfairness of the world. The blanket smelled old like crumbly earth. They had gotten her gifts. Plenty of gifts. They bought her a trendy matching Bratz purse, a shiny Pandora charm bracelet, and a big pink plastic dollhouse that came with a convertible the size of a lunch box. But even they were becoming aware that she was too old for these things. So they finally got her a shiny new iPhone just like her friend had, with brand new headphones to boot. If companionship was what she truly desired, they got her a puppy and a kitten to see which she’d prefer. While they hadn’t got her a horse, they had bought her a year’s worth of riding lessons. But she never asked for any of those things. She only asked for one thing, three months before her birthday. She asked her Dad; she could always count on him to cave. She waited and waited as the day drew near, and when her father finally asked her what she wanted, she marched her full height up to his waist. Her eyes gleamed with determination. She looked up at him. The scruffy weeds of his stubble were growing back. She used to giggle at the way it scratched her hand when she rubbed it. But she didn’t do that now. Now she focused all her energy into puffing up those big hazel eyes and pouting her lips into the most serious puppy-dog beggar. For a moment he smiled down on her and seemed warm, like before. “I’m almost eleven,” she began, feeling it important to establish her newfound maturity. Annie had prepared for this. She had spent hours on Google looking up the biggest most meaningful words. Then she had sat cross legged in front of the mirror with cheap Walmart earbuds and her mom’s laptop listening intently to the way the robot pronounced the word, trying to mimic its sounds. She felt smart when she got it right, but now looking up at her father, she was reminded how small she was. She gulped and continued, “I’ve learned a lot about the compliculaties of life.” Her father nodded at her to continue. She squirmed beneath him searching for the words that would make him understand. “I’m almost a teenager.” That wasn’t it either. All those words, all her preparation undone, turned to soupy mush in her mouth. She searched and sputtered at the syllables for the words she had memorized, but finally, she gave up and just said it, “I want you and mommy to live together again.” Silence. Her father’s warmth faded. His eyes formed a wall of an apology. They could give her two birthday parties, but they couldn’t give her that. — Eight days after her birthday, Annie climbed up the little wood ladder to the top of the bunk bed and began the work of tying the blanket into a noose. She would show them. They would find her, mature as Shakespeare, and know they should’ve listened. She grimly moved Mr. Piddles, the biggest Teddy Bear, from his corner on her bed, to face the wall instead. The empty space he left from where he was supposed to be, gripped at the finality of her decision. But she knew she had to spare him the sight of her, dangling. This 7
