Birthday Dreams
by KJ Hannah Greenberg

 

 

Margo exhaled with great intention as she shifted among her pillows and blankets. The next morning would launch another birthday.

 

Although her personal world was well populated, none among her many associates had announced any intention of helping her celebrate. In fact, none had even mentioned that they knew her special day would be occurring.

 

In years past, she had made do with pretending. She had, repeatedly, lied to herself that her partner and their children had been quiet about her annual event because they were planning surprises.

 

Margo redistributed her covers and adjusted a pillow. The only interval in which a “surprise” had occurred was when her children were fairly young and she had mentioned how lovely it would be to have such a celebration. She had additionally listed, for those youths, a handful of friends whom she wished would be part of such an undertaking.

 

In the end, her spouse, with much bravado, had knocked on her office door to insist that she join him in their living room. Even though their sons and daughters had actualized her much wished for plan, it was her husband who had deigned to accept credit.

 

After a few minutes of refusing to leave her keyboard and of his increasingly adamant cajoling, she stuck her head out. It was then that he grabbed her arm and pulled her over her office threshold. He failed to notice her grimace.

 

As per the friends who had dutifully gathered, the woman greeted each one warmly. As well, she hugged each of her children and showered praise upon them. She was accomplished at play-acting.

 

Margo tossed off her covers. The next day, most likely, would be like the rest of her decades of birthdays. She’d have to feign pleasantness to distant relatives, to those persons who called to express their congratulations and who, otherwise, had nothing to do with her. Plus, she’d have to pretend that she didn’t notice how her spouse and children, again, had lost track of her natal anniversary.

 

The wife/mom made mental excuses for her intimates. One governed a home overrun with children. Another was away on a military assignment. A third was tied up in court cases. The youngest was suffering side effects from a prescription medication. As for her spouse, he was their sole bread winner and as such couldn’t be expected to also involve himself in mundanities.

 

Before dawn, Margo stopped trying to get comfortable in bed. Following her morning ablutions and devotions, she observed the birds perched on trees beyond her window. She sighed as she watched neighbors rushing off to prayer houses. She resolved to use her birthday, not to complain, but to bless others.

 

She hadn’t wanted a cake—sweets made her ill. Further, she had no need of gifts; she’d long since given away most of what she owned to charities (Margo was in the downsizing phase of life.) All that she really desired was the presence, on her day, of the people whom she held most dear.

 

Yet, their lives didn’t (and oughtn’t) to revolve around her. She had successfully helped to empower her offspring to be fruitful and independent. When they forgot her birthday, it only indicated that they, like her, were imperfectly human. As per her spouse, after nearly fifty shared years, it took little energy for her to forgive him.

 

Subsequent to that “walking meditation” that she conducted in her living room, Margo made herself a glass of ginger tea. She brought that beverage back to her office. She might as well begin the day’s work.

 

It was only after she had written several pages of text that she noticed that certain accoutrements had been positioned in her workspace. On her narrow closet, which housed paper, folders, and the like, the sign, which had read “Happy 70th!” had been altered. A square of paper, which had been taped over the existent number, read “Happy 71st!”

 

Additionally, two handmade cards, respectively, from two sets of grandchildren, sat on the far corner of her desk. To boot, an envelope balanced on top of the sheaf of papers closest to her keyboard.  Within that envelope, she discovered a “coupon,” from her husband, for “a fancy dinner out.”

 

Margo wondered that if the two of them shared a dessert at that meal’s end, if she’d experience only half of her ordinary gastric woes. Either way, she smiled at her husband’s handcrafted voucher.

 

A short time later, in the midst of their eating breakfast, during the span while they were getting ready for school, both sets of Margo’s grandchildren phoned her. Throughout the day, their parents and their aunts and uncles, likewise, called.

 

After returning home from buying milk and bread, her life partner presented her with both a bouquet and a suggestion for “a quiet spell.” She thanked and then obliged him.

 

Over the next few hours, her irksome relatives called. Margo made a great effort to be polite. In any case, one of them donated, unprompted, in her honor, to a charity that she held dear.

 

Around the dinner hour, a good friend stopped by with a salad. Another brought drumsticks. A third carried in green beans. Margo invited all of them to stay. She added the poached fruit, which she had stored in her refrigerator, to that extemporaneous festivity. Considering that the resulting gathering had been spontaneous—each of those lovely ladies had, independently, wanted to add to Margo’s birthday—the resulting, shared fete was delightful.

 

That night, when Margo went to bed, she neither tossed nor turned. Almost as soon as she placed her head on her pillow, she drifted to sleep. It appeared to her that whereas precogitated birthday parties, like Tupperware gatherings, and gender reveal revelries, seem like a nice way to mark affairs, they’re actually overrated. Uncontrived commemorations are much better.

Rate this story.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.