The Anniversary

Jane’s back is propped against the gray couch with a blue bin containing all of the
wooden logs at her right. She stares at the four-foot-tall tower in front of her, its height daunting.
Adam kneels across from her, reaching into the bin to get more blocks. He is in the process of
placing a block at the top and preventing Danny from putting a wooden piece in his mouth, when
a knock raps against their front door. Jane jolts: it’s not often that they receive visitors. Her
stepfather’s back cracks when he stands up, stiff from being in one position all afternoon. The
man’s rum belly hangs from underneath his black oversized Nirvana shirt. Adam unlocks the
door.
“Helloooo!” The high-pitched voice of their neighbor, Deb, can be heard from inside the
house.
“Hi Deborah,” Adam laments.
“I know today is rough for your family, so I brought a casserole. It’s actually lasagna.
People say casserole like an umbrella term for all dishes in Tupperware, but I suppose this more
of a pasta dish than a casserole!”
“Well, thanks.” Adam takes the dish from her. It’s still warm, making his hands clammy.
“How are the kids?” Deb peers over his shoulder inside the house.
“They’re fine.” He responds, flatly.
“How’s Jane?”
The girl perks up at the mention of her name.
“She’s fine. I hardly think she knows what today is.”
Lies.
Jane is well aware of what day it is. March 15th. The day her brother was born, and her
mother died. She was much too young to remember her mother, but she remembers the dark and
miserable feeling she gets each year on this day. This year, though, they decided to celebrate
Danny’s birthday in an attempt to forget her mother’s absence. Danny requested a chocolate cake
with four candles to blow out, just so he could make a wish. Jane wonders what his wish will be;
she knows what hers is.
“Alrighty, I’ll be on my way. It’s drizzling and I forgot my raincoat. Tell the little ones I
said hello.” After Danny was born, Deb rallied the whole neighborhood to cook food or help take
care of the children. Jane’s favorite babysitter was Marissa, the sixteen-year-old from three doors
down, with long blonde hair who was always chomping on a piece of gum.
Adam shuts the front door and sighs with relief. Foil crinkles as he tries to make room in
the refrigerator for the lasagna dish between all of their takeout boxes. When he slams the door,
the glass beer bottles rattle, startling Jane. Her stepfather enters the beige living room and sinks
into his brown-stained Lazy Boy. Jane walks over to see what he is doing. He flips the channels
on the television back and forth until the Liverpool versus Arsenal match appears.
“Are we going to finish building?” Jane asks.
“The game is on.” He points with the remote. Ah yes, of course. What could be more
important?
“Later?”
“I’m done playing. Ask your brother.” He shoos her away.
“He’s too small to reach the top,” Jane counters.
“Then you’re out of luck.”
Jane stomps off to the toy corner in the living room. She reaches into the bin and
withdraws a bundle of wooden log pieces from the container. She attempts to place one at the top
of the stack. Even on her tiptoes, Jane can’t reach it. She loses balance and bumps into the
building. The top half of the stack comes crumbling to the ground, so she grabs one of the fallen
blocks laying on the matted carpet and chucks it at her life-size Barbie Malibu Dreamhouse. A
bubblegum pink doll bed launches into Danny’s forehead.
The child begins to sob, tears streaming down his face. His skin is clear of scratches, but
a bump begins to form above his left eyebrow. Jane consoles him, apologizing profusely.
“Who did that?” Adam turns around in the recliner. The children stand, tails between
their legs. Though the little boy did nothing wrong, he would never rat his sister out.
“Do NOT make me repeat myself.”
Silence.
“Fine. Both of you... up to your rooms.”
Jane takes her brother’s hand and stomps, one foot after another, up the rickety wooden
stairs.
“And do not even think about dinner until you fess up!”
Once the children reach the top of the stairs, Jane leads them to the stockpile of toys in
Danny’s room. She is willing to bet if she occupies him with enough toys, he will forget his
hunger and she can avoid Adam’s wrath.
Danny sits on the floor making choo choo noises with his mouth as he moves Thomas the
Tank Engine along the hardwood floor. Jane sits on the edge of her brother’s bed dangling her
feet, since Adam removed the guard rails when he installed the bed. The boy gets bored of his
trains and moves on to coloring. Eventually, he gets bored of that too. He plops on the floor and
rubs his stomach.
“I’m hungry,” he groans.
Jane sits up on the bed. She was taking a cat nap, waiting until her stepfather fell asleep
so she could sneak food from the pantry.
“You’re hungry?” She repeats, refusing to believe her misfortune.
“Yeah.”
Jane grumbles. She cracks the bedroom door open just enough to listen for snoring.
“That door better not be open unless you’re coming down here to fess up!” Adam’s voice
booms up the stairwell.
Still awake.
Jane takes a deep breath and strides downstairs, cursing the stars above in the process.
She passes the antique, beaten up furniture before stepping up to his chair.
The man looks away from the television screen long enough to acknowledge her
presence.
“It was me.” The six-year-old girl hangs her head. She refuses to look him in the eyes as
hers begins to fill with tears. Instead, she stares at the brown puppies on her socks.
“Come here,” Adam points his index finger toward the open space beside him.
She does not move.
“Jane Darling, I said come closer.”
She takes two hesitant steps forward. Once she’s within reach, her stepfather’s hand
smacks her across the face. The girl falls to her feet from the force of his strike. When she’s
standing again, her hand immediately flies to the tingling sensation on her cheek. She doesn’t
squeal, but tears stream down both sides of her face. It’s these moments when she wishes her
mother was here.
“Oh, grow up,” Adam snickers.
 “Never,” she mumbles under her breath.
“What was that?”
“I said I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Lies.
“Go pick them up.” Adam points to the corner of disheveled toys. “You’re done for the
day. Once you clean up, go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out.”
She collects the blocks, tossing them in the container. Her teardrops soak into the lid.