Smile Rachel!

I'm six.
Life for me is Sylvanian Families,
eating custard creams,
and asking to have pigtails
so I can be like my hero:
Mildred Hubble, the worst witch.
I am so obsessed with her
that I cry each time the VHS ended,
forgetting I can just watch it again.
Today I'm in a best dress,
and the house is dressed for my
birthday party.
My sister is on helper duty,
pressing stop and play on the cassette deck
for musical statues.
The table is loaded with party rings and
skips and quavers.
My friends and classmates file in.
We play Kims Game -
guessing things on a tray if you'd like a summary
of just how analogue we were in the 80s.
My best friend Jessie and I have a scrap
over who gets to watch the clock
for a timed game.
I dissolve.
I lock myself in the bathroom.
I won't come out.
I howl.
I press my hot, teary face against the bathroom door
and hear the party going on without me.
This makes me cry more.
I hear "time for cake!"
I get dragged out of the bathroom,
puffy faced and pink.
I stand and am sung to.
I am forced in front of my dad's camera,
SMILE RACHEL!
I force a smile out, amid the tears.
Little do I know this gigantic huff
will go down in history,
and come back to haunt me
when family stories are trotted out.
I vow to never cry at a party again.