The Day Never Happened

I did not combine melted butter and eggs in the medium mixing bowl or beat the mixture with the hand blender. Did not add organic flour and sugar, breaking the lumps with my fingers before whisking the contents together. Did not transfer the batter into a greased baking dish, smoothing the top with a spatula. Did not stow the pan in the oven, setting the timer for 45 minutes, did not open the fridge to find the cream cheese jar empty, did not pull out a flattened candle packet from the sundry drawer, chiding myself for being unprepared. Did not run to Kroger’s for a quick purchase.

On the way back, did not stop at the screaming blue and red lights careening in beside the yellow buses at the K-1 school, did not press my heart with my left hand, steering into a parking spot with the right. Did not trip on the strap of my satchel while scurrying out of the car, falling on the tarmac, skinning both my knees. Did not watch stretchers with little bodies being stowed into ambulances—a pink headband, the sparkly purple letters spelling “BIRTHDAY” soaked red. Did not level the surface of the earth where she lay with my hands, again and again, breaking the lumps with my fingers, smoothing out the surface, wishing I had a spatula. Unprepared.