Forget Green Gables

Cumpleaños Feliz a Mi

On the second Saturday of November, I wake up before my 8 AM alarm and stretch, staring up at the ceiling. Today is my birthday. 15 years before, at 11:09 AM and 11:11 AM respectfully, Felix and I entered the world at Texas County Memorial in Guymon, Oklahoma. We are the second and third grandchildren born to our maternal grandparents; the tenth and eleventh to our paternal.

Because Felix was breech, we were a C-Section birth. It is the story of our lives: I dutifully do what is expected of me; Felix does as he pleases and expects others to fix it. The doctor pulled Felix out, clamped the cord, showed his bright red, bawling self to our parents, and then proceeded to remove me.

The ultrasounds all said that we were both boys, so when the doctor looked at me and realized that I was not the expected boy, he first looked at my father.

"It's a girl," the doctor said neutrally. Dad was overjoyed; he wanted a girl so bad he could taste it. The emotion, however counter-intuitive, was not shared by my mother.

"We have a boy and a girl!" Dad exclaimed to my mom as the doctor clamped my cord and held me up for my mom to see.

"A girl?! What the hell are we going to do with a girl?" My mother promptly replied. Her identical twin sister Xiomara, my Aunt Xo, had a girl, and as far as my mother was concerned that was enough girls.

In our previous 14 years, our mother always pulled off fantastic birthdays. She worked hard to keep each of us unique and individual. Felix chose the lunch meal; I chose the dinner. One chose the movie, one chose the activity.

We never had a birthday party with friends. Every year, our mother set the agenda for the day and it was just the immediate family. I never resented the lack of a party with friends; I don't really like planning or having to be the center of attention. Felix always had a small gathering with his friends at a different time and place. I figured I would go bowling with the Voices and Danny on another day and call it my birthday celebration.

I pull myself from my bed, make it quickly, and go to the shower. Felix's door is open and he lies on his stomach, his covers kicked off, snoring almost as loudly as our mother does. I laugh and hop in the shower, letting the water massage my back. Today, I will just braid my hair and let it hang down my back. Today, I will wear no makeup. Today, I will leave the earrings on the dresser. It is a cherry chapstick kind of day. I am not worried about what others see when they look at me today.

Two mornings of the year, we make our way upstairs together: Christmas and our birthday. The other 363 days of the year, it is anyone's guess who will emerge first, who will have their shirt on inside out, and who will trip coming up the stairs and lay on them for a while, defeated by gravity (okay, that last one is usually me). This morning, we bound up one right behind the other into the living room. Wokie is laying in his plush bed in the living room. He snorts and rolls onto his belly, begging for a tummy rub.

"Mom? Dad?" I call as I scratch the little dog's stomach and tickle his sides.
"Shhh," comes Felix's voice from the kitchen. "I found a note. Dad's working and Mom doesn't feel well. They left us each a hundred dollars and the keys to the car."

"But...it's our birthday. And our fifteenth, not our sixteenth. Car keys are useless."

Felix nods. "I know. I wondered if this year might be like this since Uncle Robert died...and the thing happened."

I consider it for a moment. Since our great-uncle passed away suddenly and unexpectedly from a massive heart attack the previous March, our mother's already shaky grasp on things has fallen completely apart. Inexplicably, Mom refuses therapy or a doctor.

I move to my parents' bedroom and listen for a moment. It is silent except for the faint sound of Merle Haggard singing. Mom is homesick; the only time she listens to Merle is when she wants nothing more than to be in the Panhandle. I feel conflicted; should I go into Mom's room and lay on the bed with her and try to cheer her up, or just leave her be? In the past, attempting to cheer her up has been guesswork at best and what works one time might not work the next.