HAPPY LAST BIRTHDAY TO YOU
By
Pat Fish

They say you can pick your friends but you can't pick your family. "They" are so right. Because for sure I would never have picked Roberta to be my sister, and it isn't because we fight. In fact, we get along just fine. The reason I dislike Roberta so much is because she is the meanest person on this earth, who murdered her most recent husband while he celebrated his birthday. To make matters so much worse, she arranged for me to serve him his death meal.

It isn't just husbands that Roberta has murdered. Throughout our childhood years, there were many animals that met their demise at the hands of my sister, to include mice, cats, dogs and rabbits. As an adolescent, Roberta murdered her boyfriend. Her first husband also met an untimely death in a fatal automobile accident that Roberta had somehow miraculously escaped by rolling out the door before the car fell down a steep embankment to a fiery explosion.

My mother thinks Roberta is wonderful and wonders why bad things keep happening to good people like Roberta. I was on to her the day she killed my puppy.

"Janice I just had no idea it would get that hot in the car. It is March after all. I thought the car thing was only in the summer."

Mindy, my 8 month old Golden Retriever, lay dead on the back seat of Roberta's tiny VW Rabbit. Roberta left him in the car while she went into the mall for a few minutes. Which turned out to be two hours, and when she finally retrieved her vehicle she threw her purchases on the front seat and drove home with no thought to the dead puppy in the back.

Just as soon as Roberta's VW pulled into our driveway, I rushed out to the car looking for the missing pup. That's when I found Mindy, dead from heat stroke on the back seat. That's also when, for possibly the thousandth time in my life, Roberta claimed ignorance that had resulted in another death.

I picked Mindy's limp body from the back seat and walked to the tiny back yard. I didn't say a word to Roberta. There was simply nothing to say.

I buried Mindy the same way I had buried my goldfish that died from swimming in a fishbowl full of hot pepper flakes ("I had no idea, Janice. I thought it was fish food"). I laid the dead puppy into her shallow grave just as I laid my cat Bootsie in his grave ("I just can't believe you can't give them chicken bones, Janice. They eat mice. They have bones!"). I covered the puppy with dirt just I had the bunny of old Mrs. Schmidt next door ("I had no idea they could run that fast, Jan. When I took that flying leap I just could not imagine that I would smash him. I'm so glad you buried him for Mrs. Schmidt and didn't tell").

It's plain to see there is/was a pattern going on, and I suspected when Bootsie choked on a chicken bone and was certain when Mindy suffered heat prostration from being deliberately locked in a car in the direct sun.

"Mom, she likes killing things!"

I was engaged in putting two lab mice in a shoe box when I finally shouted to my mother what should have been obvious. The two mice were, by the way, dead. Seems they got "stepped" on by a sleepy Roberta who had accidentally opened their cage door.

"Hush your mouth Janice....saying such a thing about your sister! You think I don't know she's a total ditz? Feeding hot pepper flakes to the fish...stepping on the mice....feeding chicken bones to the cat? But she's not trying to kill anything, Janice. You've been reading too many Nancy Drew mysteries. But she's accident prone about everything, Janice. Always has been. When she was two years old, she got her head stuck in the toilet bowl and almost drowned. Then she was flying a kite one time and almost electrocuted herself. I guess you're going to say she's suicidal too?"

I sighed in a stage whisper. Well, yes, I thought, it was entirely possible that Roberta was suicidal because Roberta was crazy. But my widowed mother could not ever accept that along with being left with two daughters to raise alone that she would also be burdened with one that was crazy. It would be I, and I alone, who would ever know the true evil that existed in my sister Roberta.

One cannot be two years younger than their sibling with whom all non-school moments are spent without early on recognizing odd behavior. It was the day that Roberta and I stole down to Mrs. Schmidt's root cellar that I first realized the depth of Roberta's madness.

"Keep the door open, Jan. Just keep the door open. Make sure there is light coming in."

Roberta had already made her way into the spooky cellar and I was climbing down the steep steps right behind her. We were only kids, fooling around and on a lark to see who would chicken out first. Just as soon as I got my left foot inside the cellar stairwell I reached behind me and grabbed the handle of the big overhead door and pulled it closed.

Instead of giggles or at most some mild screams, Roberta went crazy. She threw her whole ten-year-old body on my eight-year-old one. Then she pulled at my hair and clawed at my face until she had me screaming for my life.

"Open....op...open...op....Jan...open the door....Jan....I swear I can't breathe." As Roberta struggled to get this out, I struggled to save my eyeballs and retain a few strands of my hair. Even as the words she gasped were being said, her body was going limp. Then I was more frightened. I was convinced she was dying and my hand pushed up in desperation to open the overhead doors and admit some light. I was successful.

Roberta's lips were blue when the sunlight finally found her. I screamed her name and slapped her face until she let out a sputter and ran out of the cellar. I ran out right behind her. I was convinced that had that door remained closed for another minute, Roberta would have died.

I tried to discuss this incident with my mother, along with the other strange things such as large piles of dead flies in the attic and the mice caught in traps neither I nor my Mom had ever placed about. But I was only eight years old and my mother was either a total fool or too busy with work and raising us to notice that Roberta was a certified lunatic.

For several years after the cellar incident I began to stupidly acquire pets that would always end up dead. When Roberta took my puppy Mindy for the pup's ride to hell, I was certain she was psychotic. I vowed to never bring any sort of animal around Roberta again. I also vowed that as soon as I could I would get very far away from her. Even as crazy as I knew Roberta to be, I had never believed that she would start killing people. Her rampage began with Roger.

Roger was Roberta's first boyfriend. He was almost 6 foot tall with several more years to grow, very skinny with a big nose that looked even bigger on his skinny face. He honest to God wore a pocket protector and a band aid on his glasses. He was a total nerd and I wondered why Roberta had chosen him.

The thing that must be understood about Roberta is that she was not only beautiful, but the personification of an angel. Angels are, of course, pictured to come in all shapes, sizes and statures. If the most popular concept of an angel is a female with perfect skin, limpid blue eyes and celestial blond hair, than Roberta would be well cast in the role. She resembled Jodie Foster, but with all of Jody's sharp edges rounded off.

Roberta had plenty of fellows interested in her, so her choice of the geeky Roger confused me. Three weeks after Roger started dating Roberta, he jumped off the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to his death.

"I had no idea he would react like this, Jan. I told him it was over and look what he did."

I said nothing. Whatever and however it happened, I knew Roberta had planned it and I knew she liked it.

There were the appropriate assemblies and ceremonies at our high school for the tragic Roger. Roberta played the part of the heart-broken blue-eyed maiden very well. If every guy in our school wasn't already in love with Roberta, they were mad about her in her role as helpless female tossed by life's tragedies yet again. My mother was the pillar of support as Roberta suffered the loss of Roger in torrents of angel tears and unrequited angst.

Fortunately, no human or animal died in the two years I had left to finish high school and head off to college. I deliberately planned to attend a college as far away from Roberta as I could possibly find. Which is how I ended up in California with a degree in marketing and ultimately a husband and two children. In the eight years since I had left home, I only had to be in Roberta's presence once. My mother, God bless her, would give me regular telephonic updates.

"They've ruled it a crib death," my mother told me. I was eight months pregnant myself and offered my sympathies and explained that I could not fly home. I placed the telephone in its cradle and wondered for the rest of the day. Crib death. My God, it could only have been crib death, right? Surely Roberta couldn't kill her own child?

"Roberta is fine, Jan. A lot of scratches and bruises. Joseph didn't make it." With this announcement, I could find no excuse to avoid the plane that would take me to the funeral of my brother-in-law.

Joseph Wright was a very obese man. His coffin, Roberta whispered to me, had to be specially made. She made a lovely widow. Guests were mournfully received by the beautiful young woman who they sadly knew must live the rest of her life without the husband she adored.

How could she know the squealing brakes were so dangerous? Else she would have mentioned it before taking off for a drive through the mountains of West Virginia. It was only a miracle that gave her presence to open the door and roll to safety before the car plunged over the cliff. Joseph also tried to get out of the car, but, alas, well, he really was too heavy.

For one night that lasted a week I stayed with my mother for the funeral. The next day I was on the plane, far away from Roberta and far away from the insanity.

"My God Chad. Animals, boyfriends, babies, husbands. Everyone and everything around her ends up dead! And there's not a thing I can do about it, because my mother refuses to see it. My sister needs to be committed, but how are you going to get her to a shrink when the people around her can't even see she's crazy?"

Chad leaned back from the dinner table. He pushed the pizza crusts remaining on his plate away from him, placed his hands on his stomach, and gave a loud belch. I snapped the dishtowel at him.

"Jan, I don't know what to tell you. There is nothing that can be proved. And for the record," my husband held up his hand to stop my protests, "I believe you." Chad stopped here for additional thought and another needed belch.

"I'm still not sure about the boyfriend and husband, though. And the baby. I mean all of these things are subject to verification. It isn't like your goldfish, where you only think she used hot pepper flakes instead of food. A car accident is pretty hard to fake. Especially when you are in the car when it happens. And crib death? They always do autopsies on that sort of thing."

I picked up the pizza crusts and threw them on the floor for the waiting cocker spaniel. It was nice to finally be able to have a pet that wouldn't end up dead.

"I don't know Chad. Maybe the baby thing really was legit. Darn, maybe the car accident was legit. But I don't think so."

I picked up the paper plates and pizza box and made myself busy while I thought.

"She knows the right buttons, Chad. She knows the buttons that will cause....well, .....," I faded off momentarily while I searched the air for the words, "the buttons that will cause something to .....die."

I said these last words softly as if unable to believe such sentiments could be verbally expressed. I poured myself a glass of milk and sat down across from Chad.

"She parked her car right in the sun...just so the heat would be...so that the sun would....bake....," I faded off again here. "She knew that geeky Roger would fall hopelessly in love with her and she knew he would....kill....himself when she broke up. She knew Joseph could not get out of that car. Maybe she knew that laying the baby on its stomach...or back...or...whatever would increase the odds of crib death."

I was rambling on like this when Chad reached across the table and laid his hand on mine.

"Look, Jan. Thank God it's not our problem. Thank God we are clear across the country from her. Let's just forget about it."

We did just that. Until my mother phoned with the news.

"Roberta's engaged! I'm so happy she finally met someone. And you know, Roberta's such an angel. Her fiance is a deaf-mute but she tells me she loves him all the more for his handicap."

I held the phone a foot away from my ear. My God the woman was marrying a deaf-mute! How long before he too died tragically? I needed to put the phone back to my ear just then for I could swear I heard Roberta's voice over the lines.

"It's Jeremy's birthday and I was wondering if you could make some of your famous stuffed-shrimp. I'll bring along a birthday cake, of course. We won't stay long. It's just that he has to go to Los Angeles for this convention and I hate him to be alone for his birthday. So I am flying out with him. And since you already live in California? We won't spend the night or anything. We already have reservations at the Sheraton. Do you mind terribly?"

My mind was screaming NO, a thousand times NO. I could not have that woman in my house, with my husband and my children and my dog and my cat. I was finally away from her. Before I could get all this out, I heard my mother back on the line.

"It would be nice to do this for Roberta. Goodness, you two are sisters but you never see each other. And guess what? I'll be along too! It will be so nice to visit my grandchildren again. I haven't seen them since they were, what....two and three?"

So I guess I was going to have a birthday dinner for my brother-in-law, murderess sister and mother. Roberta told me she and Jeremy were to be married before the trip so that, technically, Jeremy would be my brother-in-law and the birthday dinner would be a most acceptable social event.

Jeremy was a sweet man. He could speak, but his speech was difficult to understand in that manner of those who had never heard spoken words. Instead, Jeremy had what appeared to be a small computer with him at all times. He would quickly type his comments and the text of his thoughts would appear on the wall behind him. It was sort of a movie projector in reverse, Roberta explained.

I was amazed at the machine and the ease of use that allowed the mute to converse normally with those who could speak.

"It's called a Datacell transmitter," Jeremy informed us by using his machine.

"You have to be careful where you position yourself," Jeremy continued to type and we continued to read on the wall behind him. "You need to be sitting in front of some sort of wall. Color is no problem, because, as you can see, the text as projected can be changed to any color for contrast to the wall."

In fact, the last sentence of Jeremy's text changed from red to yellow to blue as he demonstrated the versatility of the machine.

"And Jeremy invented it. We will be showing it for the first time at the convention tomorrow." Roberta stood by Jeremy as he typed his part of the conversation. She looked for all the world as the proudest of wives. I glanced over to Chad but he paid me no mind.

I excused myself in mid-demonstration and went to finish the dinner.

"Roberta certainly seems happy to me," my husband said, startling me with his unexpected entry to the kitchen. I pulled the stuffed-shrimp from the oven and almost dropped them at the sound.

"Maybe you were right about the animals, Jan," Chad said as he put the rolls in the basket and filled his arms with bowls to be taken into the dining room. "But I'm not so sure about the people. I mean she seems so normal. I find it hard to believe she would murder her own child."

While Chad had met my mother on several occasions, this was his first chance to meet Roberta. I couldn't believe my ears that now my own husband was taken with the angelic Roberta. Since my hands were full with a baking dish of stuffed-shrimp, I nodded for Chad to lead the way to the dining room. I figured I would just get this evening over with, then have a long talk with the naive Chad.

Chad and I carried the dishes into the dining room then returned to the kitchen for more.

"Let me take that thing for you, Hon," I heard Roberta say to Jeremy as Chad and I left the room.

"Jan, the shrimp are delicious. As always," my mother said, as she put another fork full into her mouth.

"Mmmmmm," was all I heard from Roberta.

Jeremy, of course, said nothing. His datacell was sitting safely away from the stains. He was quite adept at reading lips, but I'm not at all sure how much he understood with our lips that chewed on fresh sourdough bread while speaking.

I did go to great pains to make the meal special. Since I didn't think Roberta would pull any strange tricks while on her trip, I decided to go all out and host a celebration for my sister and her husband as if they were perfectly normal people. All diners had some shrimp, spinach salad, sourdough bread and a baked potato. Conversation was sparse during the dining, both in deference to Jeremy who couldn't participate and due to chewing activity.

It was Chad who first pushed himself back from the table. I prayed that he wouldn't belch.

Roberta quickly followed suit. "That was delicious Jan. Absolutely delicious." She turned to face Jeremy. "How was it, hon?"

Jeremy responded by nodding his head affirmatively.

Mom finished her last bite of potato and added her meal appreciation. I accepted all compliments and began to clear the table.

"About time for that birthday cake," I said to Roberta. "By the way, in case I haven't said it yet, happy birthday, Jeremy." I said my greeting to Jeremy, enunciating my words clearly so that he could read my lip-wish. Jeremy nodded his understanding. His forehead glistened with sweat.

"Is it hot in here?" I asked into the air, but most out of concern for Jeremy. He didn't look well.

Jeremy nodded his head yes, quite vigorously. Chad jumped up and opened a window.

"You okay, buddy? You look like you might have eaten too much." Chad slapped Jeremy on the shoulder in manly concern. Jeremy nodded, either to say he was okay or to agree that he had eaten too much.

"Well, let's just clear out these dishes and get that cake out here. Can you read lip-singing Jeremy?"

I tried to sound cheerful, but was rapidly becoming concerned about Jeremy. His face was very red and he appeared to be gasping.

"Is he all right, Roberta? Why don't you get him his Datacell?" Mom suggested.

Roberta unbuttoned the top button on Jeremy's shirt. "He's fine. He always gets like this after a heavy meal." Roberta wiped his forehead with a dinner napkin solicitously. "You're all right, aren't you honey? Because we have a birthday cake for you. I'll get your Datacell for you, but would like to wait until after coffee and cake. Remember it's our only prototype and it was quite expensive. But if you want....." Roberta's voice trailed off. Jeremy nodded no and spread his hands to indicate his health.

I wasn't liking this one bit. Not one bit at all. I pointed to Chad to follow me into the kitchen.

"Jesus Jan....you think your sister is trying to murder him right in your house? In front of all these people? And she looks concerned. Man....YOU got me spooked now. Makes me wonder who the crazy one is here."

This sort of remark deserved a thorough argument in which I could hardly indulge with a house full of company.

"Just answer me this," I whispered loudly to Chad as we gathered cake and coffee, "why is it whenever she is around...something happens?"

Chad picked up the tray with coffee pot, cups and spoons. "Come on Jan. Quit making a mountain out of a molehill." Chad pushed the door open to the dining room and left me feeling silly.

Jeremy was ashen grey upon my return to the dining room.

"Dear, I really think Jeremy's not feeling well...." Mom said to Roberta. Jeremy raised his hands to bring peace and indicate he was fine. His fingernails were blue.

"Okay, let's just sing him a quick happy birthday and let him blow out the candles. Then I'll get his Datacell and maybe we'll go to our hotel and get some rest. Is that okay, honey?" Roberta said to Jeremy, who nodded yes and waved his hand to bring on the birthday cake.

We sang what had to be the quickest Happy Birthday song ever. Not a soul at that table believed that Jeremy was fine. Except for Roberta. It was when Jeremy tried to blow out the candles that he collapsed.

Roberta paced the emergency room floor. Her blue eyes shone with tears that transformed her into the quintessential angel.

"I had no idea. How could I possibly know? Never once had he told me he was allergic to shellfish. I knew about his weak heart, but....the combination of the two.... Oh Mom," Roberta wailed as she threw herself into my mother's arms, "if only we had gotten him here sooner. If only......" Mom held Roberta to her breast.

"It's all right dear," Mom soothed as she patted the sobbing Roberta. "We were all there. Any one of us could have..... It's not your fault, dear."

Chad and I sat on the hard waiting room bench. We were both numb. Only ten minutes prior the Doctor had informed us that Jeremy had died from heart failure. His heart had simply stopped from lack of air that would not come from his swollen lungs; lungs swollen in an extreme reaction to shellfish.

"If he knew he was allergic to shellfish, why did he eat the shrimp?" Chad asked no one in particular.

We all remained silent and wondered this also.

"They didn't look like shrimp!" I suddenly shouted, jumping from the chair with this conclusion. "Baked stuffed shrimp.....it doesn't look like shrimp!" I felt compelled to repeat. "Jeez, I don't think the guy even knew he was eating shrimp. Did you tell him , Roberta? It was you...." my voice trailed off for a reason.

It was Roberta who asked me to serve the shrimp. And now that I thought about it, she had never been especially fond of stuffed shrimp that I was aware.

"I don't remember if I mentioned it or not," Roberta said.

Oh of course she didn't remember if she mentioned it or not. Why doesn't this surprise me? And Jeremy was such a kind soul that he would eat anything his hostess deigned to serve. Although my mind was foggy from the frenzy of the ambulances and death pronouncements, I knew crystal clear that this whole thing was very definitely planned and very definitely planned by Roberta. Could there be anyone more evil who would murder her deaf-mute husband on his birthday? Because I knew as sure as chicken bones were intentionally fed to my cat that Roberta had conjured this whole scenario.

"So just when do you think she might get around to murdering Mom? Or you and I? Or our kids for chrissakes?"

I sat on the edge of the bed, finally home from the hospital and ready to scream that my sister's husband had died in my home and from a meal that I had prepared at her request.

"She needs to be stopped. If she doesn't stop, it will go on forever."

Chad came in from the bathroom allowing me to lower my tone. He rubbed a towel briskly through his wet hair.

"I just don't know what to say, Jan. Any one of us could have insisted on taking Jeremy to the hospital. HE kept saying he was okay, if you remember. Now I admit this is all odd...." Chad stopped momentarily to put his hands on my shoulders, "but what can we do about it? I mean, we were RIGHT there, Jan. You want to call the police? Tell them Roberta asked you to make shrimp and her husband was allergic to it? Tell them not one of us took the man to the hospital? Tell them that HE kept saying he was all right? This is not murder material. Too many things could go wrong for it to have been premeditated."

"That's just it, Chad. Roberta has this way....she KNEW that Jeremy would say he was all right, when he wasn't. She knows how they are going to react. She knows....she KNOWS...."

I stopped and began to sob. Chad was right. There was nothing we could do. We couldn't prove a thing.

* * *

"Oh God Mom.....how could I know? I had no idea she was so claustrophobic. I sure had no idea she would panic to the point that her heart would stop. I'm so sorry, Mom. I just wanted her to have a nice birthday. So I took her to my favorite store. She was trying on a dress when the door to the dressing room closed. It locks from the outside...you know? No one heard any screaming...nothing. I waited and waited for her to come out and show me the dress. Finally I asked the sales lady to please check. Poor Roberta...my God what a tragic life. And now to have it end like this. How could I have possibly known, Mom?"