Happy loves his birthday. It is the one day of the year when his sister comes to visit. And Happy loves his sister.
Every year it happens the same way. Brian comes in carrying a tray, on which is Happy’s usual fare of sloppy Joe crammed between bland hamburger buns, mashed potatoes, and two little purple pills with a delectable sugar coating. But today, instead of the typical lime Jell-O, there is chocolate cake. He isn’t permitted to have real candles, but the twist off battery candle atop a soggy slice of cake that looks and tastes like dirt suffices as celebration enough. Brian places the tray down on Happy’s bedside table and says, “Another birthday, huh, Hap. Yer best make a real good wish this time, eh? Now stop tha!” Brian swats Happy’s hand away from the pocket where he usually keeps his Marlboros.
Brian rifles through Happy’s nightstand and pillow. Happy scratches his arm and shifts his focus to the jingling keys on Brian’s belt. Happy imagines that if he stares hard enough, Brian’s keys might spontaneously catch fire and melt away into silence. Brian’s keys make Happy get the feelings again. He can feel the feelings tingle his feet and claw their way up, up, up his spine to the base of his skull, searching for an opening to wriggle through. Happy tears his eyes away from the keys and sees Patty’s silhouette in the doorway. She takes silent steps towards him. The sudden surge of feelings ebb with each step she takes. Patty is almost always able to pull him away from the feelings.
As she steps into the cast of the fluorescent lights above, she plops down on the floor, cross-legged, and smiles at him. She looks just as he remembers seeing her last year, a 15-year-old with too much outdoor time. Her hair is knotty and wind-blown with a few leaves peppering the golden-brown strands. Mum had always referred to it as a ‘rat’s nest,’ but Happy thinks that the texture gives a vibrancy to her, like she is the sun providing warmth to any animal that decides to nestle within her curls. He smiles back at his sister. She looks especially radiant today in a pale-yellow dress that stops just short of her scraped knees.
“Hap, yer mum phoned earlier, an’ can’t make it up from tha mainland fer yer 25th this year. She says she’s sorry but knows yer gonna make the most of it. Ain’t ya? Well, and ain’t it a nice day…” Brian rambles, keys jingling. Happy slams his fists on his bedside table in frustration. The tray Brian just replaced quakes, shifting precariously close to the edge. Brian is bringing out the feelings again. Happy tries to bury his anger at his mother and focus on Patty. He doesn’t like having the feelings around his sister. Plus, he knows, she will only be here for a little while. Brian’s dawdling takes away their valuable time together. Visiting hours are from 8am-3pm and the wall mounted, black, rectangular digital clock looming above confirms it is already 9:04am. Happy feels his skin compress, which makes him scratch his arm again.
As he leaves, grabbing the battery candle and twisting it off, Brian wishes him a happy birthday. Happy hears him lock the door and trudge down the hall to visit the Dinsdale lunatic who was just brought in from Hull. Happy and Dinsdale would probably get along splendidly, if they could see anyone besides the orderlies and nurses.
Happy is relieved when he no longer hears the clapping of Brian’s keys against his thigh. Brian and his keys would return at noon to collect the plates and do their daily inspection for contraband. They still haven’t found the matchbook that Happy snitched from Brian’s pocket, a sleight of hand he was proud of when Brian strapped him to his bed after he got the feelings really bad on his last birthday. He lay there, with the matchbook pressing into his hand for hours until Brian had returned to loosen his bondage. The matchbook now hides in the corner of his worn- down mattress, where the stuffing seeps out. Happy only has three matches left, and he wants to save them for a special occasion.
Happy splits the cake with his hands and brings his tray to the floor. The siblings sit on the concrete ground together, enjoying Happy’s sad cake and laughing about times long gone. Happy gives Patty the bigger half. He wants his sister to feel loved when she visits him. Happy reminds Patty of the time that their mum had gotten upset when Sally had run away, and how she made them go all over town posting signs and knocking on doors.
“I remember that. We went all over asking the neighbors if they’d seen her.” Happy looks at his sister sheepishly, “I don’t know if you know, but I found her before they did. It was me that helped her.”
“I know it was. Do you remember how you found her?” Happy nods. He remembers finding the energetic puppy, christened Sally, in the dilapidated shed by the creek.
There was a Sally-sized hole in the side of the shed, so Happy, flyers in hand, had gone to investigate. The dog herself was buried under the splintered wood, multiple lesions across her merle coat. Her ice-blue eyes were wild and full of pain. A rusty nail deeply embedded in her thigh, stymying any attempt at freedom. Happy was upset to hear her whimpers. He had loved Sally almost as much as he loved Patty.
A tear splashes out of Happy’s eye thinking of poor Sally’s pain. Patty reminds him of how he had safeguarded Sally from further harm. That she was in a better place now, thanks to him. Happy had run home and found a box of matches emblazoned with a logo of an Italian restaurant that had closed a few months ago.
“She wouldn’t have been safe if you hadn’t done what you did. Other mean people would have found her and not been nice. Sally forgives you. I know you had your feelings then, but that wasn’t your fault. You helped Sally.”
Happy remembers how he had twisted up some of the fliers with a paper map and tore open a sleeping bag, long abandoned by a passing vagrant. As if remembering the steps to a dance, Happy recalls how he had lit the matches and jammed them into the map, igniting the sleeping bag’s synthetic innards, and eventually the whole shed. Happy had loved the flickering fire. It washed away Sally’s whimpers and made him feel like everything would be okay. He felt the feelings extinguished from within him while he watched Sally burn away into nothing. All that would remain of her would be a picture on a poster in search of a lost puppy. If only Patty had more matches with her now.
When his mum did his laundry the next morning and smelled singed flesh on the shirt buried at the bottom of the hamper, she had asked him what happened. Happy didn’t understand why she cried so much then. He had been trying to help. He didn’t want Sally to be in pain.
Brushing aside his mum’s misguided reaction, Happy enjoys reminiscing with Patty like this, hearing her validate his past accomplishments. Happy scoops up his last bite of cake and wipes crumbs from Patty’s mouth with his sleeve. He misses her so much when she isn’t there.
During his weekly phone call with his mum, he always asks to talk to Patty. But his mum always demurs and asks him about something mundane like the weather or what he ate for lunch instead. Happy doesn’t like when she does that. He only wants to talk to his sister.
Patty’s refusal to come to the phone every other day makes his birthday even more special, because he knows Patty will come to visit. Today, he could ask her if William is the reason she doesn’t call. But Happy always chickens out when she comes in with her scraped knees and smiles. He reminds himself everyone makes mistakes once in a while.
One day, when Happy walked home from school with Patty, they passed an abandoned church and saw William casually sitting on the holy steps. One of William’s hands flipped something inside of his leather jacket pocket, the other hand held a cigarette to his lips. He was a senior – two years older than Patty, and four years older than Happy. A stereotypical James Dean bad boy with an air of too-coolness tinged with arrogance. William called him over first. Him, Happy, not his sister, and said, “Hey, little man, wanna see something cool?”
Happy did, so from his restless pocket, William brought forward a lighter. William’s lighter was a stainless-steel contraption engraved with William’s initials: W.F.D. Happy watched, transfixed as William taught him how to summon the flame. Patty watched William the whole time and, when William smiled at her, Happy thought that she looked like a human version of melted strawberry ice cream. William let Happy play with the lighter. Instantly Happy loved the feel of the cold metal brick that slotted into his palm seamlessly. He loved the vertical groves made by W.F.D. initials that molded to the creases of his hand. The W.F.D. lighter flipped open easily at Happy’s command, like it was made for him. The funny thing was that William F. Dunn’s initials were the same as Happy’s—W.F.D. for Wesley Frederick Dornan.
Happy thought of Wesley as his secret identity, like Superman to Clark Kent. Nobody had called him Wesley since he was a baby. As a toddler allowed to hold her swaddled baby brother for the first time, Patty marveled at her brother’s papery skin and cherubic roundness. The gurgles that emanated from the small bundle made her laugh. Patty grabbed at his face with one chubby paw and said, ‘hah-pee.’ Patty couldn’t say ‘Wesley’ with her lisp, so ‘Happy’ stuck.
The next time Happy and Patty walked by William, he’d tossed Happy a cigarette too. Patty smiled and Happy accepted the offering, if only to borrow the W.F.D. lighter again. At first inhale, Happy sputtered and gagged, his mouth felt plastered with acrid paper towels. But after seeing William a few more times, he gradually liked smoking more, and William less.
Happy liked to pretend that William’s lighter was his own. He would hold it after they had both lit their cigarettes, hoping that this time William wouldn’t ask for it back. After clicking it a few hundred times, he could tell that the lighter possessed a power that only W.F.D. could wield.
A few months after that, Happy remembered that his mum had made a Matilda-sized chocolate cake for his birthday, bedecked with candles sagging off the ganache sides. He had blown out the candles, hopeful for the year ahead but also a tad disappointed he hadn’t been the one to light them. He, mum, Patty, and William had all had a slice. Afterwards, his sister had decided to do the dishes with his mum, so Happy went in the yard to smoke with William.
“Do you feel any older, bud?” William asked. Happy shook his head. William took a drag, which was followed by a long, dramatized exhale.
“Next month when I’m 18, I’m gonna leave this place. I’m going to take Patsy away too. Somewhere nice. Don’t you think she’d like that?” Happy toyed with the W.F.D. lighter. He didn’t like the idea of his sister being alone with William in some far-off place where she wouldn’t be with him. William wouldn’t take care of her the way that he could.
After a little while, William clapped Happy on the back and went inside to see Patty. Happy was left clicking W.F.D. William had been spending a lot of time with Patty lately, and so Happy didn’t see his sister as much as he wanted. Happy stayed outside, fidgeting with the lighter and admiring the embers at the end of his tar stick. Happy knew that he could do whatever he wanted with the embers. But soon enough, the embers would diminish by themselves, and Happy would no longer be able to control them. He stamped the cigarette out before they could leave him first and went to find Patty.
Happy walked up the stairs and into Patty’s bedroom, where he knew she would be. Happy opened the door and saw William, head face down on the mattress, his sister writhing beneath his body. Feathery pillows, pink sheets, and her yellow dress were strewn on the floor. Happy saw Patty’s face contort with an emotion he had never seen before but looked akin to anguish. He saw her mouth gasp when she saw him, but Happy had the feelings so bad that he couldn’t hear what she said. He had to help her. He needed to make sure that William would never hurt her again. William was yelling at him to get the fuck out, and Patty was crying now, like his mum had when she learned he had helped Sally. Happy hadn’t wanted Patty to cry. He haphazardly grabbed the nearest thing to him – a book – and started ripping at the pages. Strewing the paper all over the room, the pages floated to the floor. William jumped from his vulnerable position and ran at Happy. William’s foot landed on an unstable pillow, unleashing a loud crack. William thudded to the floor, joining paper fodder. The unlucky pillow popped, unleashing soft goose feathers that added a sparkle to the blizzard of paper. Happy clicked open W.F.D. and held it to a crumpled piece of paper. Once it sparked to life, he threw the paper on William, who was squawking with feathers sticking to his well-moussed hair.
Happy turned the key in the lock and took the jingling thing with him. He hated the noise that it made, but he loved the smell of the flames. He watched the light dance from under the door and heard banging from inside. Happy closed his eyes and inhaled. He made the decisions. He decided that Patty would be free of William. Happy was the only one that could care for her properly, anyway.
There was a smash of glass, rustling tree branches, his sister’s descending scream, and a crunch. Happy clicked the lighter again and gazed at the flame’s electric-white middle. He controlled the light. He had created it, and in that fact, he found solace. The feelings dispersed and he was content. Patty was safe in a better place, just like Sally.
Happy turned away from Patty’s door then to see the outline of his mum in the dark hallway. The smell of burning ash emanated from the luminescent crack under the door. Happy’s mum ran past him and banged on Patty’s door, willing it to open, yelling for her to pass the key.
When Brian returns, Happy sits alone on the cold floor of his cell subconsciously scratching the spot of his arm where he first marked himself with a cigarette. Happy glances at the clock when he hears the jingling of Brian’s keys this time, it’s noon already. Patty is gone; her larger piece of cake remains uneaten on the plate in front of him.
“All right ther’, Hap?” Happy sits motionless, angry with Brian for frightening his sister away. The clock said 11:50am. Brian has cheated him out of time with Patty.
“Well, I’ve gotta do yer midday check now. Ya know the drill. Get to tha’ wall over ther’.”
Brian performs the routine check as always, quickly and carelessly. He never probes too deeply, rummaging around in his one drawer that only contains a lightly used Bible and some tissues. After the allotted five minutes of inspection, Brian swipes a check on his clipboard that confirms Happy’s sparse room to be completely free of contraband. Brian leaves, once again jiggling the keys in his wake and promising Happy that he’ll be back in an hour with his next meal.
Happy smiles when he can no longer hear the clapping keys. Even though Brian’s gone now, Patty doesn’t come back to see him. Without his sister, he feels lost. It’s his special day though, and Happy wants to give himself a proper birthday present.
Happy flops onto his bed, reaches his arm around the side and withdraws the matchbook from its hiding spot. Three matches: one for him, one for Sally and of course, one for Patty. Happy pushes his hand through the chipping drywall near the bottom of his bed to the insulation below. Happy grabs at the pink cotton candy and pulls it onto his bed, as if he is a nestless bird creating a home of his own. He tears at the hiding spot in his mattress, ripping out the marshmallow fluff and strewing it on top of pink, letting the colors blend around the room. He seizes the Bible from the drawer and rips out the pages with red print as well as black, agnostic to the color.
Smiling, Happy dislodges the first match from its brothers and runs it down the striker. A concurrent shiver runs down his back. This is what he missed. He watches the match burn down. He takes the second match and wishes that W.F.D. were here. He missed the lighter’s ridges and unending promise of flame.
No bother, everything burns just the same in the end. Happy doesn’t even mind the smell of singeing skin that wafts up to his nose. His fingers only sting a little when the match burns down. The blackened piece of wood lies inert between his forefinger and thumb, gone too quickly. He flicks the stub onto his mangled pillow and inspects his fingers. His fingertips are cracked and red, just like the old shed had been. Happy thinks of Patty again.
He brings the third match to his lips reverently and kisses it. This match is Happy’s only friend. The friend that can help him the way he’s helped so many others. From the beginning the matches had believed that the feelings were real and provided the only respite for his churning heart.
Happy settles himself in his nest, rearranging a piece of the insulation so that it drapes across his chest. He grazes the third match against the striker and gazes in awe at the flickering finesse of the blaze that begins at the match head and easily works its way towards his fingers.
Dotingly, he covers the match so the passionate flame cannot falter during its descent. He ceremonially brings the flame down towards the insulation that lies next to him. It curls back and then accepts the small match’s offering. It sparks, breathes, and then engulfs the wonderful pink stuff.
Happy admires the chaotic rise and fall of the rainbow fire as it slips across his nest. He feels warmth and marvels as the flames lick at the white walls.