PRACTICE
Yesterday was my birthday. So I thought, Why don't we write about birthdays?
But as I tried to write about my nice, happy birthday, I realized, Happy birrthdays are boring!
Instead, let's write about the worst birthdays we (or our characters) ever had.
Write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post be sure to give feedback to a few other Practitioners.
Photo by Aih.
Here's my practice:
She came down the staircase—eyes ahead, head erect, tall as she could. She felt the muscle in the back of her neck pull taught as she pulled herself up and her spine tingle as everyone in the crowded ballroom looked toward her.
“Come now, my dear. Don't you look beautiful,” said the Chancellor. She took his arm, wondering where her father was, and he led her through the crowd.
She did not feel the golden, silk gown slide against her ankles. And except for that first moment, she did not feel the weight of those eyes, nearly a thousand, all falling upon her.
She did not even feel the chill in the room, about which some of the other guests complained to each other later, turning their noses up at the event entirely. “The least they could have at least lit a fire. My Lord, what a waste of time. And for such a sorry excuse for a young lady who would leave us just the moment we recognize her,” the matriarchs would say in their bedrooms and breakfast rooms, in their morning lounges and amongst each other, too, in parlors and cocktail rooms all over the city. Waste of an evening. Terribly boring and uncomfortable, the whole thing.
No, she did not feel the chill. All she felt was the smoothness of the Chancellor's jacket. How can I not feel any thread? Any seam? And that all but absent thought, where is my father?
My worst birthday was my last—always my last.
Ha!
Ten year old Jason Cawley hid from his grandparents and their friends while they noshed on cake and gossiped about the people who weren’t there. He sneaked into the hallway closest, where he could explore and touch the old mementos that his parents had left behind. His mother’s wedding dress hung like an old curtain. While he snuggled up and made himself comfortable, he heard his great-aunt Audrey speaking to Grandma.
“Where’s Jay-Jay?”
“Probably up in his room again. He’ll come down when the presents come out.”
“Not terrible social, is he?”
“No, he never was. It’s his mother’s blood, I guess.”
“Pray to God that’s all he inherited from his mother.”
“Now don’t be like that. She did convert, after all.”
“Leopards and spots, hon. Leopards and spots.”
Jason closed his eyes and prayed to Jesus for the strength of forgiveness.
^^From a work-in-progress entitled “My Daughter Nameless.”
I like that he hears this conversation. I’m sorry 15 minutes was up because I want to know what else he does to cope with this information.
Katie
Like Katie, I really like that he could hear the conversation going on in the next room. How much fodder that gives for the rest of the story.
Nicely done.
It really feeds into the rest of the story. I love this exercise; Jason Cawley is the main character of my work in progress, and this scene sort of popped into my head while I was reading the prompt. You’re all so kind!
I would like to read more 🙂
Nice writing.
The excitable chatter of the audience dies out and the lights are dimmed. The show begins, the very show Leila had been wanting to see since she moved to the City three years ago. The lights, sounds and atmosphere is completely captivating. Yet, she hears and feels nothing but the breaking of her heart. She unsuccessfully tries to dull the feeling and focus. Her best friends are by her side, wide eyed and lost in the world of Billy Elliot and his dancing dreams. She can even see the lights from the stage reflecting off the shine in their eyes. The only tears coming to Leila’s eyes though are loaded with pain, and have nothing to do with the story playing out in front of her.
The tickets were bought by her ex-fiance, before he got the ugly title of ‘ex’, which she still can’t bear to use. He should have been here with her on this special day, but the only reminder of that was the friend who took the ticket in his place, because ‘it would be a shame to waste it’. Those were Leila’s own words a few days ago, true to her ever practical nature. Now she is just angry that anyone but him has the ticket. Oh, and the moments where she remembers and feels the blow, again. Where it takes her breath away, again. That’s a pretty powerful reminder too.
In the intermission she stares into the blank canvas set before her. The future without him. And makes a purposeful but instant decision that next year will be better, maybe even amazing, and it’s okay that this birthday sucks. She reasons that everyone has a crappy birthday once in their life, right? The shows resumes and she sits in complete sorrow without trying to fight it. Tears come again, but this time they are for Billy’s pain instead of her own.
When I woke up this morning I thought that if I opened my eyes slowly enough then I might forget where I was. My eyes were still burning when I stared at the neon white light above me, sending its nauseating bright light onto the white walls. I was still there. How could I think I could forget?
I counted the seconds before I sat up in bed, 56, 57… 58, 59, one minute. I got up. The same empty, haunted room. I looked for a watch but silly me, they didn’t give me one. The only way I knew it was morning was because the light pierced my eyes. My arm reached under the bed and felt around. My fingers touched the corners of paper and managed to find a pencil also. I took them out gently. I looked through them, the dates before. I couldn’t remember what day it was. My papers didn’t say either. I had lost count of the days. My breathing began to deepen and my heart started pounding. My skin crawled. I could see the goose bumps forming on my arms. A lump formed in my throat, like I’d swallowed a handful of needles. My hand reached my throat and began to massage it. Maybe I was thirsty.
I got off the bed and paced to the closet. When I opened it my eyes nearly went blind. More white. White T-shirts, white pants. Even white sneakers were waiting for me on the floor. Where were my old clothes? I wanted my clothes! I wanted my dark aquamarine shirt, my worn out jeans. Mom got me those jeans. She used to get angry at me for wearing them all the time for almost every occasion. Mom… her nostrils used to flare when she yelled. Her eyes used to look at me like there was nothing I could do against her will. Her eyes were scary when she got angry. The honey brown of them starts to look black. Her eyes… no, Mom has beautiful eyes. When she smiled when I told her I was sorry, when she looks at me like she wants a hug. I never gave her a proper hug. Not one I remember anyway. Why didn’t I? How stupid. Why didn’t I hug her when I had the chance? Why didn’t I always hug her? I wonder what she’s doing now. Could she be crying?
I stood in front of the closet remembering the red turtle neck my mother got me for my last birthday. I hated it then. I wished I had it. I wished I could wear it in this cold place. I wished I could smell my mom’s scent and pretend like she was holding me. Mom… got me a present… a present… no one got me a present, at least I didn’t see anyone plan to do so… that was days before I—
The lump in my throat got stronger, however letting me let out an equally strong gasp. My knees started trembling and I found myself falling to the floor. My eyes burned again. My vision blurred. Anger and fear rushed through me. Both my hands covered each side of my head, holding onto the curls so tightly my scalp started to hurt.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m not home.
The door opened. I lifted my head quickly to see Mr. Jones. “Oh, you’re up. Just making sure,” He had a smile on. The anger started to surpass the fear. He was about to close the door when he stopped suddenly. “Oh. Almost forgot, happy birthday Billy.” I looked at him, alarmed. Tears were now sliding off my cheeks. “It is your birthday, isn’t it?” He grinned and closed the door for real.
(In progress)
I want to know more about Billy and why he’s not home. At first I thought he was in jail or pow or something but then Mr. Jones came in.
Katie
Happy Belated Birthday!
Turning 21, I couldn’t wait to get off work and legally buy alcohol. I worked at a bakery by myself in the middle of the night. I can’t believe they wouldn’t give me the night off. I’d need something special, not just beer.
Put the bread in the proofer, dip 300 mufins. Maybe scotch? Or bourbon? I mean, scotch is classier, but I live in Kentucky.
Pull apart frozen pastries, throw them on cookie sheets and set aside to thaw. The Pet Shop Boys are on the radio. Maybe wine? The only wine I’ve ever liked was from communion. I haven’t had any since I was 13.
Pull out the muffins, decorate the pastries. All by myself at night and the windows fog up. It’s the weekend, so my roommates should be up late. I’m sure they’ll celebrate.
Walk into the proofer. It feels like a sauna. Score the bread, throw it in the oven. It’s bad enough working alone, I’d hate to drink alone.
Prepare the bagels. The whole place smells like blueberry and pumperknickel. Soft Cell hits the radio. Will liquor stores be open when I get out?
Finish the bagels, sweep up. Gas stations only sell beer. They’re open 24/7.
Make sure oven is off, take out the trash, lock the door. Drive a couple blocks away. Six pack of Rolling Rock.
“We stop selling at 2:30,” he says. “Have to come back tomorrow.”
I go home. I guess I’ll have to wait.
Your protagonist liked communion wine? I can’t stand communion wine.
I wasn’t sure if this was birthday morning or birthday night. Like after 2:30 am on protagonist’s birthday and he/she would have to wait until that night or if it was 2:30am day after birthday.
Katie
My seventh birthday was the first I shared with my stepmother. My mom and sister shared a birthday and did stuff together on that day. Did I expect the same? No, in the previous week each family member, liberally covering the generations, made some sharp, pointed remark about the stepmother and I.
On the eve of my seventh birthday I spoke to the ether asking to be rid of my stepmother as a birthday treat.
On the actual day, the thirteenth day of a nameless month, the first “Witches Day” was celebrated in my room, alone with the ether. No one wished me a ‘happy’ one and I didn’t solicit conversation.
The day after my birthday I was told that my stepmother, Gwendoline, was paralysed, had woken up on her birthday unable to walk.
That was the last birthday I celebrated, there was nothing in my life to beat the drum of commemoration. Now, because of me, because of the ether, I lost a father. He could no longer travel and leave his frail wife.
I like your creativity.
Katie
This is eerie Suzie. I don’t know that “the ether” is though.
Happy birthday, Joe! -Katie
“Thank you for another year of life,” she Tweeted as she was getting ready. It was going to be a great day, a great 21st birthday. She smiled to herself realizing how many other people spent their 21st birthdays getting drunk. She’d spend her running powerpoint for the student worship service on campus, as she did every other Tuesday.
As she did every other Tuesday, she spent her morning in chapel. Audrey chose to sit with her; she always cherished her time with Audrey. She teased with Renn before walking to class with Scott. They had three classes in a row together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’d been like this for many semesters. She was accustomed to her six quirky classmates and their predictable schedules. She loved each one of them.
Between the first class and the second, she volunteered to run to Chic-fil-a to grab lunch for anyone who wanted it–her treat. She just couldn’t wait until after class number three to eat. She never could wait. She was always starving by this point in the day. They protested and offered to buy her lunch instead since it was her birthday. She refused. Austin offered to take her backpack to their next class for her.
She got back just in time for class to start. Dr. Bandt wished her a happy birthday. She thanked him. She stood in the light of the LCD projector while they serenaded her. She giggled and curtseyed before taking her seat. They teased about not having candles to put in her French fries because they weren’t allowed on campus.
As Dr. Bandt started class, she bowed her head to thank the Lord for her meal, her family of classmates, and her birthday. It was the last thing she did.
—
No one really knew what to say or do once the EMTs rolled away their unconscious friend, the birthday girl. They did the only thing they knew to do: they prayed. Collectively. Silently. Constantly.
The third class of the day was unbearable. No one listened. They all stared at the empty chair belonging to their missing companion. Dr. Gasser had brought cupcakes to celebrate her birthday. No one had the appetite to eat them.
After class, the whole crowd of six–not the seven they were normally–migrated to the campus ministries office. They knew the minister wasn’t there. He was at the hospital but the office was still the gathering place. The only logical place. The secretary stopped them before they reached the student office.
“She didn’t make it.”
The world stopped. Hugs were exchanged but everyone was too numb to feel them. There weren’t enough Kleenexes in the world to catch their tears. Never had the six been so silent. But, after all, they’d always been seven.
“Happy birthday, Grace,” Audrey whispered.
“This is the worst birthday,” Scott said.
“No. It’s the best–for her.”
That was a neat story Katie. I like way you describe just a regular birthday that turns out to be the day that the person dies.
Thanks, Katie.
Very sad story. I wasn’t sure how she died though?
Happy birthday Joe! 🙂
Below’s my story for today. Hope you enjoy reading it.
***
Jim carefully lifted the cake out of the box. Behind him, he could hear the “oohs” and the “ahhhs” of his two kids. Jim smiled. He placed the cake in the middle of the table and, meticulously, he placed the candles one by one—all thirty-seven of them—on the cake. Then he lit them up.
“The cake looks lovely,” he heard his wife say.
Jim turned around and he placed a hand around his wife’s waist. “Had it specially made for this day.” Jim said with a peck on his wife’s cheek.
“Hey dad? When can we eat the cake?” Little Tommy asked.
Jim laughed. He bent down and lifted Tommy up and on his shoulders. “We’ve got to sing first right?”
“But I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Jude said, sticking a tongue out at his little brother.
“Am not!”
“Shush! Enough of that,” Emily, Jim’s wife, said. “Now take your places and we’ll sing happy birthday to your father.”
Jim placed Tommy back on his feet and the four year old scampered off to a chair. Jim pulled a chair out for his wife and Emily thanked her with a short kiss on the lips.
“Daddy now has cooties!” Tommy said giggling.
“Cooties aren’t real Tom,” Jude said as he took his seat.
“You know I read from this website that cooties are real.” Jim joked. He took his place at the head of the table.
“See Jude? You don’t know everything.” Tommy said.
“Grow up Tom. Dad’s lying.”
“Daaaad! Jude called you a liar.”
Jim happily watched as Jude stuck out a tongue at his brother again. He watched as his wife distributed their plates. Jim happily watched his family live. He watched as they all looked at him with their smiles and their laughter. He remembered it was Emily who sang the first line.
“Happy birthday to you,” Jim always loved Emily’s voice.
Then his kids followed. “Happy birthday to you.” Tommy was clapping his hands as he sang out the words. “Happy birthday dear daddy.” Jude sang with his eyes on the cake. “Happy birthday to you.”
The song ended. Jim blew out the candles. Wisps of smoke rose to the ceiling along with the ghosts of his family. Jim stood up. He removed the candles one by one—all thirty-seven of them—and he carried the cake back to its box. Carefully, he returned it inside. “Happy birthday to me,” Jim whispered as he closed the box.
My 16th birthday started like any other birthday. My father woke me up at some ungodly hour. He came into my room singing Happy Birthday. And, he can’t sing. But, this is not the reason it was the worse birthday every. He always did that. He thought it was so funny. And, why I hate mornings to this day.
I get myself out of bed and have my annual birthday breakfast. Waffles, bacon, eggs and grits. See it is the the eggs and grits mix together with a little butter and sugar that make the meal. It is the only way to eat them.
I had to rush through breakfast because this morning, I am going to take my drivers test. Foreshadowing might have you believe that I failed the test. But, alas, that is not the case. Again, not the reason why this turned out to be the worst birthday ever.
My mom takes me to the DMV and we wait in line for what seemed like hours. Typical at the DMV. I take the written exam online. Pass. Take the driving test. Inspite of the worse parallel parking job that my tester had ever seen, he passes me as well. I’m from Texas, not New York City. Why do I need to know how to parallel park?
I drive my mom to work and get to take the car and drive to school. School was all of 3 miles down the road with one right turn from her office. Nothing to crazy for my first solo.
At school, my friend throw me a lunch birthday party. I have the coolest friends ever. We may have looked like goth vampires, but we were really sweet to each.
Sounds pretty good so far, right?
That night, my parents take me out to dinner at my favorite restaurant. The food was so good. I am one of those kids (if there are kids like me) who actually enjoyed hanging out with her parents. They are pretty cool and we had a great time at dinner.
All good, right?
We drive home from the restaurant pull into my driveway and my dad pushes the button to open the garage door. Sitting in the garage is a brand new, shiny, red Nissan 240 SX. OMG! It was beautiful. I jumped out of the car while it was still moving and ran to this beautiful vision of an automobile. I hugged it. I think I even kissed it.
I was so excited, I ran inside to call my friends and tell them about my beautiful new present and to officially announce that my parents should be enshrine in the the “Parents Hall of Fame”.
So, why was this the worst birthday ever?
The car wasn’t for me. It was a present for my mother. Her birthday is 2 days after mine.
Happy birthday to me!
I have had two worst birthdays in a row. Last year, my boyfriend took me to see my family but he was a douche bag of a boyfriend and slept in the hotel we stayed in all through my birthday so I walked to the Waffle House to buy myself a cake. I really just wanted to blow out a candle. I went to Circle K to see if they had candles and they didn’t. Since we were out of town there wasn’t anywhere I could go walking distance. The girl felt sorry for me at the Waffle House and gave me a free cake. When my ex bf finally woke up I said ” Can we go with my family now? They are expecting us” He said “Nah, we are going back home” I cried forever, obviously our relationship didn’t last and broke up a month after.Well it is my birthday today and NO ONE remembered except my best friend and no one cares and on top of that I made the decision of breaking up with my current BF for cheating on me. I’m at work for my birthday and have midterms this week. I am so heartbroken I cried myself in the bathroom. How can I have hope for my birthdays…? Idk.. ):
I am actually having the worst birthday ever, so I found this site on Google and it offered me some relief knowing that I could share my thoughts with someone. All but 2 of my friends have wished me for my birthday, plus my parents, sister, and husband, but what hurts me most is that my husband hasn’t even gotten me a gift for my birthday, except for a card that he gave me a few days back. I have no one to spend my birthday with, and I’m feeling terribly lost and alone, and despite feeling this way, I need to continue completing the work that I have been assigned for the day, which isn’t easy to do considering I’m really down. My husband has just been sleeping and playing video games, would have been better if he went to work instead. I am very depressed and can’t stop crying. My birthday tends to be like this every single year, like nobody even cares and that’s why I even hate that it comes around every year. The last few years it tended to be just my friends, but now it’s my husband as well who doesn’t care. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about these issues, as it is so embarrassing, like everyone else on my Facebook page has so many friends who give them surprise birthday cakes and parties, and I’m 26 years old and haven’t even been once thrown a surprise party. It really hurts. If anyone is interested in being my friend, I would love that. 🙂