The old fish packing plant stood on a crumbling pier that had been red-tagged years ago. The plant rusted under the salt fog and was caught in a legal limbo that only seemed to accomplish that no one set foot in the place. But on the edge of a city packed with the living hustling here and there with a furious sense of urgency, the derelict plant served as an unofficial meeting place for a number of the city’s ghosts.
Around a grand table in the middle the main floor sat two dozen ghosts. There were Native American ghosts, as well as some who clearly appeared to be Mexican settlers. Gold field-bound 49ers sat next to the spirits of dot com bros who sat next to flower children, beat poets, and drag queens. At one end of the table sat a woman in a bright party dress talking excitedly to the ghosts next to her. On the other end of the table sat a man in a black-on-black suit who talked with his neighbors in subdued tones.
Among the din of the ghosts talking amongst themselves came a very deliberate throat clearing. “Ahem,” said the one specter that towered over the seated guests. His spindly arms and legs looked less human than some cartoonish nightmare creation. “If I might have everyone’s attention,” he announced and the room fell silent. He grinned an impossibly wide smile and said, “Thank you all for coming to this celebration. As you all know,” He swept his long fingers towards the woman in the bright party dress, “October 30th is Emily’s birthday.”
Squealing and tittering erupted from Emily’s side of the table, while the tall figure gestured to his left and a dozen tiny, disembodied black orb-like spirits floated a rainbow-colored cake with dozens of brightly burning candles ablaze on top. They moved the cake to the table and set it in front of Emily, to the audible delight of that side of the table.
A woman dressed in a smart business suit started to sing, “Happy birthday to you—” But her neighbors cut her off.
The tall creature shook his head in disapproval. “We don’t sing.”
Several of the older spirits nodded solemnly as the woman who had started to sing squeaked, “Sorry!”
The creature nodded and then said, “Emily? Please blow out your candles.”
Emily smiled at the creature and then started to blow. It took several attempts to extinguish the conflagration of candles, but she eventually succeeded and a cheer erupted from her end of the table.
Meanwhile, the other side of the table remained stoically quiet and unmoved. The man dressed in black, in fact wore a deep scowl observing the candle-blowing.
The tall creature turned from Emily and her cadre of ghosts towards the darkly dressed side of the table. “This day also marks Leland’s deathday,” he gestured towards the man in the black suit who finally cracked a tight smile.
Another group of black orbs moved a black-frosted cake towards that end of the table. No one spoke, no one cheered, but as the cake was set down in front of him, Leland said simply, “Thank you, Aeternus.” Then, under his breath he said, “though I have no idea why we still humor anyone celebrating a birthday.” The last word was said with utter disdain.
“What did you say?” Emily demanded. The entire table went silent.
“I said,” Leland spoke for everyone to hear, “I have no idea why any self-respecting ghost would celebrate their birthday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Emily said. “Sorry to remind you that origins matter. Everyone here,” she started then added, “Excepting Aeternus and his minions,” the creature inclined its top hatted head. “Everyone here was born. That’s why we celebrate birthdays even as ghosts,” she folded her arms across her chest.
“How quaint,” Leland sneered. “And I agree, origins matter. Which is why we celebrate the day you died as the beginning of your existence on this plane. The day you transitioned from a physical plane to this spectral plane. This origin is the discarding of that fragile life that – like your candles – was extinguished. Our death is worth celebrating.”
“Oh, is that so?” Emily retorted. “But you acknowledge that we all lived lives before we died. Celebrating ones birthday is a celebration of that time we struggled as the living, an acknowledgement of the time we spent breathing, loving, growing, and, yes, ultimately dying.”
“Dying being the operative word, Ms. Emily,” Leland said. “We’re not alive anymore. Celebrating our deathday is a way to acknowledge the finality of dying and reflecting on our lives in this spectral realm.”
“But birthdays represent the foundation of one’s personality, character, and experiences. The challenges and triumphs a soul faces during life stems from their birthday, giving it immense importance.”
“On the contrary, celebrating ones deathday is an acceptance of our change of state. It’s recognizing a closure of our mortal life and reflecting on our current condition – a far more important thing to do in this spectral realm.”
“Umm, excuse me, both of you,” said a young girl sitting at the middle point of the table.
Both Leland and Emily were about to talk over the child before Aeternus raised his booming voice. “I believe little Alice has a point to make,” he announced, and all eyes fell on the little girl.
She blushed at all the attention but then said, “I think birthdays and deathdays are both important, but I think you both are missing the point of this celebration…”
Emily leaned forward in curiosity and Leland raised an eyebrow at the little girl.
She smiled a missing-tooth smile and said as a black orb set a plate in front of her, “the most important part is the cake!” and she looked hungrily at the plate on which sat a slice of rainbow cake and a slice of dark chocolate cake.
“Here here!” a man in a 1920’s suit raised his fork in salute to the little girl as he dug into his own cake.
Leland shrugged in surrender and offered a genuine smile down the table at Emily. “Happy Birthday, Emily.”
And Emily raised a forkful of colorful cake and said, “And Happy Deathday, Leland.”
In the old fish packing plant on a derelict pier on the edge of the city the ghosts all ate cake on the 30th of October.
