How to Turn Five for the First Time Again
By Turi Sioson
Wake up in a fit of blanket creases and
stuffed animals. Say a quiet, weird thing so you
come across as supernatural. Let your
father brush your teeth. Refuse to put both
shoes on your feet. Wear pink again. Push
your hair back and spend the rest of the
morning babbling about yesterday: when the
neighbor’s cat refused to sit
still, and you were naked all day until
the sun went down after bedtime. Eat
cheerios. Ask for cake. Break your father’s
nose on accident, then shake him for the
sake of toddler’s glee, that little thing to
keep you from the lonely act of
misbehaving. Ask for cake again.
Switch between sleepy and so awake that
nothing in the world matters more than
cake. Let the dogs lick your cheeks. Take your shoes off outside and run
straight for the poison ivy; just clumsy
enough that your parents will look at you
icy. Be ignorant of them anyway. Wish for the
dogs to come out and play. Consume the earthy
air. Write it all down, fondly, like childhood
prayer: first the gibberish, then the care,
which comes later, when you are taller but
less secretive, when magic is something of
which you are more appreciative. Take a
nap you don’t want to take, and learn the
hard way what being five means for the first
time that day: the same routine, just with
cake and frosting. Wake up younger
and then older but skip both until you shake
with the realization, declaring your age like
an incantation. Bring the neighbor’s cat
inside, let her watch the crickets out of the
corner of her eye. Do not remember your
parents taking pictures, but somehow
remember the moment like scripture: like
your hair in your face and the hem of your
dress, crumpled. Like scraping your knee
without taking a tumble. Stuffing the cat in
between the couch cushions. Taking out
pots and pans from the cupboards in the
kitchen. If you tell the story later, make sure
your voice doesn’t crack somewhere in the
middle. Say the words slow; tell them little
by little. Say: you go to bed grumpy, clutching a
lion or an elephant or a really orange
monkey. Say: you wake up the next day,
without a care in the world that the day after
your birthday is a Monday.