A Birthday Tragedy

Allyson put on the final detail on her cake. Carefully, with her trained artist’s hand, she squeezed a minuscule red dot of icing in the center of a flower. She stepped back, admiring her masterpiece. She felt good about it, knowing that this time, the cake wasn’t for some picky big shot, but for herself—and Lance, course.
Speaking of which, where is he?
Allyson turned, flicking her long, black curly locks and looked at the kitchen clock. Two hours late. That’s a new record, she thought. He was supposed to be helping her work on her birthday cake. Make it more fun making. Although, she already had fun knowing that it was her cake that she was making. She sighed, I guess I’ll have to corner him and deny him sex for a couple of weeks. She smiled wickedly, but convinced herself otherwise…

The doorbell rang.
Allyson hurriedly shucked off her apron that dared you to “Kiss the Chef” and rushed to the main door.

It wasn’t Lance.
If it had been him, he wouldn’t have to ring the bell…
It was the delivery boy. By the name of Andrew, if his name tag spoke the truth. He gave her a small package apparently from her mom, who was in the country whiling away waiting for her death.
She opened the parcel and found that it contained a small ornately designed box. Sitting down on the living room sofa, she admired the handiwork. An artist herself, she knew what beauty was when she was looking at it. The swirling patterns on the lid had the illusion of spinning endlessly, drawing the eyes to look at them forever. She blinked, and ran her fingers on the smooth edge of the box.
She found a small padlock and she squinted at it. The lock it self was a piece of art. It had been painted to look old and rusted; though Allyson noticed it was definitely new. She upturned it and saw the teeny whole for the key. She searched the parcel and found a tiny silver key, with its head shaped like a feather. The key was in a chain, probably for easy location.

The box popped open the moment the key slid into its whole. Turning it would probably snap it, Allyson thought.
There was a small pouch branded with her family insignia: a rose with two daggers crossing behind it. She upturned it and something heavy fell onto her hand.
It was a silver bracelet. And upon first glance, she knew it easily outclassed its box, making it seem an unworthy container for such a magnificent piece of jewelry.

The door opened, and in stepped Lance.
He was suited up. Black suit, red tie. Perfect for a funeral, Allyson amused herself with the thought. This was like him. He couldn’t tell the difference between Christmas and Halloween, except that he got shrunken heads on Christmas and chocolate-coated candies on Halloween. He wore make-up as much as he wanted too, perhaps even more so than Allyson herself. But today, she had been able to persuade him to come with only lip-gloss as a cosmetic.
He was strange, in most senses, but Allyson loved him for that. She relished the thought of having a man all to himself, and that man happened to be one in a million.

“Hi,” was his only greeting. ‘Happy Birthday’ was probably reserved for bed. He was hiding something behind him, and Allyson noticed it.

“What is this?” Allyson said excitedly, holding a large colorful paper bag, stapled at the opening, with a red bow on the upper right-hand corner.

Lance smiled, “It’s my birthday gift for you. You can open it if you want.”

Allyson looked at him with mock suspicion, “You know what? I will.”

She looked at the paper bag. Red and pink and blue balloons patterned it like a regular gift wrapper. She noticed the way it had been stapled shut: in a perfectly straight line. Expensive…she smiled. The ribbon wasn’t the ordinary kind either, but the glittery kind with golden edges.
Slipping her fingers in the spaces between the staple wires, she pulled the bag open.

In the split second that went between her pulling the bag open and the bag opening Allyson’s head had already filled up with spoiled wishes about what could be in the bag. A beautiful dress; the one she had been staring on during her walks with Lance. Two pairs of the most expensive shoes sold, one pair gold, the other, studded with diamonds. Or jewelry set, not as beautiful as her mom’s gift, but close enough.
Or, of course! It could none other be but—!

“A doll?”

Allyson’s fantasies were drowned by the plastic doll’s blinking eyes. The doll was wearing a pink phased-out frilly dress with cheap flower-print patterns; her face was painted with mock make-up. Her hair was golden, but was so thinly distributed it made the doll look as though she was balding. One of her blinking eyes was shut and wouldn’t open even though the doll was in a standing position. Speaking of standing, the doll wore plastic white shoes with not a trace of design on it except for a simple hand drawn shoelace.
It was ugly…no—it was hideous. Allyson breathed, ate, watched, and lived for art, and she knew the real difference between beautiful and ugly. And this…this thing… met all the criteria for the word, and more.
She looked at Lance, who was still smiling.

“A talking doll!” Lance spread his arms, “Squeeze its middle and it talks. C’mon, do a demo!”

Allyson stepped back, barely believing what she was hearing. This guy actually thinks she’s going to accept this piece of garbage? Oh, hell no.

“Lance, I don’t know what you’re up to but stop it.”

Lance lost his smile, “Stop it?” he stuttered, “Don’t you like it?”

“Like it?” she echoed, fury building up in her voice, “You expect me to like this shit?”

Lance was shaking his head in confusion, “You think its shit? But I…I gave it to you! From my heart!”

Allyson lost it, “From what heart? Huh? This thing—” she shook the doll in front of his face, “This thing is not something from the heart! It’s from the dumpster!”

“Well, if you don’t like it,” Lance, ever the cool-headed, said, “I guess I’ll just have to replace it, now, shouldn’t I?”

But Allyson was at her anger’s momentum.

“You know what? I have a better idea.”

She threw the doll at Lance, who caught it deftly with one hand.

“You take that doll and everything else you own in this house…and you take them back to your dump of an apartment and stay there!”

“What, you’re dumping me?” Lance said, his eyes showing disbelief, “For just a wrong gift?”

“Yeah, I am,” Allyson said vehemently.

“Look, its just one mistake, can’t we get around this?”

“You know what my mom gave me?” Allyson suddenly asked

Lance shook his head. He was sweating now, and kept licking his lips.

“She gave me this,” she showed him the heirloom, “She’s sick and dying and she found time to remember me and give me this. What about you? You’re alive and…and healthy, but you wasted two hours buying that nonsense? If you had been earlier and helped me with the cake, it would’ve been better, but no—you come here late with that sucky present and even expect me to be happy about it!”

“Allie, I’m sorry, if you could—”

“Get out.”

“Allie, please—”

“You’re not that stupid Lance; you know what those words mean!”

“Don’t do this—”

He was in the car, sporting a sore cheek. He held himself, trying not to cry. This was stupid. What the hell made him think it would work? She was sensitive about this ugly-beauty difference and he comes up with this stupid idea!
He struck the steering wheel with both hands.

The paper bag with the talking doll was in the front seat, strapped in place by a seat belt. Lance looked at it mournfully. No it had not been entirely stupid. There had been a stroke of brilliance in it, if only Allyson had had enough patience to see it. He sighed…No, there was no point in that now…No, not now that Allyson didn’t want to see his face.
It was then that he remembered that he was driving a car. He was too late to react.

There was a flash of light, a surge of heat, a stab of pain…and a huge dose of bliss…

The cop had been quite frank when he broke the news to Allyson. And it left her quite stunned. She hugged her pillow so tight that all the fluff had been pushed on either end of it. The guilt had begun to sink in and she felt bitter tears flowing down her face. To think that her last words to him was ‘Get out’ and a slap on the face. She felt cruel, evil even, to have done that. He did not deserve that; the argument, the break-up, the accident, the death… none of it. She did, however.

She was standing by the front pews, next to Lance’s mother, wearing white. All of them wore white. It had been in Lance’s last wishes. She never quite understood it, but Lance had once revealed to her that he had written a list of his final wishes just in case he died. It included details of his death: specific color of clothes, of flowers; specific pallbearers; specific priest; and specific grave site.
There were a lot of interesting things about Lance…like the time where he always enjoyed hanging upside-down a tree branch during sunup pretending to be a slumbering bat. Or that he always celebrated his own birthday with a Halloween themed party even though he was born in February.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, not even a week after his death and she was missing everything about him already.
But of all the things she misses, it was his voice that she longed to hear…
He was an amazing singer. His voice was the one that swept her off her feet during an amateur band contest. She had been there, assigned to take care of the stage, its lights, fog effects, and sound systems. Her artistic touch on the stage caught Lance’s attention, and his voice caught Allyson’s.
It chilled her to the bones, like ice water. It woke her from a sleep of boredom, revived her from her lethargy…
God, what he would do to hear that voice again.

She looked up.
What was that?
She thought it was the priest…but no. She looked around and realized everyone was looking at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“Honey,” came the voice of Lance’s mother, “The doll.”

Allyson looked down and just remembered that indeed had her arms were wrapped around her birthday doll. And it was talking.
Allyson brought it up to her ear and she heard it clearly…
Oh my God, she was crying now…for it was Lance’s voice speaking…

“…ry me? …Oh, hey…it’s Lance…uhm…the recorder’s on, right? Uhm…oh, shit…ahaha…well, oh, right…I just wanted to greet you…Happy Birthday!...yeah…so I guess it’s kinda stupid doing this…I’m getting stares from the cashier…uhm…oh, almost forgot. There’s another present other than my voice, ahaha…check in the doll’s pockets…”

Keeping tears from blurring her eyes proved difficult, but she managed to get something from the doll’s pocket. It was a small box; red, and silky.

“If you open it…”

Allyson did, and she fell on her knees.

“…its kinda weird to say it through this but…will you marry me? …Oh, hey… it’s…”

Allyson knew no pain to match this, except perhaps the pain of not being able to say, “I do.”