Bigger Than My Body

By Ameerah Saker

“Phooo,” I tried to blow out the little sparks of light on the melting wax. Spit skydived from my puckered lips and onto the cake’s elaborate details designed with frosting. The kids cheered, clapping elatedly with gape tooth smiles, their eyes wide with excitement and cheeks etched with dimples. The jubilation had soon ended with them crowding around me, hustling for the biggest piece of the sugar infested cake. They gobbled it down as soon as they received it, stuffing it into their mouths like children so often do. Then they ran off, leaving big chunks on their plates-their attention now drawn to something else.

I wanted to have fun, shouting and playing games as they did, so I abandoned my cake and left right after the first person who ditched the table. We ran around, peering in to secret rooms and going on extraordinary adventures. We caused trouble and made noise, jumping like kangaroos from one activity to the next. Slowly, we started to show signs of boredom and exhaustion. That was all whipped away when I swaggered back down the stairs, tiara over head. I had run up the stairs to get my tiara, when I heard shouts of happiness coming from outside.

As I came back down, other kids bustled past, pushing aside anybody blocking their path. Their raucous laughter rumbled all over the house, arching to a crescendo as I approached one of the amiable mobs of bobbing heads. They didn’t seem to recall that Iwas the birthday girl and that I should be the one whom everyone’s attention should be focused on instead of the powdery-faced clown.

He had just arrived for the last enchantment of exhilaration and fun. We watched the clown, as we sprawled out languidly on the choppy grass.

Frankly, I did not like clowns very much, with their polka dot overalls and shiny shoes, topped off with a bright cherry nose. I thought they were a combination of my always jolly kindergarten teacher and my mother slathered with make-up like toast with butter.

My supposed friends stared fascinated at the figure who juggled water balloons up higher than our tiny heads and above his huge one, touching the stars. I was about to turn away, thinking that he did not deserve my superior attention, when I saw him take out a vial of liquid. He unscrewed the top, dipping it in the foamy mass. He recovered the plastic rod from the depths of the foam and put his mouth very close to the part that was shaped in an O. He took a deep, overly satisfying breath, and blew. It grew, like a living creature, nourished by one single breath. Different phases and forms transformed it. It was utterly harmless, nothing really, but scary all the same. I stared at my reflection in the transparent sphere. It kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it did not seem like it would stop; I thought with fright that it would engulf me- engulf the whole world and all its inhabitants if it could! My breath started to come out in short little spouts, enveloping me with fear. I didn’t think I could breathe as I stared incredulously at the growing form.

I imagined that we were all trapped inside with no way to get out. It is a permanent prison with no food, no water, and no way to communicate. Every time we tried to shout or scream to those on the other side, it didn’t work. It was as if the bubble was insulated, so they couldn’t hear us. Slowly, we withered, holding on to our last strings of life. We are the puppets in a play, in which the bubble is our script, director, scenery, and audience. When we lose ourselves to delirium, death, and hysterics, we really have no one, not even ourselves.

His eyes were huge, blowing out every last breath inside of him.

I wondered if I could become the only one stuck inside, if no one could find me, if I could end up all by myself inevitably forced to stay inside the same old sphere. It would float above everyone and I would see everything that is happening, but I would never be able to do even the most miniscule thing.

I imagine the possibility that someone could trigger the bubble to break and I would fall, free fall really, to the ground and splatter like paint.

Suddenly, it popped and I screamed with fright. My mother rushed over, frantically asking a stranger near by what had happened; what was wrong? My screams were now raspy and lingered, paralyzed on one chalky note. The screams tickled my throat and the pain increased as I bellowed longer and harder. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I just stood and screamed.