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That’s it, Spitfire, get mad. Make this game fun for me.
Burn, baby, burn.
seventeen
PHOENIX
September seemsto be moving at breakneck speed. And to that I say, thank fucking God. Today is not a day I wanted to even wake up to. I thought about missing classes today, staying in and locking myself away, but my roomie wouldn’t let me.
Apparently, I’m not allowed to not celebrate my birthday. Especially this one, where I turn eighteen. It’s a right of passage or something. Whatever.
September thirteenth was always one of my favorite days, not just because it was my birthday. My parents always made the day special, made me feel loved in so many ways.
My mom would cook me an amazing breakfast when I woke up, and my dad would give me a card. There was nothing inside the card but a poem that he would write for me. I always loved getting those, reading his words. It was always something I cherished. By dinner, we would all help cook up whatever the feast was for that night, all working as a unit, a family. But for my cake, my mom would always get me my favorite cake from a bakery in the city, Have Your Cake. A strawberry shortcake ice cream cake.
It. Was. Heaven.
The cake was layered with a vanilla frozen custard and swirled in was a strawberry puree. The icing was whipped cream dyed pink coated in crunchy croquant. This cake wasn’t one they made often, but for me, this was one they made every year for my birthday.
And it was always the perfect birthday. Just me and them.
But then my dad died. And my birthdays were never celebrated again. Honestly, we stopped celebrating everything, holidays, birthdays. Mom and I even stopped spending time together. She worked so much to keep us afloat, and I really didn’t complain about that. I understood the situation we were in was a shitty one.
Then she left me.
So today, I didn’t want to celebrate my birth, because all I could think about were their deaths. I was brought into this world by parents who no longer were walking around.
When I woke up today, every part of me wanted to just stay there. My heart ached, my head was pounding, and my body felt heavy. So much of me is missing, and a birthday isn’t going to make anything better or happier.
But Liz had other plans. And for the sake of not causing more issues I have to eventually deal with, I reluctantly am going along with her crazy.
I really wish I could have slept this day away.
I’ve been writing more in my journal. Dr. Parker insisted that it would help, and honestly, it has been a little cathartic. I can put words to my feelings, my emotions that I sometimes don’t feel comfortable saying out loud.
I look over the entry that I just finished writing when I got back from class.
That box haunts me. There are times that I want to burn it, rip everything in it to shreds, and set it on fire. Because that box isn’t you. So, no matter what’s in that box, it doesn’t bring you back to me.
You told me that his death had holes, and honestly, I’m scared to go down that rabbit hole. Will I not like what I find? Will it make all this worse? Should I not just move on with my life as it is and try to survive on my own?
Every time I get up enough courage to read what’s in there, I see you in that tub. Lifeless. Cold. Gone. That box brings me back to that day.
Why?
It’s a question that I just have never been able to answer. I don’t even know if I ever will. I’ll wander in my life always wondering why you’re gone. We didn't have Dad, but we had us. It was us against the world.
Now it’s just me against whatever comes at me.
I miss you, Mom. I miss us. I miss our family.
I close my book and place it under my bed. I lean my head back against the headboard and pick up my phone. I have a notification for a text message, so I pull up my app.
Mason: Happy Birthday, Red.
Me: Yeah, thanks.
Mason: Can I take you out for your birthday?