I wake up to the smell of eggs. The aroma fills my room and then my nostrils. I open my eyes. I jump off my bed. Today is my birthday. I am turning 17 today. I do not plan to do anything today except hang out with Numen. I look over at my clock. 10:05 am. I did not plan to wake up this early, but my body just woke me up. I walk over to my closet and open it. It is a hot mess. Shoe boxes are on the floor, and clothes are unfolded and misplaced. I go through each rack to see what I can wear for today. I pull down a pair of black jeans and a plain white sweater. I scrummage through the shoe boxes to find a pair of shoes. I pulled out a pair of Air Forces. They were not really dirty, but they did have a small crease at the toe head. I take a shower, lotion my skin, put on deodorant, and then put on my clothes. I walk over to my bedroom door and open it. 

The smell of eggs filled up my nose even more. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. My mom was frying eggs. I watch as she flips over the eggs on the spatula. I walk closer. She is still in her plain gray pajamas. She is wearing a kitchen apron that says, “Best Mom Chef.” I am confused as to why she is making eggs on my birthday. I don’t have a problem with eggs, but I would much rather have bacon. Why didn’t she make bacon? I thought to myself. It is my birthday, and she didn’t even make my favorite breakfast food. My sister comes into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. She just woke up. I watch her as she continues to rub her eyes and yawn. She is in her pink butterfly pajamas. “I smell eggs,” Amiya mumbles while slowly walking into the kitchen. “Of course you do, I made your favorite breakfast,” my mom says while kissing her on the forehead. “Why didn’t you make bacon?” I say while looking at her. “Why would I make bacon? I rarely make eggs so I decided to surprise your sister with eggs,” she says while flipping the eggs with the spatula. Really? Because she makes eggs twice every week, I thought to myself. I stare at her and don’t say anything. She looks over at me. “Why are you looking at me like that? You always have to make everything about yourself,” she says with annoyance. “Why do you have to be so selfish?” I freeze. “Make everything about myself?” I question her while tilting my head right. “MAKE EVERYTHING ABOUT MYSELF???” “Today is literally my birthday. Why wouldn’t today be about me?” I say with anger. “Today is your birthday? I never knew,” she says while reaching to open the cabinet. I stood there in shock. I didn’t know what to say. “Mommy although you forgot Mckenzie’s birthday, do you remember the day of my school play?” Amiya asks with brightly lit eyes. “Of course, I remember sweetie pie. It’s next Friday at 5 o clock,” my mom says while smiling and rubbing her fingers through Amiya’s hair. “So you can remember her school play but can’t remember your first daughter’s birthday?” I say in anger. “Why do you always want to include yourself in things? You always want attention don’t you?” My mom says with a straight face. “I don’t want attention, I just want you to actually care about me like how you care about Amiya,” I say with rage. “And even if you don’t, you could at least pretend you do,” I say to her while looking her dead in the eyes. I do a 180 and power walk up the stairs and into my room.

I jump onto my bed, grabbed my pillow, put my back against the headboard, and sat at a 90-degree angle. I clutch the pillow like a newborn holding a toy sheep. I sit there and look around. My room is my only form of “happy place.” Nowhere else in this house is safe. The whole house is infected with a virus called “unhappiness.” That is how I feel every time I leave my room. My room is the only place where I can relax and become calm. The only place out of the whole house that is not infected with the virus. I study the objects around my room. The 60-inch smart tv on my black dresser, the boxes of shoes that are at the bottom of my closet, the curtains… The movements of the curtain were caused by the wind seeping through the opened window. Left, right, left, right, left, right… I stare at the curtains, for who knows how long. It is crazy how the window that was barely opened, could make the entire curtain move back and forth. It kind of reminds me of- 

My room door flings open. I become startled as I look at my mom, standing in my doorway. “What is this?” She says sternly.