Happy Ruined Birthday

“What are you listening to?”

I silently hand one of my earbuds over to my sister and watch her raise her eyebrow in confusion as soon as she puts it in.

“That... sounds like piano. I thought you hated that instrument.”

I laugh and nod my head.

“Yeah, I do. But he plays it like he hates it, too.”

Jess looks even more confused at first, but before she can ask what I mean, the loud sounds in the earbud almost make her jump from her chair.

“You don't say... How is his piano not broken already?”

I can only shrug at that.

“You probably don't want to look up his videos if that disturbs you...”

The sound of the slammed keys comes again, and I can't help but be reminded of the last time I heard it before finding this song...

“What do you think you're doing, you stupid child?! This instrument is worth more than your entire hand!”

I am nine. My piano teacher is holding me by the wrist after I got frustrated and slammed the piano.

“I will be talking to your mother about this.”

Tears fall from my eyes, but I don't even bother to reply.

“Heather? I think the song is on repeat, and I'm curious to hear more-... Um, Heather? Hello?”

I snap out of my thoughts. I am twenty-four again. Well, almost twenty-five, actually.

“Do you remember my tenth birthday, Jess? You were around twelve back then, so you must remember.”

She looks confused for what feels like the hundredth time today.

“Well, yes... But I'm surprised that you remember...”

I wish I didn't. But how could I forget?

It's the third of October. I just turned ten. My parents are singing a generic happy birthday song to me. I'm just waiting until I can finally eat the cake. Once I blow the candles out and make my wish, the sound of a piano comes from the TV. I flinch and want to change the channel, but my parents' eyes are suddenly glued to the screen. I am left alone with the cake, but I no longer feel like eating it.

“Look at that, Heather! This boy is a year younger than you, and he just made it into a Guinness Book of Records by being the youngest pianist to have his own solo concert tour! Why couldn't you be a little more like him?” — My mother's voice has a hint of familiar disapproval in it. Father just rolls his eyes.

“Of course she couldn't. She'd rather slam the piano than play it. And to think that we were actually paying for that music school, only for her to fail so much that her teacher refused to continue the lessons with her...”

That's the last thing I hear before I run to the bathroom and lock the door. I can hear my parents screaming after me as I just sit there in the corner, crying my eyes out. My sister starts arguing with them, trying to defend me, but there's only so much she can do.

“Jessy, stay out of it! This isn't any of your business!” — My father's intimidating scream is enough to both shut her up and make me cry louder.

“I'm sorry I couldn't defend you that day.” — She says, returning me to the present once more.

“It wasn't your fault.”

We sit quietly for a while, until I break the silence again.

“You know, I never found out who that boy was. And I don't really care.”

Jess nods with a thoughtful hum.

“Do you think he still plays the piano?” — She asks, to which I only scoff.

“Even if he does, I bet I would hate his music if I heard it.”

Jess chuckles dryly and rolls her eyes.

“Come on, you can be angry at your parents, but you can't hold a grudge towards a stranger for something that he will never even know about...”

“That's not what I meant. It's just that I hate all piano music, in general. With one exception starting today, that is.” — I clarify, and she nods again, smiling approvingly as she gives me back my earbud.

“Speaking of which, what's the name of this “exception”?” — Jessica asks, and I shrug as I turn my phone on to look it up, which makes her laugh for some reason. — “Oh, you and your infamous inability to remember any names that have more than four letters in them...”

I let out a frustrated sigh, but can't find a way to deny what she said as I read the name from the screen.

“His name is Ethan Bortnick. And, you know... His songs are actually relatable, even to a worthless failure like me.”

“Hey! Don't you dare call yourself that!” — Jessica shouts angrily.

“Take it up with Marcus Aurelius.” — I answer. — “Wasn't he the one who said that a person's worth is only as great as their ambitions? Well, if that's the case, then I've been worthless since I turned ten.”

…

“Are you excited for the concert?”

“What do you think?” — I laugh. Jessica always asks the most obvious questions.

“I hope he plays that one song,” — she replies, looking out of the train window.

When we arrive, Jessica's friend is waiting for us.

“Olivia!” — Jessica runs towards her and hugs her while I stand there awkwardly, waiting for the concert to start. And once it does, I forget everything else as I sing along, lost in the music. It's nothing like the kind of music my parents wanted me to play, even though the instrument is the same. And the more I listen, the more I can feel myself letting go of my misplaced anger at the piano. Not that I mind when he starts slamming it, though. Even Olivia jumps excitedly, despite not having listened to his music for that long. She gets tired by the end of the song, though, so the three of us walk over to the quieter part of the venue with the soft sofas. I mostly keep quiet and listen as Jess talks to her friend.

“Do you think he still celebrates the third of October?” — Olivia asks, and that makes me finally intervene.

“The third of October? I only know of two celebrations that happen on that day — my birthday and German Unity Day. Neither of those seem to concern Ethan in any way.”

Olivia laughs, looking at me incredulously.

“Aren't you supposed to be the biggest fan between the three of us?”

I roll my eyes.

“Just because I like someone's music doesn't mean I will go out of my way to research their personal life. I'm not a Swiftie.”

Jessica laughs and nods, but Olivia just looks irritated at my remark.

“I'd hardly call it going out of your way. I thought everyone who listened to his music knew this.”

“Knew what, Olivia? Not all of us passed our history class with the best grades. I have terrible memory for dates, so your hint is doing nothing for me.” — Jess says, and I start to lose interest, but before I can walk back up to the stage, she finally says it.

“That was the day he went down in history as the youngest musician to headline a solo tour. He was nine back then. It even got written down in the Guinness Book of Records.”

I freeze. So does Jessica. Olivia shoots us both a bewildered glance.

“Jess? Heather? What's wrong?”

I don't answer. I just do the same thing I did back then.

Olivia tries to follow me to the bathroom, but Jess stops her. I'm glad she does. My head is spinning. I remember every time I said that people who've been supported since childhood and had opportunities handed to them on a silver platter could never understand what people like me have to go through. That they'd never know what it feels like to come home to disappointed faces and be afraid of those who are supposed to love you. Only to turn around and talk about how much I could relate to the songs written by one of those people.

I splash my face with water and take a deep breath. My expression is staring back at me. “You look so stupid right now,” it says. And I break down in hysterical laughter.

A woman passes by and asks me if I'm okay.

“Yeah, I just drank too much,” — I reply. She scoffs and keeps walking. I feel like I deserved that, even though I hate alcohol and have never been drunk in my life. Judge the judgmental, as they say.

“Heather?” — My sister's voice sounds unusually hesitant.

“I'm fine,” — I answer right away.

“If you hate him now, we can go home...” — she starts, but I stop her by shaking my head.

“I've never hated anyone but myself.”

We stand in silence for a while.

“You know,” — she starts, — “I've always done what our parents wanted, and I'm pretty good at it. They noticed how good I was at playing Lego and decided I'd be an architect. And so, I am. A pretty successful one at that.”

“Yeah, but for some reason, their expectations of me were completely different, and I failed them. You don't have to rub it in. Now when I think of it, I wonder why they never compared us...”

Jess sighs.

“Because they didn't want you to be like me. They wanted you to be like him.”

Another few seconds pass quietly, until she starts talking again.

“I wish I was like you.” — She says suddenly.

That catches me completely off guard.

“Wait, what? Like me? Why would anyone want to be like me?”

She thinks for a couple of moments.

“Because you made them give up on you before they could direct your entire life according to their own ambitions.”

My eyes go wide as I stare at her.

“I never told you this, because I didn't even want to admit it to myself, but... I hate being an architect. I wanted to be an artist. But our parents said that my ambitions were useless if they didn't align with my talents. And I believed them. You said you haven't had any ambitions since you were ten... Well, I gave up on having my own dreams when I was eight. So if you are worthless for that, then I guess so am I.”

I don't know what to say to that.

“You're not worthless to me,” — I finally reply. — “With ambitions or without.”

Jess walks up to me from behind and puts her hands on my shoulders. I turn to look in the mirror again.

“Now say the same thing to her,” — she whispers as I am staring at my reflection.

But before I can open my mouth, Olivia's voice pierces through the room.

“Ethan is giving out autographs and hugs!” — she exclaims, and I crack a smile at that.

“I'll go take both,” — I say as I walk towards the door, gesturing Jess to follow me. — “And a merch T-shirt.”

A few weeks later, I greet my sister as she comes back from her art class.

“What did you draw today?”

She smiles widely as she shows me a portrait.

“That... Looks kind of like me...” — I point out, and she nods.

“They asked us to draw something — or someone — that inspires us. You inspired me to start drawing again in the first place, so...”

I almost tear up.

“It's a beautiful drawing.”

“Are you complimenting me or yourself?” — She laughs.

“Shut up.”

We banter for a few minutes, until her expression turns serious again.

“And have you been pursuing your new hobby?”

I nod.

“Yes, I have been writing. I don't think I'm ready to show anyone, though. Maybe I never will be... Would that mean it was a waste of time?”

Jess shakes her head vehemently.

“As long as you feel good doing it, it's worth it.”

I'm still getting used to that thought. But I don't argue with her.

“You know, my birthday isn't that far away, and there's a writing contest going on that ends on the same day... I think, maybe... If I can get over the fear, I want to enter it.”

Jess tilts her head as she hears me say that.

“Wait, really? But won't your birthday be ruined if you lose, then?”

I've thought about that already, but the answer comes naturally to me this time.

“No... The most important thing for me isn't winning or being better than someone else. And if that's what ambition is all about, then I still don't have any. But I think I have something better... A passion.”

My sister smiles.

“In that case, I want to say... Witnessing other's people passion has given me the courage to pursue my own. You've already inspired me, but maybe you can inspire even more people by sharing your work. Don't you think?”

I take a deep breath.

“Yes, maybe. But I will do it anonymously. If I don't attach my name to it... Then it's like I'm not attaching my worth to it, either. You know what I mean?”

Jessica looks down at her drawing. It doesn't have a signature. None of her drawings do, not yet. But maybe someday.

“Yes. I understand.”