Birthday Cake

For as long as I can remember, I have blown the same wish against every birthday candle flame. Some years, it seemed like my wish went unanswered. But really, my wish has come true gradually. I grow into it, as I grow into this body. My wish becomes the truth of my life; vivid, warm, beautiful. My wish is one word, and with my face illuminated by the candles, I savor the word. I let it ring through my mind. After I have thought my word, I listen to the breath of everyone around me for a moment. And then I blow out the candles.

Birthday cake is my favorite food. So much so, that my first words ever were: “Daddy left the cake in the car.” And it was true, he had. 

My favorite cake is grocery store cake. With an ingredients list longer than a book of poetry. I like vanilla cake, with vanilla frosting, and rainbow sprinkles on top. I like the cardboard circle it sits on. I like the plastic case, especially when a little frosting brushes the side. It is like a snow globe, or a window, or a fish tank. 

There’s a video of me on my third birthday. My dad left the camcorder on the table, while he and my mom and my sisters were in the other room. I don’t think I knew I was being recorded. I stood over the cake, and swept my little pointer finger across the surface of the icing. I picked up the Sesame Street plastic figures on top, and I licked the icing off of their feet. I smushed Big Bird and Bert and Ernie back down, completely unaware of my own strength. As if they had sunken into mud. When my mom came back into view in the camera, with her long black braids, she just picked me up and plopped me in my chair. She didn’t comment on the state of the cake, or that I was already covered in frosting. It was my cake, after all. 

I was taught to keep my wish to myself. That if I told anyone, it wouldn’t come true. My wish had to be a secret. And so, I have kept it to myself forever. 

But I wish I knew everyone’s yearly wishes. I’m nosey like that. This last New Year’s, I called many of my close friends, and I asked to hear their resolutions. As I listened, I wrote down their wishes in my journal. It felt good to not interject, to simply listen. I then placed their wishes in my Hopes and Dreams jar. The practice has continued throughout the year. If you are my friend, and you have told me an unfulfilled desire or need, I have most likely written a note, and stuffed it in the jar. 

In a decade or two, I’d love to have a party and reread our dreams. See how many of them came to fruition. There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty, you know? 

But the funny thing is, since I have started to hope for my friends’ dreams, and love them as my own, my lonesomeness has passed away. And what I wish for, year after year, is more true than it has ever been. 

In a way, I believe in the power of prayer. It makes some kind of sense to me, that the more people who want something to happen, the more likely it is that that thing will happen. Communities have resources, so in a practical way, speaking your prayers to your neighbors is a powerful, life saving practice. 

Tomorrow is my birthday. I’m sitting on a pretty pink couch in my new house. Joe is washing the dishes. Kittens are running around. I am full from dinner. I am full from another year. 

I want to tell you my wish. It feels like risking a lot. I was raised to be so superstitious. But I know now that the power of wishes is not in the matter of their fruition. The power is in the arms of the people who hold you, and keep you safe, while you wish. The power is the hushed breath after the Happy Birthday song is over, and the people who love you wait. While they wait, maybe they guess at what you wish for. Maybe they try to listen for it. 

I realized that my wish has always been the people in the room, with the lights out, and the cake on the table. Every year, I wish for love. That’s it. That’s what I’ll wish for tomorrow. 

Sometimes, when I’m feeling low, my body feels like a room with no lights on. Dark as midnight on a new moon. But when I wish for love, I can suddenly see it inside. A glowing circle, the size of a penny. I imagine the dot of love growing out from deep inside, until it reaches my skin. And I am warm all over, and I am exactly who I want to be. A love light shines so clearly. It cannot be fractured. Poised to embrace, to listen.