Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight
What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are- underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.
You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is.
Eleven by Sandra Cisneros
Edward POV
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Bella, happy birthday to you!" Family and friends sang boisterously out loud as they clapped in time with the song. Seated across me, in the middle of the crowd, was a blushing Bella. I watched with an amused smile as she squirmed in her seat, still unaccustomed to the attention she was receiving as the birthday girl.
As the singing and clapping died down, Renee, Bella's mother, exclaimed excitedly, "Blow out the candles and make a wish darling!" With a wide grin, Renee focused the video camera on Bella. Peering over Renee's shoulder, I watched through the LCD monitor as Bella hesitantly pressed her tiny hands together. Instructing Bella to lean closer to her birthday cake and smile at the video camera, Renee faithfully recorded every second of Bella's 11th birthday celebration. As I looked up from the LCD monitor, I watched as Bella shyly raised her brown eyes and flashed a timid smile towards the video camera.
To be honest, nothing much about Bella has changed over the past eight past years I've known her. Her eyes and hair were still the same shade of brown as the wood panels that made up her tree house. She still hated having attention trained on her. And she still couldn't walk across a flat surface without falling down at least once. All in all, she was still the shy, clumsy girl of a best friend I've had since I was five and she was three. And these very same thoughts swirled in my head the following morning when I found Bella seated in her tree house. Donned in a blue dress with a blue ribbon tied to her long ponytail, she looked to be about the prettiest girl I've ever seen.
"What's wrong?" I asked Bella as I sat down next to her. With our feet dangling off the platform of the tree house, I gave her feet a little nudge with mine.
"I don't feel it," she mumbled with her head down. I had to strain my ears to hear her quiet voice. "Everything's just the same and I don't feel eleven at all. I feel like I'm still ten."
Still nudging her feet, I shrugged and replied, "When you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one." Bella curiously raised her head to face me and cocked her head sideways in confusion. "Hmm… how do I explain this?" I paused and thought for a while before continuing, "Well, do you still believe in Santa Claus?" As she nodded her head immediately, I shook my head and said, "No! You have to say it out loud!"
"I believe in Santa Claus!" Bella exclaimed loudly with a silly grin and grinning widely, I replied, "Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten." Without a moment's hesitation, she glared at me and shoved my shoulder.
Laughing her reaction off, I asked her another question, "Are you still afraid of thunderstorms?" Again, Bella nodded shamefully with a blush on her face and I said, "Some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three."
"Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk…" I struggled to find words to explain my thoughts to Bella. However, she eagerly cut me off, "Or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other?" she asked with a bright smile on her face as she reached for the dolls behind her and passed them to me.
"Yeah, just like your little wooden dolls," I agreed with a small smile as I fingered the dolls. "That's how being eleven years old is."