Dylan won’t let me hang one above the dining table because he thinks it will be too “straight white redneck” for him. I’ll oblige him for now, but I know my brother. He won’t be here forever. He may not want tolive somewhere like Portland, but he likes people too much to stay on the mountain.
Eventually, it’ll be just me and the animals to inhabit the mountain. Part of me is looking forward to having things just the way I want them. I’m looking forward to not tip-toeing around anyone else’s feelings. It’s exhausting considering other people’s feelings.
But a part of me knows I’ll miss him. A part of me fears what my mind will do with too much silence and no human contact.
Besides, we built this business together. I’m not delusional, I know he doesn’t want to do this forever, but I also don’t feel right continuing it without him.
I’m bent over my work station when a light catches my eye out the window at eye level. I look up with a sharp snap of my head, concerned about what it could be. But a wave of relief washes over me when I see Mara head toward the barn with a lantern in hand, bundled in a thick blanket.
That relief is quickly replaced by curiosity.
What is she doing out here?
No way I’m just going back to work with the unknown nagging at me. So I set my work aside for the night, turn off the light before closing the door, and head for the barn.
I slowly creep inside, shutting the barn door as silently as possible. I shouldn’t be so suspicious but it is pretty unusual for her to be out here this late.
Passing each stall, I find Mara in the chicken pen seated on a little stool we use to milk the goats. She’s staring at the incubator. I notice one of the egg shells is peeled off in a couple spots which means the chick is close to hatching.
She’s just staring at them. She’s so still and…pitiful. Not in a pathetic kind of way, but my chest tightens at the sight of her looking so down and out. Something is going on with her and she isn’t talking about it. And I’ve learned Mara is the kind of person who needs to talk through everything.
And I mean everything. When she was on her period she scarred Dylan and I with a graphic description of blood clots and period cramps. It soundedlike she was describing a fatal injury from battle. Not a monthly cycle.
I step forward with purposeful steps to announce my presence but Mara doesn’t turn around. She’s staring intently at the little chick poking through the thin layer of membrane beneath the shell and coming into the world.
What an easy way to bring life into the world. Chickens lay an egg, and the baby does all the work. Seems like a better plan than the torture humans go through.
A little gasp escapes Mara’s mouth when the chick emerges from the shell it called home until now. She lays a hand on the lid of the incubator The little thing starts chirping away causing Mara to laugh a little.
“Hey, little thing,” she says to the bird. It’s too small to know the gender. “Welcome to the world. Do you want to know a secret?” She sniffs. Is she crying? “We share a birthday.”
What?
Shit. It’s her birthday today? That explains the mood she’s been in. And, honestly, I don’t blame her. What a shitty birthday.
“Thanks for making your grand entrance into the world today. You kind of saved a crappy day with a good ending.”
“It’s also been a month of living here,” Mara tells me without looking away from the new addition to the chicken family. “And if you think about it, I wasn’t supposed to be here for this birthday. But I am. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or not.”
Wow. I actually feel bad for her. I don’t really celebrate my birthday but at least I’m not questioning my existence. A magnetic pull forms between me and Mara, something urging me to comfort her the way I know women like to be soothed. I want to put an arm around her shoulders, I want to tell her it’ll all be ok.
I want to tell her she’s here for a reason, even if it’s not clear why, yet.
But that’s not me. And that’s not us. I’m not her BFF or her mom.
I’m not exactly her friend either, but we’ve become reluctant acquaintances.
“I wonder if my parents are thinking about me today. They don’t know I’m alive. For all they know I’ve been kidnapped or murdered or drove off abridge into a river. Then again, I doubt they’d think to look for my car in a snowbank on the mountain.” Her voice softens just a hair. “I bet they’re going about their lives as if I never existed today. As if my mom didn’t give birth to me twenty-two years ago today.” They aren’t really the sentimental type, anyway.”
My father wasn’t exactly my hero, he made sure I felt unwanted most of my life. But I always had Mom, and she made every birthday special. She always baked birthday cakes for Dylan and I that could beat the local bakery in a contest any day. My father didn’t let us have friends over (when we did have friends) for birthday parties, but Mom would make sure we celebrated in style.
I always had her, and Dylan. But it sounds like Mara has never had someone who loves her the way my mom loved me. I actually pity her. She’s never had to save for a shiny new toy, never had to wonder if she’d get what she wanted for Christmas. I’m sure she had birthday parties with lots of people in attendance. But she’s always had to wonder if the people around her really cared.
Whereas I never had much in the way of physical gifts, but I always knew where I stood with my parents. And I knew one of them loved me more than life, she loved her kids more than anything.
If I’d known it was Mara’s birthday today, I wouldn’t have made a big deal about it, that’s just not who I am. But I might have made her breakfast so she could sleep in. Or maybe made a cake for dinner and called it good. Something. Cause that’s how Mom raised us.
Instead, she got to spend her birthday doing chores in a place she doesn’t want to be with people she doesn’t even like. And all the while, she’s stuck on what other people who don’t matter think. Yeah, your parents should matter, but if they don’t care about you, they don’t deserve half a thought. So no, they don’t matter.
