[ WP ] `` At my third birthday party the cake only had two candles . ''

** “ At my third birthday party, the cake only had two candles. ” ** 
 
 I wasn ’ t sure how my first week in therapy would begin. Two weeks until that day, I had a phone interview with my new therapist. Dr. Bennet. He was supposed to be some big-shot, world-renowned psychologist, and it had been three months before I could actually snag this guy to be my therapist. I guess the big shots are always the hardest to get – not to mention, most expensive. 
 
 In any case, two weeks until that day, I had prepared notes about myself, my family, my education, and my lifestyle. Fairly tangible things came to mind, so it wasn ’ t difficult: I was thirty-years-old, working as an editor for The Wall Street Journal, graduated from Yale with a degree in writing, two successful parents, an astrophysicist and lawyer, and I was a fairly active guy, with a healthy sex life, and a cute dog. I visited my younger brother, Brandon, twice in those two weeks, telling him about how I felt; about how he never should have left. We were a family of three now, fit for a family of four. He would respond as he often did: silent acknowledgement. 
 
 My brother was a year younger than I. He was meant to be the golden child I was meant to protect. He was the bundle of joy that glued my perfect family so perfectly together. He was named after my father, as my middle name was named after my father. We were two sons chipped out from his pride. My family was happy. I was happy; I had everything. 
 
 So why was it that I booked a shrink to listen to me? I couldn ’ t think of a single reason. I was the perfect son, a successful guy, and I made good money. But there was something else, something so empty about my life, that I needed someone ( reputable ) to assess. 
 
... 
 
 When I walked into the room, Dr. Bennet barely moved from his computer, typing in a rapid silence. He turned his head mechanically as the door shut and send out a reverberating thud on his wooden walls. The woodwork around me was exquisite, vibrant hues of mahogany and rich, lush brown tailored the room as well as his suit tailored him. 
 
 I introduced myself and he greeted me with an air of detached dismissal. He inquired about my day, how I had been feeling, and if I was ready to start. As I opened my mouth, a short pause escaped it like a stifled breath. Then the words bobbed out slowly as the tones in my voice inflected unevenly – almost unwillingly. 
 
 I wasn ’ t sure why I told him about my birthday party. That thought had never even hit me until this moment. *I was three, three goddamnit! * Yet somehow it escaped, and I saw a small, inquisitive grin materialize on his face as he scratched down some notes. Somehow, the emotions started trickling out further and further. *My parents gave me all the most expensive gifts and toys, but they were for babies. * I could feel small warm buds collecting in my eyes. *When I was six, my parents enrolled me in a private school. * My cheeks burned warm, subdued with a passion I had long suppressed. *When I was thirteen, my parents told me my dream was Yale Law. * I felt one salty tear snailing down my face. *They always told me I was to be the son they expected me to be*. Another droplet fell parallel the first. 
 
 Then, a moment of clarity crystallized in my head; *I remembered. * When my younger brother was still within my mother, my family was perfect. *We were happy. * We were a family of three expecting number four. When my brother was not born, everything changed. *They never called me by my first name name. Always, always, always my middle name: Brandon. * I could feel the deluge of emotions overwhelming my good senses. I could feel my face, scalded by the years of denial. I thought back to my visits to Bradley; I had known the answer to my empty life. I hated my brother. I hated him for what he did to me. He was never meant for his grave; I was never meant for his life. 
 
 At my third birthday party, the cake only had two candles. 
 
 At my first birthday party, I died and lived as the ghost of my brother. 
 

