Marmalde's Birthday

When Marmalade turned ten, mum hired a huge bouncy castle that we set up on the front lawn. It was this great, red and green thing, and all the kids from our neighbourhood came to play on it. In the evening, when it was getting dark, they all went home, but Marmalade and I stayed out, we watched the sun go down while we were still bouncing, and we stayed until it was pitch black, and we couldn't see so we kept jumping into each other.

She's too old for that now of course.

This year, she turned thirteen, and she had a meal out with her friends. Marmalade has an enormous amount of friends. I'm not sure why, but she's charismatic, I suppose. She can talk and talk and talk, and I suppose some people must like that. They should try living with her, and having her talking and talking and talking at two AM when you're trying to get to sleep because you have a french oral the next day.

There were about twenty of them altogether, and I can only think that must have been what hell is like. I mean, twenty of Marmalade's annoying, preening, screaming friends, in one room? They're like those brightly coloured birds that screech at each other to communicate.

I'm getting earache just thinking about it.

Mum didn't want me to feel left out, so she suggested I go out with one of my friends to the same restaurant. As if I'd want to be anywhere near the freak show that is Marmalade and her groupies. The Loudest Show on Earth. Honestly.

I wanted to go with a couple of my friends to the cinema, but they've all disappeared off the face of the planet. I suppose that's an advantage to having bags of friends like Marmalade does, you can always count on at least one of them to want to go out, or to text you back, or to let you borrow their Deadly Nightshade nail polish with the glittery bits inside when you can't find yours. If you're into that sort of thing.

I didn't care though, I mean, mum was at Marmalade's party, and Marmalade was obviously there, but I had plenty to do. Strange how it all sort of got done quickly, even my algebra homework. The house was so quiet, I ended up just sitting by the radio, trying to find a coherent station through all the static.

When they finally got home, I felt so goofy that I ran upstairs and pretended to be doing some homework, just incase they came in to check on me. They didn't of course. It's like, big sis is always fine, she can take care of herself. Well yeah, I can, but sometimes I do like to be taken care of, you know?

Anyway, I heard Marmalade coming up the stairs, she takes them two at a time, at a ridiculously fast speed for someone who was out all evening. I hear her journey across the landing, the soft groan her door makes as she pushes it open, the tired creak of the loose floorboard, and the sigh of her mattress as she sits down.

Why do I have nothing better to do than use my hearing skills to stalk my sister?

I count to ten, so that it doesn't seem like I'm overly eager. Not that I am, a party's a party. I just want to know if she left me any cake. Which she totally should have. And I want to give her my present.

Ten. I sprint to my door, gift in hand, and then oh-so casually walk to her door. As a special birthday treat to her, I knock, instead of barging straight in. I probably should knock more, but barging straight in is a sister's right.

“Come in,” she calls, and I step in, closing the door behind me. Marmalade's still all dressed up, she's shrugged off her jacket, but her hair is in loose curls and she has more make up on that I'd have though mum would let her get away with.

I stare at her for a few moments, a realisation that I have an inability to communicate what I want to say causes a bubble of panic to well up in my chest, threatening to burst out of my mouth in a trail of babbling and confusion.

“Present time! Yay!” She says, knowing why I'm hear by the gift in my hand. She sits cross-legged on the bed, like she's about to start meditating. “Gimme gimme gimme!” She says, hands outstretched. It would be obnoxious, it should be, but it's not, because it's Marmalade.

She tears through the wrapping paper like a starved animal. I tut at her. She growls. Yes, she actually growls. My sister, ladies and gentlemen, a wild animal.

“It's a picture! Of me! When did you take it?”

“Mum took it idiot, I'm in there too.”

She pouts.

“The frame's nice, it matches my room, is it from Dorothy Perkins?”

“No dweeb, it's home made.”

An expression of disbelief.

“You made it? Yourself?”

“No, I asked the fairies to do it. The fairies that do your laundry and pick up your dirty dishes and throw away your Deadly Nightshade nail polish with glittery bits because it's so not your colour.”

She's not fazed.

“You made it for me?”

“Well yeah, it's your birthday isn't it?”

She throws her skinny arms around my neck, right had still clutching the frame, the corner is digging into my shoulder, and hugs me.

I pull back first, unsure what to do in the face of such affection, so I attempt to untangle myself.

“So how was the party?”

“It was alright. My friends were a bit crazy through. Reminded me of that time we went to the zoo and saw those exotic birds that screeched at each other.”

For a twelve- sorry, thirteen year old, Marmalade can sometimes be remarkably astute.



I'm hoping to put these up on fictionpress.com so watch this space for the url, if and when.