The glaring white phosphorescent lights blinded him, the machines clanging along, roaring in his ears. His arms and hands moved automatically, performing the same repetitive tasks over and over and over again, his mind dull and empty as a pencil without lead. So he didn't notice a different packet of candles roll by; he didn't sense anything different when he packaged them. In his defense, they didn't look any different, nor did they feel any different, and yet, they were.

They rolled along on the conveyor belt, continuing on to be shipped off on a journey through the dark and after many nights of being treated to cramped conditions in too-small boxes inside a darkened truck bed. Until, several weeks later, the sound of scissors sliced open their confinement and the sticks of wax were unveiled again, their bright blue once again permitted to shine.

This particular package ended up in a small corner store in the middle of east-Jesus nowhere, where it once again was required to sit, and wait, for the right person to show up. At least this time it was on a shelf in the light.

Eventually, he did. Christopher Lee. Former resident of this tiny town in Mormon-ville Utah, and father to, well, me. Hannah. And today was my birthday. My first in fact.

So, naturally, he was there to pick up my cake. Last minute of course, as is everything in my family. He rushed in haphazardly, grabbing a pastry from the fridge in the corner after extremely short consideration and moved quickly to the register, checking his watch. As the tired cashier rang him up ever so slowly, Chris glanced up and snatched the bright blue candles saying, “I’ll take these too.

He bagged the items and Chris was just about to leave when another figure entered the shop. After a moment of mutual confusion, the figure asked, “....Chris?”
“Holy s*** Brad?” he said.
“Wow, it’s been years. Why are you back in town? I thought you had moved to New York City?” Brad questioned.
“We did,” Chris replied, “My dad flew us back here for Y2K. Its ridiculous, but hey, free plane tickets. Who would say no?”
“Yeah.”
“I actually have to go,” Chris said to Brad’s disinterest. “It’s my daughter’s birthday today.”
“Well, see you around,” Brad said, “It was nice to run into you.”
Chris left, also giving his polite goodbyes. He got to his father’s, my grandfather’s, house, entering an already full living room. Family was absolutely everywhere. Sprawling on the couches and standing by the banisters and taking up the dining room chairs.
So when they sat me down at the head of the table in my red and gold high chair, and everyone started to sing, my mother bringing out the flaming cake, I was completely overwhelmed. So naturally,  I started sobbing. Everyone laughed.
Though, I’d like to think that those big blue candles burned at little brighter when they saw me, that their flames leaped and danced a little more happily.
In the cleanup, those blue candles were put in a dark drawer in an empty corner, where they were forgotten for quite some time.

A year passed, and when the drawer was opened again, the blue candles were at the other side of the country, in a little house in Syracuse, New York.

Since they were last opened, lots of life had happened to that little girl. She had entered  new life in a new home a couple of times now, but currently, she was once again stuffed into that, now too small, red and gold high chair at the head of the table, while one of her mom’s old friends from across the ocean in a land of queens and princes struggled to light a match.

My mom, Anne, struggled to help her and failed equally, forcing my dad to come to the rescue. All the while, I fussed and fretted in my seat, sick as a dog.

“Screw it,” he said, and threw the candles and the book of matches back into the dark cabinet, giving up.

December the 27th rolled by again, finding me another year older. I was currently playing with one of my best friends in the universe since the beginning of time, Sarah, in the living room, but if we moved into the dining room, we would once again find my mom struggling with a match, 3 bright blue candles stoked in a sticky vanilla cake on the counter.

In the winter of 2004, I was in Utah, skiing for the first time on the slopes of my father’s adolescence. My mom was pregnant with my little brother, and I was completely confused by the whole idea. Instead, I preoccupied myself with a conversation with my cousins, whom I barely knew, as opposed to the adults and their nonsense.
Yet again, my candles magically appeared at the top of the cake, and I wished my childhood wishes with one big huff of breath, the flames extinguished.

Many more birthdays passed. Some in Arizona with my family there, some with my mom’s parents in England, some at home. Each were memorable in their own right, each with their own adventures and beauties and heartfelt gifts. I saw the sun rise over the Grand Canyon, I watched time square light up with its people and its lights and its life. I ran through a Scottish castle, walked through the Tower of London and saw the sparkling crown jewels, my candles following me all the way.
But the most recent one, my 15th, was different. It wasn't amazing, or special, or grand, but still, it was memorable in its own.
The plan was for me and my mom to leave town early in the morning, heading off for NYC and leaving everyone and everything in our wake for a couple of days. But, the sky had different plans for us.
Snow fell, leaving a thick blanket that covered everything. We made it to the highway, which was completely deserted, and unfortunately, blanketed in a sheet of fresh powder. We survived for an hour, crawling along on the slick pavement, until we swerved and slid and slipped off the road crashing into a sign and totaling the car.
It was terrifying, the slipping and sliding, the total loss of control. For a few moments, the fear is all consuming. Then, we hit, and it was just over. In under a minute. Done.
The tow truck dug us out, and relatively quickly we were back on the road, headed to a Dunkin’ Donuts, where we were eventually picked up by a couple of friends. But i think if I had turned around, if I had looked behind me, in the churned up earth where we had been, I would have seen a package of unopened blue candles, lying in the snow.