by Alisha P.
A story about a whistle and a girl's precious memory. (Based on a real memory)
|There was once a girl and once a whistle...
Today is her birthday. The candle on the cake tells her she is eight and something warm lights a young face. It is mostly a blur, but I could remember the room I was in, maybe because it is where I still live. It has been many years since I was here. The walls of wood were newer than they are now; without a single speck of granite, without a single speck of dolor. They are still plain white, but the white has faded into a color of a light grayish beige. Time changes things. I miss the house of old. I remember very little about the day of my birthday, but I remember as much as to tell you the beginning of my tale. I wore a dress of white. Shiny and pure, like a snow sparkling and untouched from plight. It was my favorite dress and yes I kept it when it wasn't worn anymore. My mom had baked a cake. We didn't have much back then, as we were dealing with rent and debt. It was a yellow cake with vanilla frosting and it had came from a Pillsbury box. The room I spoke of is my dad's room, but it was sort of like the dining area where we ate, so my dad was there playing video games on his gaming PC while we waited to cut the cake. We were all excited when my mom got out the knife, lighter, and said, "Who's ready for some cake?!" I don't want to be offensive, but my mom was more plump back then, and my dad was kind of trying to get us to eat healthier even though I was like a stick (I still am). As my mom lit the candle, my dad was scuffling through some boxes nearby his violet sofa bed, and I was surprised that I was the only one who cared enough to be curious (maybe they just didn't want to end up like the cat). I paid more attention to the beautiful lit up candle though, because every birthday I get nervous, as I don't want to screw up my wish or burn the house down. I am also an introvert and introverts hate attention, so when it comes to the birthday singing, that's where I am praying for it to be over, so I can eat my cake in embarrassed silence. My sister was there to join the singing of celebrating my birth (I only have one sibling) and we always have an awkward celebration because her birthday is before mine, but she is a year younger than me, so when her birthday comes it's like I'm the old version of her age and she is the new one. There was a wind, brought on by darkness, that flew to each fire, that blew out when the singing died. I don't remember what I wished for, but as always my wishes came true. We all enjoyed the creamy, crumbly, mouthwatering cake with the delightful buttery vanilla frosting that tasted like buttermilk. I wished I could have savored my slice of cake, but before I knew it, I had ate it all. My dad, who had also finished eating, was holding a surprise in his hands. It was a rectangular cardboard box with nothing special on it. My skinny, soft hands didn't know what would happen next. The box disappeared, shinning a new beginning. Inside, there was a long piece of wood and this wood would create a wondrous magic. With a tip a color of black ink and its many holes, I was confused at what it was. "It's a whistle." My dad said, reading my face. "Now you can whistle with me and your sister like you've always wanted." I was happy back then, but my happiness wouldn't last long. I was a second grader at a public school and my birthday was on the weekend. I thought it would be cool if I had brought the whistle to school. I wish I had thought of it as a bad idea because I had forgotten that there was a bully. The funny thing is that we are now friends. When the magic was shown, it was stolen. I was upset to see it in his hands, but there was nothing I could do. I made a vow that I wouldn't let him take any more of stuff.
I was now in third grade. I haven't seen the bully in a year, but today was a Friday which meant I had clubs instead of the usual classes. There were many clubs I wanted to join, but the one I liked the most was the Arts n Crafts club. Art was my specialty, I was very creative and crafty. Today we were making jewelry with beads of many colors and string that shined in the light. A couple of nice girls were at my table. They were really pretty and they didn't mind that I was a shy girl. You're probably wondering what does this have to do with my story? Well one of the girls was the bully's sister and I knew because she had a similar resemblance. I asked her if she was his sister and she said, "Yes." I was surprised since she was really sweet. I talked to her about the whistle. She told me that he buried it in their backyard and I felt a bit frustrated, but I was also curious...
Why did he bury it?