Someone signs a piece of paper: the past becomes a stranger. They have tucked it away, marked it forbidden. They have baked a cake and lit a single candle. There is a banner and helium balloons. Pictures are taken: smiles all around, on every face, though some of them dangle askew like crescent moons or sickles. The adults play ball with words: lucky, blessed, family, home, forever. Mom says all her prayers were answered. No one asks about her questions. No one asks about the tunnel a small girl is digging beneath the living room floor. Hair hangs in front of her face, obscures her moving lips. She scoops and scoops her way along until she has disappeared behind the big blue couch. No one hears what she buries beneath the carpet. The celebration carries on well into the night. No one sees her there, silently reciting her new name.