Birthday

BOMB
By Ingrid Ricks

I dont know why I thought my dad would love me more if I was sexy. But with him gone all the time and my mom, two sisters and me all vying for his attention, I knew I was going to have to do something big to get noticed. And what could be bigger than jumping out of a cake in a string bikini? Id watched a Playboy Bunny do this on TV a few days earlier and it the first thing that popped into my 10-year-old mind when Dad called to say he would be home for his birthday. I didnt own a string bikini and had no clue how to make the trick cake that was used on TV. But I concocted a modified version that I was certain would elevate me to favorite-child status. Early on the morning of Dads late summer birthday, I recruited my eight-year-old sister, Heidi, to help me make a chocolate cake. Dad wasnt due home until 4 p.m., but I wanted to make sure there was plenty of time to execute my plan. What I want you to do is wrap me in a box with the cake and then Ill jump out and surprise him, I told her while we frosted the cake and carefully arranged thirty-seven candles. I spent hours getting ready. As a young Mormon girl, a bikini of any sort was out of the question. But I dressed in the most revealing outfit I owned, a strawberry-patterned terry-cloth shorts and halter top outfit my cousin had recently donated. I brushed my long auburn hair until it was smooth and glossy, and softened my lips with Vaseline. I even snuck a little of Moms mascara to make my eyes pop. To substitute for the confetti the girl in the bikini used, I convinced Heidi to help me cut up the Sunday paper into thin strips. We then headed to the cellar to retrieve the cardboard box Mom used to haul around her canning bottles. Together, we dragged the box up the wooden stairs and positioned it near the front door.

At 3:30 p.m., I climbed in. The box was just big enough that I could sit down in it if I pulled my knees into my chest. Heidi handed me the cake pan, which I balanced on my knees. Then she shoved the newspaper strips into the cracks on either side of me. Once that was done, she set to work wrapping the box. "Hurry up, I urged from behind the cardboard walls. "Hes going to be here any minute. Heidi finished wrapping just before 4 p.m. and went to hide in the living room. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. My legs started to cramp and the air in the box turned hot and clammy. "Heidi, I can't breathe!" I yelled. Youve got to get me some air! She ran to Moms sewing room, grabbed a pair of scissors and punched holes in the back of the box. Then she headed back to her hiding spot. We waited. There was no sign of my dad. After an hour and a half, Mom announced that she and the other kids were going to the neighborhood block party for some Sloppy Joes. I loved Sloppy Joes and had been looking forward to the party all week. "Okay. I'll be over in a few minutesjust as soon as Dad gets here, I called from inside the box. Time slowly ticked away. To keep me company, Heidi came out of her hiding spot and sat next to the box. We talked about the surprised look on Dads face when he opened his present. Another half hour passed before the phone rang. Heidi ran to answer it. It was Dad. "I'm running a little late, he told her. I should be there in a half hour or so."

Heidi decided this would give her plenty of time to head across the street for some food. I envisioned all my neighbors laughing and having a good time. Along with the Sloppy Joes, I knew there would be potato chips and orange soda food we never got to eat at home. I listened as the door shut behind Heidi and willed myself not to feel bad. I ignored my growling stomach and focused my thoughts on Dad and on how happy I would make him. The minutes crawled. Sweat rolled down my back and I could feel the newspaper strips sticking to my legs. I wiggled my feet to keep them from falling asleep. Heidi returned after a few minutes. The block party ended soon after and Mom, my 13year-old sister, Connie, and my five-year-old brother, Jacob, returned as well. What are you doing? Connie asked as they filed past the box. I could feel her eyes rolling in her head. Heidi punched a few more holes into the back of the box so I could breathe easier. Finally, at 7 p.m., Dad arrived. Hi Dad, Heidi said as soon as he opened the door. Open your present. I was dripping with sweat and my hair was matted against my face. The chocolate frosting had melted and dark smudges of ink from the newspaper confetti covered my thighs. Surprise! I yelled as I struggled to stand up. A long second of silence followed. The room was so quiet I could hear my heart beat. Well this is nice, Dad said finally, I heard the hesitation in his voice as he eyed both me and the cake. I was suddenly mortified by my bare stomach and sweaty, ink-covered body. I didnt need a mirror to know how ridiculous I looked. I saw it in Dads face.

I tell you what, he said, pushing past me as he spoke. I have to make a quick phone call and then well eat. I watched him head for the kitchen, leaving me standing in the box with the cake and confetti. Heidi trailed behind him, anxious to distance herself from the spectacle she had helped create. My face flushed with shame. For a minute, I was too stung to move. I just stood there in my sweaty, inky mess. I could feel the tears pressing against my eye sockets but I was determined not to let them come. I didnt want either my dad or the rest of my family to know the extent of my humiliation. I sucked in my breath and concentrated on keeping my face blank. I waited for a few minutes to pull myself together. Then I carefully climbed out of the box with the cake, forced my mouth into a smile and headed for the kitchen. The stinging feeling vanished a few minutes later, when Dad hung up the phone and gathered me in his arms for a hug. What do you say we dig into that cake? he asked, a big grin spreading across his face. Im hungry.

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Ingrid Ricks is a writer, speaker and marketer based in Seattle. Shes currently making final edits to her forthcoming memoir, Hippie Boy: A Girls Story and plans to release it as an e-book this fall. Read excerpts on Scribd or at www.hippieboybook.com. For more information, visit www.ingridricks.com or email Ingrid at: ingridricks@comcast.net