“Happy birthday to you.” Something happened to the girl once she turned eight years old. “Happy birthday to you.” And looking back years later, the girl couldn’t identify any single event to have caused such a dramatic shift in how she felt. “Happy birthday, happy birthday.” And how she felt was different. “Happy birthday to you.” And feeling different made her feel lonely. And feeling lonely made her feel sad. And feeling sad made her feel worried because she wasn’t sure if she would ever not feel this way. And the worry got so big that the girl lived in a completely different world from everyone else around her. And her world was called the What If World.
In the What If World there was an infinitely tall and infinitely long wall, and the girl could walk along the wall forever until she didn’t even know which way was forward or backward or up or down. And the only thing left to do was to push on the wall, so she did. And the wall moved with her hands, like molten glass, until there was a hole big enough for the girl to climb through. But once she got through the wall, it sealed itself so she couldn’t go back.
And through the wall there was another wall, and another one after that. And the girl screamed inside of her head and kept pushing through wall after wall. But every time she had a “what if” thought, another wall was formed. What if I am stuck here forever? Wall. What if nobody misses me while I am gone? Wall. What if I forget who I am? Wall.
And the girl visited the What If World every day, even though she didn’t want to. What if I fail my spelling test? Wall. What if I don’t know the answer when the teacher calls on me? Wall. What if I get invited to a birthday party and don’t want to go? Wall. What if my friends don’t want to be my friends anymore? Wall. What if I feel different all my life? In a bad way, not a unique way. Wall.
And suddenly the girl was sitting at a table in the cafeteria and she was crying, with an uneaten lunch in front of her. What if all her classmates made fun of her for crying? Wall. And even though she was screaming in her head, nobody noticed. Except for the librarian. Because the librarian was a good listener. And she let the girl bring her lunch to the library. And once she ate it, she was allowed to read any book and escape into any story. And it was a good distraction, but what the girl was looking for was a connection. Not a distraction.
So finally, when the girl turned eight, she blew out the candles and wished to find a character in one of the books who felt like she did. Many days passed and many books were read and the girl’s birthday wish still hadn’t come true, so she stopped eating her lunch again and she stopped reading books. One day, the librarian asked the girl how she was feeling. And she said, “I feel so different that I don’t even feel like a person anymore.”
“Hmmm,” the librarian said. “What do you feel like?”
“I feel like a bird with a broken wing” The girl said.
“Can you tell me about it?” The librarian asked. The girl shook her head no.
“Can you write about it?” The librarian asked. The girl nodded. The librarian produced a notebook and a pencil and the girl accepted them immediately and began writing furiously.
I am the color of the sky when the sun goes away.
And I am time in the morning before it comes back to stay.
I am the sand on the beach that doesn’t touch the water,
and I am the words of the story that never reach the author.
I am the frost on the flower, growing in the snow,
and I am the bird with the broken wing who no one seems to know.
So I try to fix what’s broken, but I know down deep inside,
the feeling different is a part of me that I can’t even hide.
A bird with a broken wing can still be called a bird,
but what about the one who doesn’t sing and won’t be heard?
And the bird who never flies can only hope that someday soon,
the What If World around us both comes crashing down in its own doom.
What if I am stuck with my broken wing forever?
And what if pretending to be happy is too big of an endeavor?
What if I never have a friend who isn’t made by me?
And what if she disappears before I set her free?
So tell me that the broken bird will someday not be broken.
And tell me that it’s song won’t always have to go unspoken.
And next time that I make a wish can it please come true?
I never want to hear that song, “Happy birthday to you.”
And the girl stopped writing because tears were welling up in her eyes and she couldn’t even see her words on the paper anymore. She looked at the librarian and said, “All I want is to be able to fly.”
But what if I never do? Wall.
What if the feelings of loneliness get bigger? Wall.
And what if I don’t care anymore? Wall.
And then, the librarian took the notebook and gently ripped out the girl’s words and set the piece of paper to the side. She handed the notebook back to the girl and said,
“Tell me what it would feel like if the bird with the broken wing could fly.”
And the girl sat back down and began to write again.
I am the color of the sunrise, I am the cotton candy clouds.
And I’m the sound that the forest makes when no one is around.
I am the current in the water, paper sailboats sail away,
and I’m the song of the nighttime when the stars come out to stay.
I am the fractals of the tree branches, covered by the snow
and I’m the bird with the broken wing who no one seems to know.
And I can’t fix what is broken so I don’t even try,
because the bird with the broken wing is flying in the sky.
And I’m not sure how it happened, it seemed impossible to say
that a broken wing would take the bird over the walls in What If World today.
What if tomorrow brings another bird who wants to fly?
And what if I’m the reason that it even wants to try?
And the girl stopped writing and looked up at the librarian and said, “But that doesn’t make any sense, that will never happen.”
But what if it does?
And the girl tried to hold onto the hope that those words would someday be true. But it was hard.
What if her broken wing got better?
And what if it didn’t? Wall.
And the librarian looked at the girl and said, “But what if it does?