A B-Day.

 

Today is Brother’s Birthday.

While he can remember all of my birthdays, literally – every single one of them, starting from the actual day of my birth, my birthday memories of him begin around his 9th year.

That’s probably stretching it. And most likely, I can only recall the important details. Like the cake.

It’s cool having someone in your life who has reference {outside of the parentals} to you from the beginning.

So, we celebrated yesterday. Checked out the King and I, which was all TC’s idea {aka our father}.

I had to laugh when he pulled me aside and said he didn’t think Brother was very excited about the play, or dinner afterwards.

Um, yeah, dad.

Because you planned the entire thing. Because you didn’t even bother to find out if these were things he wanted to do.

Yeah, TC likes to be in control.

But it all worked out splendidly. See, you can tell I really did see The King and I. Otherwise I wouldn’t be saying words like “splendid.”

It’s one of those great British words that sounds a lot more fancy with the hot accent.

The proof is also in the above picture, taken of the Suspension Bridge, as we were en route to crossing it.  As a sidenote, it was used as the model for the Brooklyn Bridge.

The play was great, and I only saw it one other time, when I was very young, so I didn’t have much memory of it.

You can imagine, here I am, feeling so good and hopeful about Miss Anna and The King.

They can make it! Their differences can bring them together! Love does and can conquer all!

And what the hell happens – he goes and DIES on her.

WTF were Rodgers and Hammerstein thinking?

I thought all their musicals had happy endings. Hello, Sound of Music!

You can’t imagine my shock and betrayal. In fact, I didn’t believe it. I kept waiting for him to spring up out of bed.

But no. My hopes had to be crushed, then and there.

I’m still trying to get over it.

I’m also trying to get over a little girl I saw during intermission and at the end as we were leaving.

She had her hair all done up. This cute, bright dress. I heard her laughing. She turned around and I was completely aghast.

Her entire face was burned. Melted, mismatched pieces of skin. Her mouth upturned. Eyes sunken in.

It made my stomach cringe.

Partly because it was so unexpected. Partly because, well, who wants to see a child with such a horrendous burn?

Brother and I started story speculating.

A fire? An accident? Was she here for the Shriver Center? Is there anything that can be done?

My questions were more along the lines of: Does she have friends? Will people be able to look past the rough exterior to see her for who she is?

It bothered me immensely.

It still is bothering me and I can’t shake the sight of her face staring into my own.

I just keep saying some prayers that she has supportive, loving people around her and that her life will be one of joy.

I suppose that’s all we can wish for any of us at any time.

 

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