The minor criminal claps her hands with an inspired bob of her head.

"Let's do this again tomorrow! Would you like to go out for drinks with me?"

I am grateful that she did not latch onto my borderline tyrannical remark.

"I would, but I took a day off tomorrow... For my birthday," I hesitantly conclude, immediately regretting my self-centeredness and how I drew attention to my hitherto unblemished privacy.

"What?!", she shrieks. I swallow nervously, unable to do anything else than blink. "It's your BIRTHDAY tomorrow and you didn't TELL ME!? We have to celebrate! Do you got any plans? No, screw that, you're cancelling them. How could you keep this from me!? We'll spend the day together! And I need to buy you a gift... Oh, this is exciting! How old are you, actually?"

Her conclusions to my announcement are unusual, to say the least, but her joy is nothing less than a contagious affliction. And... I don't have any real plans for tomorrow...

"Turning 23. You don't have to dedicate a day to going out for my birthday, you really shouldn't, actually. You have a life and jobs to work."

"Not anymore. Tomorrow will be super fun, I promise! When should I pick you up?"

"My shift ends late tonight, so not earlier than noon."

I gather I am accepting her intense offer.

"Perfect! Speaking of noon, we should get going. Can't be late!"

I get up from my chair, smiling. "You're right."

~

At 10h15 AM, the sound of my alarm clock pulls me out from a night - or rather a morning - of faint dreams, already fading even as they were built by my brain. October 26th, my birthday, already. The anniversary of the beginning of my existence... Or, as I recall it, the anniversary of my catastrophic quinceañera. For the eight year in a row.

I jump out of bed, proceeding with my usual routine, after which I sit down on my couch. For a few minutes, I stare at the grayscale of buildings outside and oppressive clouds that crowd the sky, mirroring the flow of vehicles and pedestrians across the black tar roads, through my uncommonly large living room windows. The glass is specked with ancient rain fall and translucent streaks of dusty, polluted air. Today, the sky is monochrome and sufficiently lacking in sunlight to mask those imperfections. I clench my fists, resting against the cool surface of my laptop, folded in my lap. As ridiculous as it may seem, I am dreading to open it. I am unwilling to stare at my e-mail reception box, searching for... Hoping for a certain e-mail that I fear will never be sent and I won't ever receive. But, until I have checked, I have resolutely forbidden myself from looking at my phone, so I must do this in order to get on with my day.

I sigh, decidedly pushing my anxious feelings out of the way and the lid of my laptop upward. I rapidly access my e-mail inbox, which contains... 12 spam messages... And a single real one. Sent with the address of Héctor Aguayo, my father. The message is typed in Spanish and reads as follows.

| Dear Constanza,

On this day, 23 years ago, I gave birth to you. Here are some saintly passages to inspire you. May they lead you back into redemption.

So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. (Genesis 1:27)

Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. (James 5:16)

Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me, and anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. (Matthew 10:37-39)

The Lord be with you.

Lorena Aguayo |

Wow. Happy birthday to me, I guess. I inhale shakily, involuntarily reading my mother's letter over and over again. My eyes are tumbling down the words across my screen, as I fight back against my tears and attempt to uncoil the knot inside my throat. Her last communication to me was an oddly similar e-mail on Christmas Eve, two years ago, a month or so after my twenty-first birthday. I cannot decide if this is better than nothing. Acknowledging my existence without explicitly being hateful is... Not terrible? It is far from great, though.

I refuse to ruin my already advanced morning by spiralling down a sinkhole of memories pertaining to my family. I hurriedly close the tab and select the New York Times' online crossword puzzle from my saved web pages.

~

A surprising number of people sent me birthday wishes: Ousmane on behalf of 'Rampes n' Roll', Joseph and Cedric with an almost worrying amount of GIFs, both my dentist's office and hair salon with very generic computer generated texts... Colin paired his message with a selfie of the squad, who he reported also wished me the classic "happy" birthday.

Of course, I cannot forget Cheryl, who I am waiting for at the moment. She vehemently insisted that, as the person who was celebrated, I should not have to arrange my own transport. In the end, I yielded to avoid suspicion. The ironic thing is I asked her to meet me near my fake address, furthering my lie concerning my place of residence, meaning I had to take a bus to get here.

Standing next to a weathered wrought metal bench, my hands readily shoved inside my paletot's pockets as its flaps softly whip the legs of my dark brown pants, carried by the wind, I watch vehicles roar and speed up and down the boulevard.

We settled on 1-o'-clock PM, and the last time I checked my watch it was displaying 12h59, indicating that looking at its digital face again would be zealous. Or would simply betray my nerves.

The air is uncomfortably moist and warm, however the sun is nowhere to be seen, limiting itself to projecting a hazy glow from beyond the elongated opaque clouds. Without much more of a delay, a sleek white limousine with glistening red wheel covers inside pure black tires screeches to a stop before me. No way... The back door closest to me swings wide open onto a devastatingly beautiful young woman with a bright smile and bewitching green eyes.

"Why, hello there! Do you need a ride?"

She bursts into laughter at her own joke, scooting over and tapping the leather seat with her manicured hand. Startled, I let out a short laugh, then reply,

"Hey, Cheryl. This is... Insane." I get into the automobile to add, "You shouldn't have, it's way too much. You know I have a birthday every year, right?"

I cannot cease smiling despite my light-hearted astonishment. As soon as the door was closed, we started rolling once more. She crosses her legs, clad in a pair of skinny ripped jeans and topped off at the feet with what I can reasonably assume are knockoff designer ankle boots.

"Don't worry about it, Tanza..! That guy owed me a favor, anyway. Now... Get excited! We're going someplace very fun for the day."

"Is this the moment when you actually tell me where that is?"

"Maybe... Do you want anything to drink first?"

She carelessly hops over onto a seat closer to the integrated mini-bar, underneath the blocked window between the chauffeur and us, to open the cooler proudly. It is stocked with bottles of water, fruit juices, soda pops and many colorful alcoholic beverages. Thirsty or not, I would only accept sustenance from a stranger - or even someone I know - in a life-or-death situation. This isn't one.

"I'm good. Thank you, though."

"Suit yourself."

She loosely grabs a bottle of sparkling water by its neck and sits back to my left.

"We are going..." Cheryl pops the cap off the sizzling drink and draws an overly long gulp of it from the translucent blue bottle. She sighs exaggeratedly, as though she has quenched a year long thirst, before concluding: "To Freakland Amusement Park!"

"Right, 'cause there's no chance The Joker would attack that place, good thinking."

I am being facetious, and she amusedly participates.

"Don't tell me you're traumatized by clowns."

"I'm not... But there's no telling, I might change my mind if I die on my birthday because of one. Especially if I get run over by one of their cars."

"OK, I'll tell them to burn all the clown cars before we go in. Problem solved!"

"Yeah, but then they still have the unicycles, which are arguably more dangerous than the cars."

"Oh, totally!"

We laugh in harmony.

I expressly affirm, "But, seriously, I'm looking forward to it."

"I really like that you've got such a wild sense of humor, honestly," she responds, grinning. "You know, most people I hang out with or at my work cannot take a joke! It's unbearable."

Snickering, the criminal rolls her eyes.

"Really? How come?" I attentively survey her, to express my genuine interest.

"I mean, for instance, just last week, right? There's this guy and..."