teiichi
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Behold the birthday cake.
Blindfolded, donkey tails in hand, the children spend the afternoon stumbling dizzily toward the wall — picturing — not the round end of a burro — but a birthday cake aglow with candles. And so when the last tail is haphazardly pinned, and every bright light is dimmed, and the cake finally appears — it elicits more oohs and aahs than the lame magic tricks that preceded the whole dumb donkey thing.
For a moment, the darling birthday girl is all but invisible. The cake takes center stage, festooned with white flowers, dotted with buttercream icing, lit with unclaimed hopes and dreams.
“Make a wish!†someone cries, and every boy in the room holds his breath, claiming the wish for himself. The birthday girl’s little sister claps her hands and imagines herself in a few years, a ballerina-astronaut, twirling gracefully through space, still wearing her party hat. Just off-stage, Mom, heart in her throat, dark hair dusted with floury love, feels time stand still, gifting her dreams to her daughter.
In the flickering light, the birthday girl makes her secret wish, then faces the future, triumphant.
May all their wishes come true.
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