The Buzz

Eight

She wakes up. The birds are chirping and the vibrant glow of the sun beams through her delicate lace curtains. It is her birthday, her eighth birthday. The bestest, most symmetric number. Even and clean.

Mother walks into her room, a smile gracing her pretty face, Happy birthday, dear. She says gently, her voice a near whisper as to not disturb her sleepy daughter. Mother tucks her daughter’s brown hair behind her ear lovingly, caressing her soft, rosy cheek. I’ve made pancakes hunny. Birthday pancakes for the birthday girl! 

She loves pancakes, especially birthday ones. Mother makes them every year, but this year is a special year, so they must be special birthday pancakes. She stumbles lazily into the kitchen and eats a stack drowned in syrup. The most special birthday pancakes I’ve ever tasted, she thinks.

She slides off the kitchen chair, allowing Mother to lead her back to her room, the walls green and painted with ladybugs and dragonflies. Let’s get you dressed. We have guests coming to see the birthday girl today. Mother says.

Mother dresses her in a pretty floral dress. A dress pretty as the spring flowers that bloomed when she was born. The skirt poofs out below her like the petals of a lily of the valley, her favorite flower, her flower.

Soon the guests arrive, seated outside in the fresh spring air, ladybugs and dragonflies buzzing and crawling around. The winter vetches and blue violets grow under the big crab apple tree, her tree. Its branches bloom into pink petals in the spring. It must’ve bloomed when I was born, she thinks. 

Uncle and Auntie gift her a new swimsuit, light blue and frilly. Uncle says he’ll turn on the sprinkles for her to run through in her brand new swim suit. She jumps out of her seat, ready to fly through the yard crawling with ants and soar through the sky littered with butterflies. Mother takes her inside and helps her get dressed, leading her back outside to the ladybugs and dragonflies.

As she waits for the sprinkles to be turned on, a bumblebee lands on her foot. Like a dandelion, she thinks, if you fly away will you grant me a wish like a dandelion, little bumblebee? 

The bee flies away, up, up, up into the blue sky. It flies so high, and she runs, chasing the little bumblebee. 

She counts her steps as she runs, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight–

She stops. 

Behind her, Mother laughs at Uncle’s unfunny joke. Nonna and Nonno dote on her sister, her sister who is eleven. And she is eight. She is eight and eight is a big number. A big, even, symmetric number and it is her favorite. 

She wishes she could be eight forever.