Homesick (Lesbian)

CHAPTER 7: Birthday Memories Part 1

At the moment, when it happened, I just couldn't put it together. I couldn't, for the life of me, understand why I felt so utterly sad on my birthday. I looked at the small notebook that was laying on my nightstand. I had a dream, and I had written it down but I couldn't remember. Neither the dream nor writing it on my dream journal.

The following is a transcription of the text:

Dream Journal Entry #23

I'm in the middle of an abandoned building. It reminds me of that game She likes. The Last Of Us. The building is tilted slightly like it's about to fall yet, somehow, it still supports its own weight. It has huge holes on the floors and the walls, and plants and grass have begun to grow inside. There is a bed next to me, to my right, it's naked and the mattress had green spots due to humidity and mold, probably. It smells like rotten wood. 

In my dream, I'm supposed to be looking for something, and that was the last place it could possibly be at, and since it wasn't there, that meant I would not find it. I can't quite remember what it was I was looking for, but it was devastating to know I had lost it. I felt like this thing I couldn't find was a fundamental part of me that I needed to keep moving forward. 

That's it, that's the whole entry. It seems incomplete, doesn't it? Like I either forgot to write what happened next, or I decided it wasn't important enough and went back to bed. Be that as it may, that's what I had.

After I finished reading it, I placed the journal down on the nightstand and rubbed my eyes with my fingers feeling like reading that made me want to cry. I couldn't even remember the damn dream but that sadness, it clutched at me. It made my chest tighten, my breathing shallow, and my throat ache.

I took a deep breathed and decided to focus on something else. I picked up my phone and looked at the messages. At 9 AM I already had two birthday messages. The first one was from my mom:

From Mom. At 5:54 am:

Good morning sweetheart. Today is the most important day in the world to me. I still remember when they gave you to me at the hospital. Your dad was shaking and didn't want to hold you because he was afraid he'd drop you. You were so little. And now you're thirty-three years old. Remember that no matter how old you are, you will always be my baby girl. Happy birthday.

Mom, am I right? I smiled at that message. I had gotten to a place in my life where I could appreciate how protective, and overbearing moms can be sometimes.

The second message was from Connor Brenan:

From Connor Bro, At 6:32 am:

Heeeeeeeeey Sis!!! Happy birthday man!!! It sucks that we can't celebrate it together this year but I know you're over there having a great time. Still, I wanted to just tell you that I love you, and I hope you have an amazing day!!!!

Ironical how Connor was the second person to wish me a happy birthday. Scratch that. Actually, if anything, that's pretty predictable. After She and I got married, Connor and I became a lot closer. It wasn't difficult, we had, by association, grown up together, and for reasons I never understood, he was one of the few people who always stood up to me. I mean, he's the only person who's ever punched anyone for me! I kinda wished it hadn't been his own sister, but still. That counts, right?

It was about six months before my birthday. The day she finally left for good.

I was sitting on the couch, with my arms around my legs trying my hardest not to cry, as I watched her go around the house with a big duffle bag packing up everything she thought she needed. She had packed a lot of her clothes, including that blue lumberjack shirt I gave her for her thirtieth birthday, and the leather Jacket I bought for her for Christmas. She also picked up all her toiletries. That raspberry lotion and drove me insane when she wore it, her brush, her styling cream. She also packed two pairs of shoes, her boots, and five pairs of socks.