Happy Birthday to Me

by Brian Rowe

  “Mrs. Gordon, I’m really sorry about all this—”

  “Are you?” she screamed, her voice as earsplitting as an early morning car alarm.

  I started wondering if I was going to make it out of this office alive. She stood up and leaned against her desk, taking great joy in making me feel like an irrelevant philistine, in the only small space in the world she had any power. She stared at me so fiercely I thought my eyes would burn out of their sockets.

  “You’ve pulled some stunts in my day, but attempting to fornicate all over Homer and Charles Dickens? You’ve shamed me and my library for the last time. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that you’re leaving us at the end of the semester. It means that finally I can have some peace and quiet!”

  Before I could stand up, she unexpectedly stepped toward me and pulled my hair back, way harder than she ever had before. She kneeled down toward me close enough to kiss me. I could tell she didn’t floss.

  “Just a few more weeks, Mr. Martin. Can you promise me you’ll never step foot in my library again?”

  “Uhh, sure, I guess,” I muffled.

  “What was that?” She pulled on my hair even harder. It felt like she was going to tear my scalp clean off. “I DIDN’T QUITE HEAR YOU!”

  “Yes! I promise, yes!”

  “Good!”

  She let go of my hair and I fell back with the chair, landing with a loud thud against the tacky orange carpet.

  “Now get out of here and pray you never come face to face with me again!” she screamed.

  She sat back down and started writing so hard against a blank sheet of paper that the tip of her pencil broke in seconds.

  “Mrs. Gordon?” I asked, standing up slowly, my hand already on the doorknob, “is it all right… you know… if I grab my t-shirt before I go?”

  Her red, fiery eyes burned a hole through my soul. “GET OUT!”

  I opened the office door and ran. I didn’t even bother with the shirt.

  ---

  By the time I arrived home, I had forgotten about the little incident in the library. My stomach was growling as if I hadn’t eaten in days, even though I had consumed not one but two turkey sandwiches for lunch.

  I opened the door to hear the sweet sounds of violins.

  “Hi, honey,” my mother whispered from the kitchen. She was cutting flank steaks with a large kitchen knife. “Did you just get home?”

  “Yeah, practice went a little long,” I said from the entryway. “Why are you whispering—”

  “Shhhhh. Your sister’s practicing.”

  I quietly tiptoed into the kitchen. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Doesn’t she sound amazing? She’s making so much progress.”

  “Uh huh,” I said, putting my focus more on the food than on the background music. “Can I have a little bit?”

  “Just a bite.”

  The phone started ringing. My mom set the knife down and made her way over to the back counter. I still couldn’t believe in this day and age, my mom, not exactly ancient at forty-two, still preferred a house phone to a cell phone.

  “Hey you,” she said into the large white phone. “What’s the update?” An obvious look of disappointment took hold of her face. “OK. No worries.” She sighed and started nodding. “I love you, too.”

  My mom clicked the phone off and walked back over to the flank steak. She took two plastic containers out of the kitchen cabinets and started tossing the food inside.

  “No flank steak?” I asked, continuing to nibble on a small piece of the juicy meat.

  “Nope. Not tonight, anyway.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He promised me he’d get off early tonight. He seemed to really mean it this time.” She got lost in her own thoughts for a moment, and then forced a smile at me. “But—surprise, surprise—another surgery’s going later than expected.”

  “How late?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I rested my back against the refrigerator as I took my last bite of the meat. “Well, Mom, you couldn’t have expected Dad to get off early. When was the last time we all ate dinner together?”

  My mom turned away from me. “I just thought tonight would be different, that’s all.”

  She opened the refrigerator door and set the plastic containers against the orange juice on the top shelf.

  I could still hear my little sister’s violin playing down the hallway. When I walked into the house, it had been fast and jovial. Now it was slow and somber, as if behind closed doors she could feel the sadness of my mother’s heart.

  “It just gets hard,” my mom said. “I mean, we’re months away from losing you. I wish your dad could recognize how little time he has left with you.”

  “Mom, it’s not like I’m dying. I’m just going to college.”

  She darted her head back, briefly but noticeably, like the thought of me dead made her heart leap from her chest to her throat.

  “Besides,” I continued, “he’s probably just pissed at me that I didn’t take the scholarship.”

  “He’s not, Cam. Don’t worry. We just want you to be happy.”

  “I know.” I noticed she still hadn’t closed the refrigerator door. I closed it shut by tapping on it with my pinky.

  “Did you want me to make you a grilled cheese or something?” she asked.

  “No, I’m good. I couldn’t stay for dinner, anyway. I’m meeting up with Wes.”

  I started making my way down the hallway when my mom said: “Oh, and Cam?”

  I turned around. “Yeah?”

  “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

  I smiled and tapped my fingers against my belly. “I’ll explain later.”

  I raced downstairs toward my bedroom to grab a fresh t-shirt and sweatshirt for my night out. My little sister’s room was right across the hall from mine, so by now I could hear every note she was playing. It sounded like the final notes of her depressing, melancholy music.

  As I took a step closer to her door, the floorboard squeaked.

  She stopped playing.

  I stood there, completely still, wondering if she was going to come out of her dark abyss and give her older brother an awkward greeting.

  She didn’t. After a few seconds, she started playing again, this time something more upbeat.

  I stepped into my bedroom and closed the door.

  ---

  I hadn’t even sat down at the restaurant table when Wesley pulled out his video camera and started filming me.

  “So, Mr. Cameron Martin,” Wesley said, the camera’s massive wide-angle lens shoved into my face, “tell me what you don’t like about yourself.”

  “Will you turn that off? Jesus. I see that camera more than I see your face lately.”

  Wesley laughed and stuffed the camera in his over-sized bag. “Well I know you wish I was doing a documentary about you for my final film project, but unfortunately, to get an A, I have to do something that’s actually compelling.”

  “You have to work for an A in that dumb film class? You’re kidding me.”

  “Dumb? Cameron, why can’t you accept the fact that the film medium is our greatest source of magic in the world?”

  I leaned forward and stared at the poor child, who seemed to have crossed the line into delusions of grandeur. “Trust me, Wes, you’ll think differently the day you fall in love. Or, at least, you know, kiss a member of the opposite sex.”

  Wesley turned away embarrassed. While I usually never made a big deal out of it, I did find it a little weird that he, at eighteen years old, still hadn’t shared a proper kiss with any of the girls at CRHS. He was a fairly attractive guy, and very much a hippie, with long brown hair in cornrows and an untrimmed beard stretching all the way down to his large Adam’s apple. He liked filmmaking and photography and anything to do with the arts. He was a pretty interesting guy, to say the least, and I figured he could get a girl if he just tried harder.

  I decided to change the subject. “Have you order
ed yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  I looked around for our waiter, but I could only see the backs of various heads. The crowded pizza joint, established in 1983 and known as Uncle Tony’s, was one of the largest family restaurants in Reno. Incessantly packed with patrons but worth the hassle for the incredibly light but flavorful pizza, it was located right down the street from my high school.

  “I’ve kissed girls,” Wesley said, resting his elbows on the table and crossing his right leg over his left as if to create more distance between us.

  “Name one.”

  “Julie Sanders.”

  “Julie Sanders?” I asked. “The band dweeb?”

  “We had a connection.”

  “Yeah, for like two seconds our freshman year,” I said, trying not to laugh. “And even if you did kiss that chick, it’d be as hot as making out with Mrs. Gordon, for God’s sake.”

  “Well at least I have my options,” Wesley said, ignoring my dig at the librarian. “I don’t have to answer to one girl every day of my life.”

  “Wes, look, all I’m trying to say is this: one day, you will find love. With a girl or a guy, or maybe even a chimpanzee. Whoever it is, it’ll be special.”

  Wesley gave me a sinister smile. “I’d prefer to keep waiting for Charisma to dump your sorry ass.” He leaned against the table and stared at me with awkward relish. “And then she’ll be allllllllllllll mine.”

  I glared at him. I knew he’d always had a thing for my girlfriend, as did every guy at school with eyes, a nose, and a penis. But the thought of my best friend making a move on the girl I shared daily smooches with kind of grossed me out.

  I had known Wesley for close to ten years, having met him in Mrs. Uribe’s second grade class at Galena Elementary School. His full name is Wesley Craven, although he has no relation to the famous horror director. In fact he’s already contemplated legally changing his name to Wesley Thorwald, the last name inspired by some villain character in an old movie he loves. We spent a lot of time together throughout our school years, but by the time freshman year of high school rolled around, we had started growing apart. I became more interested in girls and sports, while Wesley started advancing toward nights alone watching Alfred Hitchcock movies. Still, though, he was my first best friend, and we made an effort time and again to get together.

  “Where’s the waiter?” I asked. “We’ve been here a while now. Do I need to ring a bell or something?”

  “I think I see someone coming.”

  I turned to my right to see an accident waiting to happen. A drooling infant, who clearly needed a home with more attentive parents, started crawling out from underneath a table, quickly making his or her way into our waitress’ path. I reached out my hand and meant to shout something, but only a breath—not even a loud one—departed from my mouth. The waitress tripped on the baby, a tray of pasta dishes falling toward the hardwood floor.

  As I waited for the plates of spaghetti to explode against the ground, the waitress’ hand reached out for the tray. I watched, stupefied, as she caught the tray a mere second before it hit the floor. The food was saved. And a loud roar of applause filled the entire restaurant.

  She stood up, bowed once out of necessity, and served a family of six their food. After that, she darted her eyes toward mine and walked over to our table.

  “Hey, sorry,” she said. “We’re a little overbooked tonight. I’ll be right with you.”

  “It’s all good,” I said with a forced nod.

  I wanted to tell the girl to hurry up, but after the magical display of coordination she just showed, I figured I would give her a break.

  By the time she took our orders fifteen minutes later, my stomach was telling me through a knot of intense pain that it didn’t like having to wait more than four hours between meals. I tried to stay calm while ordering my medium Hawaiian pizza, but my vocalization probably came off to the girl as a loud, verbal beating.

  She turned to Wesley. “And what would you like?”

  “Nothing,” he said, pulling his camera back out of the bag. “I’ll just have some of his.”

  “OK.” She looked back at me and gave me a sweet grin. “Would you like anything else?”

  “Nope. That’ll do it.”

  The girl smiled at me as she turned around and started walking the other direction. She looked a little familiar. A medium-cute girl, with a pale complexion, and red hair stuffed underneath a goofy green cap, she sported a slim figure and a killer smile.

  I looked back at Wesley. “So, anyway,” I said, bringing my elbows down against the table, “you had something you wanted to talk about?”

  Wesley nodded, cleaning the viewfinder on his camera with the bottom of his jacket. “That’s right.”

  He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “OK…” I waited.

  “The thing is Cam… I don’t know if you’re gonna like it.”

  I tried not to laugh in annoyance. “You certainly have my attention now.”

  His eyes finally met mine. “OK, so, as I was saying before, I have to make a final movie for my film class, and I’m almost done writing it. And, well, I wanted to know if it would be OK if I used Charisma in the starring role.”

  “Oh.” I thought about it. I didn’t see a problem. “Sure. I mean, she’s an actress, after all. Why do you think that’d bother me?”

  “I don’t know. You guys spend a lot of time together. I didn’t want to impose.”

  “And that’s all you wanted to tell me?”

  “Well, not exactly. I’m in the movie, too.”

  I stared at him suspiciously, hoping deep down that he wasn’t going to say what I thought he was going to say.

  Wesley turned away from me as he struggled to cough out the main truth he wanted to clue me in on. “And I have to kiss her at the end.”

  Nope. He said it.

  “WHAT!”

  “It’ll be quick, Cameron, I promise! It won’t last more than, like, ten seconds.”

  “Ten seconds! Wes!” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Wes, since when did you ever act in one of your movies, anyway? You hate acting.”

  It was true. Wesley detested being in front of the camera. I caught him dart his eyes away from me, almost as if he knew I was onto his sleazy game.

  “I took a couple of theatre classes. It looks like fun. I don’t know. I’d just like to try being in one of my movies for once. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “I can’t have you kiss my girlfriend, Wes. Come on.”

  “I know, I know. But it’s integral to my story. You see, it’s a love story—”

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, starting to lose my cool. “Your obsession with my girlfriend has always been an issue with us. But this… this is on a whole other level!”

  “Cam, I don’t mean to—”

  “I’ll let her be in your movie,” I interrupted. “But you promise me, as my friend, you will not, under any circumstances, kiss my girlfriend.”

  He took a deep breath. “OK. Fine.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but another growl from my pained stomach made me re-focus my thoughts on something more compelling at the moment—ham, pineapple, and a double layer of cheese. The pizza arrived at our table seconds later, steam rising off the plate, the tantalizing smell rushing through my happy nostrils.

  By the time I was shoving in my sixth slice, Wesley was tinkering with his camera again.

  “What do you have that camera here for, anyway?” I asked.

  “I’m gonna get some exposition shots after we’re done. For my movie.”

  “Exposition shots?” He might as well have been talking in German.

  “Yeah. Of the moon.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I said, “but what you should really film is me.”

  “Oh yeah? Doing what?”

  I let my dimples come into view. I had been waiting all night to get Wes to help me with this. “The B-Day Chall
enge, of course.”

  “The B-Day Challenge? You’ve named your moronic quest for free desserts?”

  “It’s grown bigger than that,” I said, shoving the pizza aside. I clasped my hands together and sat upright in my chair as if I were de-briefing Wesley on a top secret CIA mission. “I got away with a free tanning session last weekend. I swear, Wes. People don’t check.”

  “They usually check.”

  “Sometimes. Less than you think.”

  Wesley shook his head in annoyance. He sat back in his chair and groaned. “All right, fine. You want me to say something to the waitress?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s stupid. You come in here all the time. They have to know by now it’s not your real—“

  “Just do it.”

  The redheaded waitress moseyed on over to us again, grabbing for the pizza tray and waving the check at us.

  “Oh, we’re not done yet,” Wesley said, pushing the check away.

  “Oh!” she said with a laugh. “I’m sorry. What else can I get you? Do you need refills on your drinks?”

  “What’s your name?” Wesley smiled up at the waitress with the kind of charm he rarely showed members of the opposite sex.

  “Uhh, Liesel.”

  “Well, Liesel—such a pretty name if you don’t mind me saying—I wanted to let you in on a little secret.”

  She seemed to be too intelligent to buy Wesley’s crap. “OK, I’m listening.”

  Wesley moved his mouth toward her right ear. The waitress smiled at me but I pretended to be occupied with my cell phone.

  “My friend here turns eighteen tomorrow,” Wesley lied, whispering loud enough for me to hear his every word. “It’s his birthday.”

  “Oh, really?” She stood up straight and stared at me with a suspicious grin. Again, I tried not to look like I was paying attention.

  “Yeah,” Wesley said. “Just wanted to give you the heads-up.”

  “Of course. I will be right back.” She picked up the tray and headed toward the back of the restaurant.

  I started laughing. Wesley was having none of it.

  “God, I’m so sick of doing that!” he shouted.

  “Why? It’s hilarious.”

  “It’s stupid.”