Fortunate

By: Viviana Labarca

I was born on the 28th of February. Had I come out just six hours later, I would have been born on leap day, destined to experience a quarter of the birthdays that most people experience. In that sense, I am fortunate.

 

Birthdays are supposed to be joyful beginnings. To my birth mother, however, the day I was born was not a joyful beginning but rather a relief. She no longer needed to carry along the unwanted package that burdened her for nine months. Once I was out, I was no longer hers.

 

I guess you could consider my birthday the beginning of a long and painful journey in the foster care system.

 

The few memories I still have from my early childhood are fuzzy: a big black dog licking my face, a friendly woman singing me to sleep, a tall man snapping a picture of me as I blow out birthday candles. That was my fifth birthday, the only birthday on which I felt loved and wanted.

 

But love and desire are not permanent. My foster parents grew tired of having to deal with a toddler that would never truly be theirs.

 

After that, I jumped from home to home, never sojourning with one family for more than a year at a time. I try my best not to get attached. There are few things to which I genuinely feel connected. My only personal possession is the photo from my fifth birthday, a relic from a time when things were more simple.

 

Since then, I have resented my birthday. No foster family has kept me around long enough to celebrate more than one of my birthdays. I think that birthdays make people think about what they want in the future. None of the families I’ve stayed with have wanted me in their future. So I’ve learned to keep my distance.

 

Don’t get me wrong, my current foster mom is nice and all. Her house is clean, she has a sense of humor, and there’s always food. Sometimes I catch myself thinking about staying here permanently, but then I remember the birthday theory. I doubt that she will be an exception.

 

On the night of February 27th, I find myself staring at The Photo. My little  five-year-old hands clutch a yellow rose that dangles dangerously close to the cake. My cheeks are puffed out with air and anticipation. I wonder what I was wishing for at that moment.

 

Sharon, my foster mother, bursts through the door. Bags of groceries hang from her wrists.

 

“Can you help me unload, Angeree?” she asks.

 

“Sure.”

 

I grab my coat and walk outside. I’m still staring at The Photo when my feet slip out from under me. I catch a quick glimpse of the grey sky until my head hits the ground, and everything turns black.

 

I’m in a musty restaurant. A candle flickers next to a vase the holds a single yellow rose.

 

“Happy birthday, my dear,” says a woman with a friendly smile. She looks at the tall man that sits next to her.

 

The realization hits me like a baseball to the face. Oh my god. These are my foster parents… THE foster parents.

 

“We’re so happy to celebrate with you one last time,” says the tall man. A nostalgic and regretful look lingers in his eyes.

 

My heart pounds in my chest like a church bell.

 

“What do you mean ‘one last time’? What’s going on?”

 

“Oh honey,” the woman says. “We can’t keep you anymore. It’s just not going to work. Don’t worry though, you’ll be eighteen soon enough. I’m sure someone will take care of you until then.”

 

And just like that, I’m five years old again. Rejection hurts just as bad the second time around, if not worse. Tears fill up my eyes, blurring my vision. I close my eyes and pray for the burning sensation in my throat to stop.

 

When I open my eyes, the foster parents are gone. A big black dog sits on the booth in their place, jumping up onto the table to lick my face. His paws swipe the surface of the table, smashing the vase in the process. I watch the yellow rose fall into the candle flame in slow motion.

 

A wall of fire springs up immediately. I jump back and scream. None of the other customers seem to notice the giant fire. I run towards the exit, tears still streaming down my face.

 

A waitress stops me before I rush out the door. “Don’t forget your fortune cookie,” she says with a wide smile on her face. Too overwhelmed to respond, I grab the cookie and push through the door.

 

Outside, I stand on the edge of a highway. Drivers speed past me without so much as a glance. I turn around to go back to the restaurant, but it is gone. A thick forest stands behind me.

 

I throw myself to ground in frustration, and hopelessness. I hear a crunch when my legs hit the grass. The cookie is crushed inside its packaging, the fortune is visible. I rip the plastic with my teeth and pull out the thin slip of paper.

 

I can’t help but speak out loud. “What the -”

 

A loud honk interrupts me. I look up, only to see a blue Toyota pulled over, its lights flashing yellow.

 

I stood up, brushing the fortune cookie crumbs off of my torso and placing the fortune in my pocket. I peer into the windows, but they’re deeply tinted. I check out the front of the car and see that the license plate reads ANGEREE. I open the backseat door and sniff. New car smell.

 

Well, I thought to myself, On one hand, this is Stranger Danger 101. On the other hand, I don’t have a better plan. I hop in the back seat.

 

As soon as I close the car door, the locks click. I try to unlock the door with no success. A wave of panic floods my insides, and the stereo turns on.

 

“Thank you for entering the 2018 Toyota Portal. Please announce your destination as written on your fortune.”

 

I scramble to pull the fortune from my pocket. “7901 Meadowbrook Lane.”

 

“Thank you Angeree. We will arrive in approximately twenty five minutes. Buckle up.”

 

For twenty five minutes I stare out of the car window, trying desperately to recognize my surroundings. I check to see if the windows or sunroof can open but no cigar. I watch the sunset through the windshield. Fluffy orange clouds hang in suspense above a deep purple sun. Since when is the sun purple?

 

I cannot remember how I came to be inside of a driverless car. The car slows to a stop in front of a small, ubiquitous house.

 

“We have arrived at 7901 Meadowbrook Lane. Please exit the car immediately.”

 

The car locks click, and I swing the door open. The car zooms away as soon as I step out.

 

There is not a single person within eyesight, not a single light lit within the neighborhood. Abandoned by a futuristic self-driven car and my childhood foster parents, I am utterly alone.

 

Standing on the lawn of a random suburban house, I break down, choking back my sobs. I’ve never been the type to depend on anyone, but at this moment, I want nothing more than a shoulder to cry.

 

A light flickers on in 7901 Meadowbrook Lane.

 

My heart skips a beat. I remind myself that I’m still alive. Breathe, Angeree.

 

My breath floats visibly in front of my face, as I walk slowly to the front porch. Heel. Toe. Heel Toe.

 

I am only five feet from the doorway when the door creaks open a few inches. I stop in my tracks. I hear something: a faint, slow whispering. A song.

 

“H a p p y  b i r t h d a y  t o y o u … ”

 

I peek into the house. A warm, orange glow quivers, creating shadows against the walls.

 

“H a p p y  b i r t h d a y  t o y o u … ”

 

On the count of three, I tell myself.

 

“H a p p y  b i r t h d a y,  d e a r A n g e r e e … ”

 

1… 2… 3!

 

I open the door and stare in horror. Huge dark red letters that read “Happy Birthday” drip down the wall.

 

A tiny girl stands in front of me, holding a cake. A birthday cake. Two large candles sat on top of beautiful frosting. Her black matted hair covers her face and leaks a thick, oozing, liquid. I look down at her grey toes and see dark red dots shining on the floor.

 

“H a p p y  b i r t h d a y  t o y o u!”

 

She giggles and stares at me, smiling a horrible but familiar smile. I stand there petrified, staring back into the eyes of my five year old self.

 

“I didn’t forget your birthday Ange…”

 

She inhales and blows out the candles, leaving me in complete darkness, screaming.

 

The darkness turns into blinding whiteness. I wake up, screaming. A heart monitor beeps quickly next to me. Sharon rushes to my side you hug me.

 

“Oh thank god. You had a terrible fall, Angeree.The doctors weren’t sure when you’d wake up. Does your head hurt, honey? They said you probably have a concussion.”

“Um no,” I stammer, pulling my back up from the hospital bed. I look at the bandages on my hand, and remember what caused the entire ordeal. “Hey Sharon, did you find an old picture? I was holding it when I fell…”

 

“Oh. Yes! Here,” she says as she hands me the photo.

 

The sight of my younger self sends a shiver down my spine. My immediate response is to rip it up, but something stops me. The five-year-old in the picture is naive and totally unaware of the journey ahead of her. She might as well be a different person.

 

“I’m not sure if this is the right time to bring this up, but I’ve been thinking,” Sharon says, “I know we’ve only been living together for a few months, and I know you haven’t stayed with one family for much longer than that, but I’ve really enjoyed your company. I would love to adopt you. You’ll be eighteen in a few years, and you’ll need -”

 

“Yes! Yes yes yes. A million yeses. Yes,” I say, surprising myself.

 

Sharon laughs. “Well, alright then! We can work on the paperwork later…” she says while she checks her watch. “Oh look! It’s midnight. Happy Birthday!”

 

“Thank you.” I look down at The Photo and take a deep breath in. I toss it in the trash can next to my bed. “Hey Sharon, do you have a camera?”

 

Short Story Rubric

 

Short Story Components	Publishable	Sophisticated	Adequate	Needs Development	Unsatisfact- ory
Style	10	9	8      7	6    5 4	3    2 1
Author uses creative and effective use of rhetorical and stylistic devices, the “Show, Don’t Tell” technique, Point of View, and dialogue to enhance the reader’s experience.	Comments on Style:
Organization of Plot and Setting	10	9	8      7	6    5 4	3    2 1
Author effectively develops the components of the short story arc (hook, exposition, inciting action, rising action, climax, falling action and insight). Setting is distinguishable and well developed.	Comments on Organization of Plot and Setting:
Character Development	10	9	8      7	6    5 4	3    2 1
Author creates real, believable characters and captures a universal aspect of the human condition. The main character’s conflict is clear and likely causes/requires change. Character is motivated by a catalyst, likely presented in the inciting action.	Comments on Character Development:
Theme/Insight	10	9	8      7	6    5 4	3    2 1
Author weaves through the plot a recognizable and effective theme that isn’t cliche. The story’s ending type is appropriate for the story’s genre and story arc components.	Comments on Theme/Insight:
Mechanics	10	9	8      7	6    5 4	3    2 1
Author uses Times New Roman or similar, 12 point font, one inch margins, page numbers as a footer, and includes a heading and effective title on the first page only. Author has no spelling, grammar, punctuation, or formatting mistakes. Dialogue is properly punctuated and capitalized and dialogue tags, syntax and diction are varied. Author either single spaces and skips lines between paragraphs (2.5 – 4 pages total) or double spaces and indents paragraphs and dialogue (5-8 pages total).	Comments on Mechanics:
_______ / Total Grade