A BIRTHDAY IN NEVERLAND

                                      A BIRTHDAY IN NEVERLAND

There are sixteen candles for my birthday cake. Six are pink and ten are white. 
They’re set on the kitchen table in a neat pile, waiting to be placed atop Moms famous double layer chocolate cake.
She always saves that task for last, just before the party starts, after she’s assured herself that everything else is perfect.

Once the house is sparkling clean and the smell of my all-time favorite foods, macaroni and cheese and home made pizza, wafts through the air, then mom finally turns to the candles.

A faint smile plays on her lips as she gently places the first six candles, the pink ones, in a circle at the cakes center.
The smile quickly falters as she looks at the ten white ones, eyes now brimming with tears, jaw set.
A strangled sob escapes her lips and she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffling.
Mom knows that no matter how thoroughly she cleans or how well she cooks, my birthday will never be perfect, because the most important guest is missing…. Me.
She snatches up the candles and thrusts them into the spongy chocolate surface with more force than necessary; one white candle for each year I’ve been gone.
                             

                                     ***


I had just turned six when I met my fate.
I was outside playing in the back yard with my new doll, who I called Rosa because of her red hair.
Mom and Dad had given her to me for my birthday and I was really looking forward to the adventures we would have together.
I was making her fly like a superhero to save the other dolls in the yard when I noticed the Man watching me.

The man was very…round. From his round body to his round face to the shiny round spot on the top of his head.
He walked towards me, his mouth widening in a smile.

“Hello dear”, he said. “Could you help me with something?”

“With what?” I asked, but caught myself and added; “Uh, momma says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers”.

The man looked surprised. “Well of course your momma’s right, but honey, I’m not a stranger. Everyone knows me. Don’t you recognize me?” He crouched down so that his eyes were level with mine and I saw that his pale face was covered in pock-marks, like craters.

“No?” I replied, a little unsure. Was I supposed to know him?

“Why I’m The Man on the Moon! I really need your help”. He said and took my arm.
“You see, I had a little accident and tumbled to earth. I must get back before nightfall to turn the moon on or the whole world will end!”

I was shocked. The whole WORLD? But I was part of the world and my mom and dad too!

“How am I supposed to help you?” I asked. “I’m just a little girl.”

“Exactly! “, he replied. He looked up at my house for a moment, then his eyes snapped back to mine, pleading. “The thing is, uh, I must find the secret moon path and say the sacred spell in order to get back, but only a little girl, pure of heart, can see the path”. He was speaking hurriedly now.
“It should start just around the corner there”. He pointed down the street, “it won’t take any time at all, I swear, and you’ll be back before you know it. And I will give you anything you want in return”.

My eyes widened. I was getting really curious. Was I really going to save the world?
I stared at him, nervously chewing on my thumbnail.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to ask mommy” I said and turned away.

“NO!” he begged. “There isn’t any time, you must come now or you won’t have a mommy to go to”

I really didn’t want that, so I made up my mind and took the man’s hand and followed him down the street.

…I should have asked mommy...

There was no moon path, no sacred spell.
Instead, a locked car, driving me away kicking and screaming, my curiosity quickly replaced by terror.
A hand, locked around my throat, forever drowning out my screams, cold eyes and a wicked smile the last thing I saw before the Moonman sent me away….Away to Neverland.


Neverland.
That’s what my dad had always called it.
When I was five my great grandmother passed away. I was extremely confused and sad, I didn’t understand why she was gone, didn’t understand death. My dad sat me on his lap and explained to me that she would be ok, even if we couldn’t see her anymore. She had simply been called to Neverland, where she could be young again, running and playing like she used to, without ever having to worry about growing old and frail.

…I’ll never grow up at all…

                                           ***

The police eventually caught my captor. He confessed to everything, to killing me and countless others, but he never told anyone what he did with us, the lost children.

The first few years afterward were unbearable for my parents. Lost in a fog of desperate grief, punctured only by white hot fury and excruciating guilt. They blamed themselves, blamed each other. They should have been watching me more closely, should have checked on me more often.
Dad spent hours dreaming up ways to torture the Moonman, should he ever get the chance.
Mom held on to the hope that maybe the Moonman was lying, perhaps I was still alive somewhere, just waiting to be found.

Eventually, they stopped dreaming and with time, learned to lock away the thoughts that hurt,  and go through life hidden behind smiling masks of composure.. 

Some days are still kept sacred, still devoted to my memory.

Every year my parents celebrate my birthday, like they did when I was six.
They serve the same food, and invite all the same guests.                                                                                                       
                                                     
                                                                                                      ***

As mom places the last candle, the phone rings.
She wipes her hands on her apron and answers it absentmindedly, thinking it’s probably dad letting her know he’ll be running late.
  It’s not.
Instead, it’s  the head detective from my case, the one who caught the Moonman.
He apologizes for bothering her on my birthday, he knows how sacred it is to her. He explains that this morning, the Moonman was murdered in prison, beaten to death by another inmate. He wanted to let her know before she found out from the news.
He apologizes again before hanging up.

Mom’s in shock. She stands, frozen for a moment, staring at the phone receiver. Then she slowly puts it down and lets herself sink to the floor, cradling her knees.
She feels a surge of emotions bubbling under the surface, but she doesn’t know which ones to deal with first.
On the one hand she’s wickedly happy; happy that he’s dead, happy that he met his end so violently, not by the hands of the state, but those of a psychopath just like him.
She’s also completely devastated, because now she won’t have her annual meeting with him. Now, she feels all  hope for me is gone.

She’s met with the Moonman once a year since his capture in hopes of learning my whereabouts.
He always accepts her visits, revelling in her grief. She’s tried everything, screaming and threatening him, pleading and begging and bribing him.
  Lately, she‘s simply sat still, quietly bearing the pain of his cruel jokes and narcissistic rants, trying to discern any clues from the jumbled  nonsense tumbling from his lips. Anything to find me.

…but now she never will.

Her thoughts are disrupted by the doorbell.
The first guests have arrived. She looks out the window. It’s her mom, my grandma. Grandpa’s coming up the driveway behind her.
Mom resolves not to tell anyone about the news she just got, she won’t even tell dad until after the party.
She takes a moment to fix herself in front of the hallway mirror before opening the door.
Her parents hug her in the doorway and she feels comforted.

Other guests follow soon after; my dad’s younger sister and her fifteen-year old daughter, my favorite cousin. A few of my friends from back then also show up, the ones who haven’t moved away. They still come every year to pay their respects, but usually don’t stay very long. My dad arrives last with his older sister; he’s been to pick her up from the airport.
Everyone gathers around the dining room table to eat. They politely chat about each other’s lives, catching up. They used to exchange stories about me, but now I have been gone longer than I was here, and they’ve run out of tales to tell.
Once they’ve finished, mom goes into the kitchen to light the candles on the cake.
They all know what to do when she brings it back with her.
Silently they rise and follow her into the back yard, to a memorial that my parents built for me there.
They sing “Happy Birthday” and let the wind blow out the candles, mom likes to imagine that it’s really me.
The party winds down pretty quickly after that, it’s getting shorter and shorter each year.

                                                        ***

After the guests have left and mom and dad are alone, mom sits my dad down and tells him about the detective’s call.
At first he’s angry that she didn’t tell him earlier but she explains that she didn’t want to ruin my party, didn’t want people thinking of Him instead of celebrating Me.
They sit quietly for a while, eyes cast downwards.

Mom gently squeezes dad’s hand, then goes over to the liquor cabinet and opens the glass door. She knows that her and dad have different ways of handling their feelings. She also knows that both their ways will include alcohol, at least for tonight. She selects a bottle of merlot for herself and a bottle of dad’s favorit bourbon, saving him the trip. She sets the bottle in front of him and kisses his forehead. Then without a word she turns around and heads upstairs to my old room.

It’s not exactly the way it was when I was alive, most of my toys have been packed up, but my bed is still there and a few of my things.
She goes over to a dresser and takes out a photo album, then she makes herself comfortable on my bed with the album on her lap, wine glass in hand.
The past stares back at her as she flips through the old photos of us, a once happy family.
She pauses for a long time at one particular picture. It was taken on Christmas when I was four and shows me, sitting on my great grandmother’s lap, clasping a freshly unwrapped present, a bright smile plastered on my face.
Both of us are bursting with life, our vibrant eyes full of mirth.
Both of us now gone….
Tears stream down her face, brought on harder when she hears the shouting from outside.

Dad is out on the lawn.
He’s been drinking hard and fast, and sways where he stands, staring at the sky.

“WHY?” he suddenly yells. “Why’d you have to take MY baby girl! My Beautiful little baby girl”. He takes a large swig and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You should have come after me instead, I’d be ready for ya…BRING IT ON!” He screams and jabs his finger into the air. Staggering backwards, he stumbles on to the porch. His head rests on the bottle and his huge shoulders start shaking as he weeps, for the first time in a long while.

The front door opens, and my mother steps out offering her hand. He takes it and lets her lead him to bed. She helps him undress and lays down beside him.
The clock strikes midnight, my birthday is over.
My parents come together in a tight embrace and gently cry each other to sleep.

Morning comes, and brings with it the Hangover and the realization that life trudges on, even when you feel you’ve been left behind…