My Sixth Birthday

By Dani Shoemaker

I’m revisiting my sixth birthday, but this time, everyone is crying. This isn’t my sixth birthday, but the house is the same. I look like I did back then, you look the same. I never know what to do when you’re sad. I feel like myself, the arthritis is there, but I feel like I’m six again because I don’t know how to comfort you.

I’m turning six again, but this time, I’m suicidal. And your body is slowly killing you; I’m pretty sure we are both dying but in different ways. I think there’s a poison in the water; now I’m old enough to realize it. I think it is made out of ski wax, at least that’s what the settlement papers say. I remember when you taught me how to ski when I was nine. We haven’t gotten there yet, so I digress.

We ate cake on my sixth birthday, but this time, we puke our breakfasts onto our laps. You can’t keep food down anymore. This time, as I tell the guests goodbye, still holding the LEGOs I unwrapped, I know there may be no more goodbyes after this one. I still don’t know how to do it right.

Dani still “pizzas” while going down the bunny hill.