Lydia is about to turn 90 and has regrets. She regrets that she can no longer live on her own and that every morsel of food is monitored. She regrets that diabetes runs in her family and that she cannot not outrun it. She regrets that she must share her room with a crabby old woman. If she could make a wish, it would be to have Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream on her birthday and no one fussing about it. Everybody just leaving her alone until she’s stuffed with sugar. If it kills her, so be it.
She is dreading the possible surprises. Her oldest son calls and warns her that the family is making plans for a party. He gives her no details, just a heads-up to wear her nice pink jacket on Sunday, her birthday, and have her helpers do her hair. He will pick her up at two-thirty.
Lydia is in a tizzy. She has eight kids, all married with kids, and some of those kids have kids. If you add all their spouses to that mix, 54 people could be hiding somewhere to jump out at her from behind the furniture. Heck, she hardly ever sees them and doesn’t even recognize the younger ones. They grow up before she has a chance to catch up.
They could just buy me some cards, deliver a half gallon of ice cream, and call it a day. No Big Deal.
On Sunday, she waits dressed in pink, her hair done as requested. Her son removes her glasses so she can’t see where she’s going. She gives in, gets in the car.
Lydia’s arrival is exactly as planned. Her oldest daughter has all 54 in their places, and the lights are dimmed. They have a throne set up for Lydia at the front of the large room, right behind a giant Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream cake with 90 tall, tapered candles set ablaze. Her son returns her glasses and helps her to her throne. They all stand by their chairs and sing “Happy birthday dear Great-Granny” as she enters.
They shout, “Make a wish, Great-Granny!”
Lydia knows what she wants, but as she starts to blow out the 90 candles, ten on the edge slip off the melting ice cream cake and fall atop the pink paper tablecloth, setting it quickly on fire. Panic ensues, then smoke alarms, and the sprinkler system drops a deluge from the sky. Everyone leaves the building as fast as they can. In a matter of minutes, the fire is out and, for whatever reason, the whole family has left Lydia behind in the darkened room.
She sees her chance and quickly grabs up a spoon and scoops the flambéed cake and ice-cream mess into her mouth as fast as her arthritis lets her.
Lydia is full by the time someone realizes she’s missing. She is drenched, full of sugar, and has all her family around her. Her wish fulfilled.
Pam Kelso lives in Northwest Ohio on the Michigan border with her husband Bob. Ms. Kelso writes flash fiction, poetry, memoir, and comedic essays. She has written a novel, Sweet Pickles, with a co-writer, under the pen name J. P. Kelrose. It remains unpublished, but anything can happen!