Number Day

Number Day


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Streamers, just so many streamers.

She stands on her tiptoes, stretches, and with one finger, pushes until the last streamer is just right. It's a labor of love, but she doesn't see it that way. She just knows that she wants everything to be perfect. The streamer falls back, and she nudges it again.

On the table, atop a bright cherry tablecloth, are bowls of chips, platters of fruit, finger foods, and a round chocolate cake. It had taken her four hours to make the cake alone. Balloons, in an assortment of colors, are bobbing around the room, occasionally nodding off her many wooden shelves. Ribbons have been tied around each of the plants that fill the shelves, like a festival in some wild, unknown country.

She finishes and steps back. Satisfied, she heads to her desk. She steps over her trashbin and almost trips on the overflowing piles of crumpled up paper. Grabbing several envelopes, she leaves.

The first envelope goes to Twenty-One Nineteen Carthage Street, and she grins as she drops it in. The name on the letter is Melissa Hastings. Melissa had gone to college with her, and she had always been a wonderful tutor. Advanced level French would have been a nightmare if not for her. The number on her letter is five.

The second envelope goes to Number Seventeen Carriage Lane. The name this time is Brian Jones. He had been one of her first friends from high school, someone who called at three in the morning to talk. Some wires were crossed, and he had told her he loved her. She had to tell him she did not. He had dropped it, not pursued any further, and their friendship continued. Many times, she envied his strength. His number is seven.

She stops next at Twenty Sixteen Old Park Circle and the name is Austin. He worked with her and always seemed to have a kind word. One day, when her beloved cat passed away, he was the only one to ask what was wrong. He gave her a small smile, and told her he was sorry. Before she knew it, she had brushed it off. Said Beth was just some stupid cat. Then she cried. His number is two.

She spends the better part of two hours delivering her envelopes, looking down at each name as she does. Then she drives home, quite a bit above the speed limit. The streamer had fallen down again, and she goes to poke it back into place.

She then waits.

At seven, or a few minutes before or after, her guests arrive. She hadn't specified, so they're wearing a perplexingly wide variety of styles. Casual. Semi-formal. Some even arrive dressed for a dinner party. She greets each and every one the same way. “I'm so glad you came.”

Initially, there's awkwardness, but then introductions begin, and the room settles into a dull murmur. Sports, colleges, workplaces, there are as many topics as there are guests. But the conversations always turn back to the numbers.  “Must be the order to get food,” Kyle says, holding up his three, “It wouldn't make sense for all of us to rush the table at the same time.”

“Oh,” Karen replies, flashing back her six, “It looks like I'm going to be waiting here a while.”

“I think it's a ranking,” Shannon says, winking, “Who Dana likes the best.”

“I think you're just saying that,” Brian yells as he snatches Shannon's number out of her hand, “Because you're number one!” Shannon shrugs as Brian waves her number around. “There's no way that's true,” he says, looking at Dana, with light shining off his tie. “Is it?”

Before she answers, Dana looks around, checking to see if most everyone had arrived. There's a small sound as she clears her throat, and the room suddenly becomes silent. “I think I can shed a little light on the numbers,” she says. Her voice is thin, unaccustomed to public speaking, but bright.

“Those numbers, well, those numbers represent how long you've blessed me with. And, in years, how long I've gotten to love each of you.”

She blushes, and suddenly it feels as if every eye is boring into her. She looks down. “Up to when I was in high school,” she says, voice getting thinner by the word, “Everyone thought I was weird, and I never really fit in. No one was ever interested in me, or wanted to get to know me. Not even a little bit.”

The silence is getting oppressive now, but she continues. “T-That's why,” She looks up and smiles into the sea of faces. Each one with a name, and each one with a number. “I think I know better than most, how important people are. How much of a relief it is to find people who care and understand. I know how good it feels to not have to be alone.”

“Today's my birthday,” she says, her voice booming now, “The day I was born, and the day I was given this life.” Somewhere ahead of her, Brian nods. “But it's you guys who give this life meaning.”

There are cheers and hugs fly in from all directions. The streamer falls down again, but no one's paying any attention. Just barely, over the raucous applause, Dana faintly yells, “Enjoy the cake please!”



Hello there. Your number is one.






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Word Count: 923 words.