Friday, November 14, 2008

Birthday Girl

The cinnamon bun on the plate is still warm. Too warm; hot, she'd guess. If she takes a bite, she burns her gums. If she doesn't take a bite, she's still hungry and anxious to eat.

Today is Carol's birthday. "Fabulous 50!" she shouts at whoever's in front of her. She's wearing a two inch red button with Birthday Girl in bold sans-sarif.

She is proud.

Tonight she'll celebrate at the bowling alley by knocking over 1.25 pins for each year she's been alive and drink just enough to make her whole body feel rubbery. But right now it's morning and she's having trouble resisting the cinnamon bun.

It's raining hard outside, which makes the cafe where this is happening seem almost aquatic. The flutter of bodies lining up for their morning drinks is so heavy with excited energy that it's almost like a submarine has sprung a leak and the crew is rushing around attending to tasks they know they'll never complete.

Carol pays attention to none of this. She's gazing at the cinnamon bun, mentally subtracting fractions of a degree each second, and da-da-da-ing the melody of the birthday song, just loud enough to hear the ticking of her own tongue.

No comments: