Snow is falling, finally, and I am flipping through my ITunes and I am deleting any song I don’t feel passionate about (Nathaniel Rateliff is a definite keep). It’s just that kind of night. My uterus is muttering and ratcheting and I can feel the friction and sparks all the way up my spine and down my legs. The room is dark and I’m coming to quiet understandings. It’s not a way I suggest you spend every Saturday night, but it’s certainly a way you should spend one every now and then.
Can’t connect to Prairie Home Companion and QI has distracted me to distraction.
Emiliana Torrini – Heartstopper. For sure.
I think I dropped and broke a piece off my laptop. It doesn’t bother me. It’s old, and things break. It doesn’t need replacing quite yet.
The sisters had made a cake. It was carrot and not decorated like a birthday cake at all, save for a single, tapered candle stick gouging out of its center, but Lillie liked it almost better that way. It was meant and that mattered more than a sugary rectangle thick with anonymous flowers that dyed your tongue blue.
She had hung her backpack up on her hook and hung her celery-colored sweater over it.
“Happy birthday, girl.” Amelia wrapped her arm around her warm and close and didn’t let her away with a half-hug.
“Thanks. What are we doing today? More books to organize?”
Amelia shook her head, a bit amused, a spark of concern at the corners of her lips. Her white hair pulled back in a ponytail, a white, less stringy version of Lillie’s own hair.
“It’s your birthday. Those books have been sitting there for years, there’s no hurry to move them today. No, we’re not gonna do anything. Except eat cake and teach you to shoot the moon. Now where’s Ellen?”
Lillie shrugged while Amelia pointed to the pine chair pulled out to make room for her at the dining table. Amelia strode off in the direction of the bedrooms, leaving Lillie to stare at her birthday cake and the red candle that leaned toward the window as though some phototrophic energy pulled it toward the late afternoon light. There would be no cake at home. There would be an envelope with twenty dollars in it. And that would be all there would be to say of it. Of the fact that she was sixteen and was becoming, by certain accounts, a woman. A human being, even.
This was her actual birthday, she reckoned, as Ellen and Amelia emerged holding a deck of cards, a matchbook and both were chattering about the upcoming luncheon at Saint Brigid’s.
Her wishes were a lot to try and hang on one tilted candle. Ellen lit it with a quick strike of the matchbook and Lillie gulped with the weight of the moment. Her mind moved past the aches and pains and focused like her candle on the light. She hadn’t seen Adrian at school today. It would be wonderful if he would turn up tonight with an orange. She could taste the sweetness as she blew out the candle and looked up into the warm and kindly faces of her erstwhile employers.