A Fairy's Fantasy of the perfect Birthday

Oct 12, 2020, 02:05 AM
“Tell me another story!” I’m crying my baby eyes out on her bedroom floor in the middle of the goddamn day. “Okay, fine. But I have to be at work soon.” She starts pacing her room, searching frantically for knickknacks to throw into her backpack. She wants it to look like she’s so busy all the time. But we both know she’s just like me, she has nothing to do but sit with time and bathe in love and make a thousand paper butterflies for an irreplaceable look in my eyes. My lips are open. But she’s stopped talking. I have nothing left to say. “Baby?” She isn’t answering. She’s furious now, ripping clothes out of her closet and throwing them all over the room. She flips her backpack upside down and empties out the entire thing. “I’m not going back to that place! I’m not going Juniper! And you can’t make me.”
“Make you? Babygirl, have you lost your mind! I’ve wanted to rip you from that sickly state of existence since the day that you were born. I was made to pull you from this shit. Haven’t you seen the canvas yet? It’s on the second floor, by the staircase. Haven’t you read the story? Its Christmas morning and I am trying not to cry, watching you slide down the banister. Your ass keeps sticking to the glossy wood and you cant make heads or tales of anything. ‘Hey! What kind of tricky shit are you playing at mister? It looks slippery enough. I should be sliding. No! Juniper! This isn’t funny. This is supposed to be perfect. This is the part where my little delicate frame swoops down effortlessly and plops into your arms with a high-pitched scream and premeditated fright. I’m not really scared, you see. This is just a show I put on so that the story goes my way. This isn’t my way boy! What the fuck is wrong with this staircase! Is your memory getting worse? That couldn’t even be possible; you can’t even remember my damn birthday Juniper. It could be Halloween for all you know. It’s not even December is it? Oh dear, I’m sliding down this thing like a damn fool! No presents. No decorations. No boy at the bottom to catch me.’ You plop on the top stair and start weeping. I’m still smiling. I can’t get this stupid smirk of my face no matter how hard I try. I’m not happy you’re crying. I am just wild with excitement that you have let yourself feel anything at all. ‘Keep feeling little P. This is only the very beginning. There’s more pain where that came from. There’s more darkness awaiting your stubborn memory. But this is the first day of my favorite season. The moon is screaming. My feet are moving. Look! Baby look! I’ve been dancing to Michael Jackson all damn night just for you.’ You peak between the fingers of your left hand. You giggle. You crinkle your eyebrows and pretend to be terribly angry. Thing is, its impossible. I’m sliding around the bottom floor in socks and boxers. I’m letting my soul take every ounce of flesh of my adorable existence in human form. She’s got his chin clicking and his shoulders bouncing and his hips jerking wildly, just to keep your gaze. I just want to see you smile. Don’t go back to work! Baby please, stay with me. It’s all going up in flames. Lets run! Lets play. Lets start our own game of sliding down every staircase on the planet before time runs out. Fill that little sack back up with everything you cant live without, and lets ghost every soul on the earth.”
“How! That’s not possible! You’re a liar!” 
“Ditch the phone for good. Stop making yourself sick with the shit you eat. Knock on my door. Look me dead in the eyes. I only lie to prove you right.”