If I Fell

Chapter Nine

I really did think that one of the most pleasurable moments you could have in life was when you had a long gulp of tea in complete silence.

“Sweetie, what do you want to do for you birthday?”

Oh, well.

Drinking tea is pretty good anyways.

With my fingers wrapped about the steaming mug, I lowered it from lips, gulping down that long sip I’d been enjoying in silence. Over top of the mug, I observed my mother who was staring at me, her glasses having slipped down her nose slightly.

Pondering the question she’d asked, I continued to look at her, although after a moment I didn’t see my mom with her perfectly slicked back hair and sculpted face.

What I wanted to do for my birthday wasn’t usually my choice, it always seemed to be planned for me, not to say that it was a bad thing.

My moods around my birthday weren’t good for as long as I could remember.

I was probably just being a selfish princess, but no matter how much I told myself that I shouldn’t be sulking it didn’t help. Birthdays were supposed to be a happy time. You were given presents, surrounded by friends and family and they were all focused on you having the best time.

It just never worked for me. Although in the past couple years I was finding that it was getting easier to force a smile and to pretend to have a good time.

When I was younger I didn’t have that sense though. It was always the same, my mom would leave the present my dad had bought me on my bed without a word on the day and at five at night, almost on the dot since I’d been six years old, I’d get a phone call from my father ringing through the house. There was no change, never. It was the same every single year.

What had changed, however, was me. I used to spend every waking minute sitting by the phone on my birthday, almost trembling with excitement at the thought of being able to talk to my dad. The phone calls had never lasted that long, and they were the only times I spoke to my father all year, but they’d been more of gift than any possession he might send me. My mother never liked being around when he’d call, and she’d always made excuses to be out of the room or even out of the house when it happened.

My excitement had started to change slightly as I grew older, but I always wanted to talk to him. Then my twelfth birthday had come and he’d only gotten the words happy birthday out before I’d heard a women’s voice in the background, I hadn’t heard what she’d said just made out her voice, but my dad had quickly hung up with a vague goodbye.

That was the first year I’d thrown out one of his gifts and I’d never answered a call from him again.

I think that had been the point where it had really clicked in my mind what he’d done to our family, I don’t think I’d ever been able to comprehend what he’d done to my mother. And he was the reason I would hear her crying some nights back then. He’d left us. He’d left mom. He’d left me. I was his only child and he only bothered to call me once a year, and on that one time we spoke, I wasn’t important enough compared to some faceless woman.

You’d think that since I hadn’t answered one of his phone calls since I was twelve, he’d get the idea, but, no, of course he didn’t. I didn’t know the man at all; I couldn’t tell if he was just stubborn or stupid, yet he still called every year.

And with that knowledge you’d think I’d make it a point to be out of the house like my mother always was now on the exact time he called every year. But I never was. I always sat beside the phone and waited, I’d watch it ring and I wouldn’t answer; just stare at it. I couldn’t tell if I was just stubborn or stupid.