Birthright

Nineteen. That is the number of months since I opened that silly box. The one that had taunted my existence for years on top of my grandmother’s shelf. Promises of adventure and excitement made my heart burst out of my chest with anticipation. I should have known. Nothing exciting ever happens to me! I thought about it often. The way I felt when I opened the box, the way I expected to feel as it magically changed my life.

I pulled the twine and watched the sloppy bow fall undone, leaving one long piece of twine that slipped lifeless to the ground. Swiftly, I slid my finger under the crease of the brown paper, being extra mindful not to rip it, I lifted the side and unfolded it gently. I laid the paper on the kitchen table and continued with the lid of the box. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, questioning the entire time, whether I should be opening a box that had the potential to curse me. Regardless, my body on autopilot did not stop. I peeked inside as I slowly lifted the lid, surprised by what I saw waiting for me.

A flower? Its lush petals overlapped each other; layer after layer of blood-red beauty, getting smaller and smaller towards the center. The edges of the petals were bright yellow, and the stem was the greenest I had ever seen on a marigold. Despite being in this box for decades, it was perfectly preserved. Not dried, not petrified. It was alive!

I reached into the box and took out the flower expecting the same magic that preserved the blossom to overtake me and whoosh me away to some magical land. As I lifted it from its coffin, I caught a glimpse of small electric sparks falling from the perfectly round bulb of petals on top. And then…nothing! I sighed and placed the bloom back in the box. This was the first lie grandma had ever told me, and she wasn’t around for me to call her out on it.

The next day I excitedly looked around every corner for my new adventures, the day after that, too. Finally, after a handful of days passed, I gave up on the mysterious excitement promised in my grandmother's note. The disappointment and sadness set in and eventually turned into the acceptance that it was nothing more than a family wives’ tale.

Today, however, was bound to be great! It was my 18th birthday. Mom always baked me an extravagant cake that was too sweet for any of us to eat more than half of a piece of. Last year, it was an Oreo cake. It was black and white and had a million Oreo cookie pieces on the frosting. She cut a few in half and decorated the bottom of the cake where it touched the plate with an Oreo fence. This year I had asked for a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. She would set Dad’s photo and now Grandma’s photo on the table when they sang happy birthday so that I knew that they were there with me on my special day.

I stood in front of my mirror examining the adult that stood before it. I don’t feel like an adult. Regardless, no more childish antics! No more tipping in your chair or arguing with mom. You are an adult now. Act like it. As I scolded myself with my inner monologue, mom called me downstairs. She always presented her masterpiece to me with great exaggerations of how much time and effort she put into it, then she would hand me the gift that she always wrapped to match the cake.

“Happy Birthday!” mom exclaimed with a huge smile that reminded me vaguely of the joker. My brother was sitting on a stool at the kitchen bar, slumped over with his face buried in his cell phone game. Mom slapped his arm.

“Oh yeah, happy birthday,” he murmured in a less than excited tone without even looking up from his device.

“You’re such a screen zombie,” I rebuked him.

“Come on guys, not today. Look at this magnificent creation I have toiled all morning over! I swear it’s my best one yet!”

Mom grabbed the cake off the countertop and slowly turned to reveal it. It was covered in yellow frosting and perfectly formed fondant marigold flowers on the top. They were red and yellow and disturbingly comparable to the flower in the box. Mom added red candles to the top of the cake and began her theatrical version of the happy birthday song. When she was finished, she cut down the center of the cake and presented me with an overside piece that we both knew I would not be able to finish. She cut my brother and herself a piece and dug into the luscious red desert.

Confused I stared at my mom with my hand out. She smiled at me and motioned upstairs. I took a huge bite of my cake and set the rest down on the table. Excited, I ran upstairs and opened the attic door. Mom often hid gifts in the attic when we were younger. I ran across a whole bag of unwrapped Christmas gifts one year. I was playing hide and seek with my friend Rachel from down the street. I had to pretend for a month that I didn’t know anything about the gifts, but eventually broke down on Christmas eve.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw a medium-sized package sitting on a coffee table that we hadn’t used in years. The box was red and yellow with a large bow on top that resembled a flower. I bounced toward the gift and began to remove the ribbons and the bow on top. Mom had a flare for the dramatic, so I half expected a box, within a box. Sure enough, the second box inside was wrapped identically to the first. I tore rapidly into the paper until an uneasy feeling overwhelmed me. I stopped. Frog in my throat and pressure building in my chest, I looked around to see if I was being watched. I couldn’t help but feel that I had just been placed in the middle of a horror movie, and I was the girl who ran upstairs instead of down or fell flimsily as the ax murderer was walk-chasing her through the open field.

I calmly turned behind me to the corner of the attic. There sitting on a pile of dusty containers, was my box. A stream of sunlight shone through the window, eerily landing directly on it. Illuminating it like the holy grail. The nostalgic feeling of being sucked into a black hole devastated me, as it brought images of my grandmother with it. Bounding to my feet I followed the enchantment to the unstable tower and removed my box from the top.

“It’s your birthright!” I heard my grandmother's voice echo.

I looked behind me to see who was playing this cruel joke on me, but the room was empty. My attention focused back on the box and fondly I thought of my grandmother as I removed the flower. For the second time, tiny fireworks fell from the center of the blossom, this time brighter and more vibrant. I knew it! I knew I wasn’t seeing things the first time! I examined the room again. Still nothing. Momentarily I had hoped that the artifact was going to work its magic. I held my breath, scanning the room once more.

My expectations were superficial at best, and I let out a sigh with my breath. Done with the fairytale, I resigned to place the flower back in its resting place and felt a terrible tug. As though the abyss was truly attempting to suck me in, I could not remove my hand from inside. Pressure began to surround my entire body as the tug became so great that I felt my feet lift off the floor. I watched as my hand disappeared into the box, then my arm, and before I could react, my entire body had shrunk down and was sucked in like a vapor of smoke. The box fell with a thump on the attic floor and the lid closed itself behind me.

When I awoke, I felt like I had hit my head on the kitchen island, all over again. War drums thumping in my head. I stood up in an attic, quite like mine but oddly different. It was nighttime and the only light streaming in was from the moon shining through the corner window. Everything had been covered with white sheets. Was this like this, this morning? I never went into the attic at night, it was unnerving. I rose to my feet and faced the staircase and realized that where the stairs used to be was a pile of old furniture covered with sheets. What is going on?

Attempting to walk around the piles of clutter, led by the moonlight, I searched for a way out. The clutter seemed strategically arranged and created a pathway of sorts. I followed it the best that I could in the darkness, attempting not to knock anything down or trip over this hoarder's treasures. The path was leading me in the direction of the window. Visibility became easier as I got closer, and I realized that the course was leading me to a dead end. I looked out of the window. The view was the same as it was from my house, but I knew this was not my house. I threw my hands in the air as I turned to see if there were any alternatives. Across the pathway to the window, I noticed a round mirror on top of the sheet that covered more forgotten rubbish. It was reflecting the moonlight which was helping to light up the room. It was the only object in the room that was not covered. I stepped across the trail to examine it and saw myself, as though I was looking at water, instead of a mirror. I put my face close to the glass and watched as my mouth moved on the other side, despite me not saying a thing. “Birthright” my reflection whispered. I jumped backward. What the hell? Was that real? Did that just happen?

Cautiously I reached my hand out, attempting to tap my finger on the glass, but it fell through, creating a ripple in the center of the mirror. The ripple, as though something was dropped in water, had bounced up a droplet from its epicenter but instead of it dropping back into the pool and creating another ripple, it suspended itself in mid-air. I lowered my face to the side of the mirror to prove the illusion, only to see the drop deferred an inch away from the surface which still actively ripped from my touch. How in the world? Again, I reached out, to touch the droplet. Upon contact, it fell back into the mirror and all motion stopped. In amazement, I stared at the moonlit mirror. In my excitement, I rushed forward to touch the mirror again not paying attention to the oversized sheet covering the boxes and how it had bunched up at the base, as I fumbled back in shock the first time. I stumbled forward, realizing my entrapment, and expecting to fall hard into the mirror, smashing the enchanting glass into a million slivers. Instead, I fell directly through the mirror. Water rushed around me. I panicked and gasped for air, but I didn’t swallow a mouthful of water, instead, I took a large breath in. I was breathing the water. I heard the shouting of a crowd of frantic people and the galloping of multiple hooves. Helplessly, I sank slowly as the bubbles tickled my skin; I was inching closer to the sound. That sound of chaos.