Happy Birthday to Me

by Brian Rowe

  “It’s the smartest idea known to man, Wes. Birthdays. They’re so irrelevant when you think about them, but people are obsessed with them, defined by them. People treat you differently when they think it’s your birthday. And they give out so much free stuff!”

  “But your birthday isn’t until June! It’s March for God’s sake! We’re not even close to your real birthday.”

  “But no one has to know that.” I prepped my fork for the decadence that was coming my way. “Don’t you notice that when you tell waiters it’s your birthday, they never check your ID?”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve heard it all before—”

  “And don’t you know about all the free stuff at your disposal when people think it’s your birthday?”

  “How long have you been lying to people?” Wesley asked. “Five years?”

  “A while.”

  “It’s childish, Cam.”

  “It’s harmless.” I turned to my left to see the tray, the chocolate, the candle, the waiters. “If I could… I would celebrate my birthday every day of the year.”

  “You’re just an attention whore,” Wesley said. “You always have been.”

  “Here they come.”

  “And that song! That goddamn song! I can’t listen to it again—”

  Wesley covered his ears as four waiters and five waitresses crowded our table and sang the “Happy Birthday” song. I watched with uncontained joy as all the patrons in the restaurant stopped what they were doing to observe the loud scene. I nodded, not with embarrassment, but with a sense of empowerment.

  “Happy birthday, Cameron,” our waitress said as the others departed.

  She set a large slice of chocolate fudge cake in front of my eager face. I barely took the time to blow out the candle before I dug my fork into the sugary goodness and took three big bites in succession. Wesley uncrossed his arms in time to start picking at the cake himself.

  The waitress set the check down on the table. “Your check whenever you’re ready. And Cameron?”

  I looked up at her, trying to hide my fudge-ridden teeth.

  She knows my name.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Good luck with the game on Monday.”

  I nodded. “Oh. Thanks.”

  She smiled one last time at the two of us and made her way over to another table.

  Wesley laughed. “Could she be more obvious? Jesus Christ.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “What?”

  “That girl. She wants you. She wants you bad.”

  “Really?” I did find her semi-attractive. “I wonder what her name is.”

  “She said her name, doofus. Don’t you ever pay attention to anyone but yourself?”

  “Sometimes,” I said, taking another bite of the chocolate sin. “So what was it?”

  “What?”

  “Her name, doofus.”

  Wesley gave me a death glare. “Liesel, I think she said it was.”

  “Leezel? That’s the worst name I ever heard.”

  “No, Lee-sul, not Lee-zel.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “If her name’s so special, why don’t you marry her?”

  He shook his head. “You’re gonna make some girl a really horrible husband someday, you know that?”

  I picked up the bill and waved it in front of Wesley’s face, trying to ignore his mean-spirited comment. “Well would you look at that? The cake is marked free.”

  “Yes. Good job. I’m very proud of you. Do you want an award?”

  “And why, my friend?” I pointed to the small type on the bill, ignoring his sarcasm. “The birthday rebate!”

  “You need help,” Wesley said, standing up and slinging his camera bag over his shoulder. “Seriously. Lots and lots of help.”

  “No I don’t,” I said, throwing some cash down on the table. “I just need to find more restaurants with chocolate cake this good.”

  I smothered my finger in the gooey icing and took one last taste.

  Wesley groaned all the way out of the restaurant.

  ---

  “Hey Dad.”

  I closed the front door and made my way to the kitchen. I could see my mom in her bedroom sleeping, the TV blaring in front of her, per the usual.

  My father still had his scrubs on, and he was casually reading the sports section of today’s newspaper at the table. His dinner looked to be no different than what he’d eaten the last couple of nights—a Healthy Choice meal from the freezer.

  It was annoying to think about, but physically my dad was in many ways a future version of myself—only my mother’s spirit existed inside of me. My dad and I had the same facial structure, same brown hair, same hazel eyes, and a similar laugh and smile. I could see my older self in him every given day, and at times it made me uncomfortable.

  “Hey, how was practice?” he asked.

  “Good. How was surgery?”

  “Long. We had a rhinoplasty today. It took eleven hours.”

  “Eleven hours?”

  “Yeah, I can usually get it done in half that time, but the patient also wanted a face lift, and that takes forever. We had to completely restructure her face from top to bottom. She looked like she’d been in a boxing ring by the time I had my way with her.”

  He got up from the table and tossed his empty tray in the trashcan. He didn’t hesitate to check himself out in the mirror, which was in the hallway behind the kitchen.

  My dad originally went to school to become a doctor but got pulled into the world of plastic surgery by a college friend who wanted to help his bank account more than he wanted to help other people. While that guy went off to work in sunny Beverly Hills, my dad stayed back in Reno to take advantage of a growing population that hadn’t a single plastic surgeon in its midst. Today, my dad is Reno’s most successful plastic surgeon, which also means I tend to see less and less of him.

  He smiled at himself and walked away from the mirror. When he finally looked at me, analyzing my face from afar, I knew some awful thoughts were starting to swirl through his egotistical head. He stepped toward me with an accusatory look.

  “What’s that on your face?” he asked, smudging his right thumb against my bottom lip as if he were trying to dig for a DNA sample.

  “I don’t—”

  “Is that… is that chocolate, Cameron?”

  I licked the side of my bottom lip to taste the chocolate frosting from the cake. I sighed and crossed my arms. “I just had a bite, Dad.”

  My father looked like he wanted to slam both his fists against my face. “This is the Championships, Son. You should be watching every calorie. Fruits, vegetables, lean meats, and lots of water, and nothing else, do you understand me? Chocolate cake? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “Dad, lighten up. I had a few bites. What’s the big deal?”

  “Cam, listen to me, and listen well,” he said, getting all up in my face like he was trying to emulate Coach Welch. “You only get a few opportunities in life, do you understand me? And you’ve got a chance this year to finally win State!”

  “Dad, I—”

  He wouldn’t let me get a word in. “Cameron, look. I wanted you to take the basketball scholarship. I think it was the best thing for you. But if you wanna go pencil skyscrapers, fine, whatever. I just want you to understand that you’re still competing, and that you still owe it to yourself to try your best, at least until the end of May—”

  “Dad!” I took a step toward him. I could tell in his eyes he was tired and just in one of his cranky moods. But the words still hurt. I shook my head, noticing my mom waking up in her bedroom. I looked at my dad with a cold glare. “How could you think I don’t care about basketball and State. I do. I just don’t want it to become my life. I want to do something different—”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know, you want to draw buildings for the rest of your life, sounds like a nice waste of time to me—”

  “I’m gonna study architecture, Dad! I’m sorry if I don’t want t
o follow in your footsteps and suck fat out of overweight losers!”

  “Cameron… stop…”

  “And if Yale accepts me into their architecture program, it would be the dream of a lifetime. Don’t you understand? It’s what I want! Why can’t you support me on this?”

  He didn’t respond. He just put his hands in his scrubs pockets and turned away.

  “Honey, come on,” my mom said, appearing behind me and motioning toward my dad. “Let’s go to bed. We can talk about this later.”

  My father and I exchanged awkward glances as I watched my parents make their way into their bedroom and close the door.

  ---

  After a fast blur of a weekend, it was finally time for our next big game. After suffering through classes I didn’t care about, particularly English—yuck—I found myself in the fourth quarter trying my best not to disappoint the large crowd cheering us on in our giant high school auditorium.

  My family was up in the stands, and despite his vocalized dismissal of me and my future last Friday night, my dad was cheering me on loudest of all. His presence signaled to me the real truth of the night.

  This game mattered.

  There were four minutes left. I looked around at all my teammates. Everyone had enough sweat dripping from his face to create an ocean of salt water below our feet.

  Most of the games so far this season had been easy, almost ridiculously so. I’d only been putting in about fifty percent. With a group of players who’d been with Coach Welch since freshman year, including two powerhouses both over six foot four, we were a shoo-in, finally, to make it to State.

  But the current competition, a rowdy gang from Desert Blue High, a high school located in nearby Sparks, had been pulling their weight tonight. This was the team that stopped us early the last two years. It was common knowledge in Reno that a team had to get past Desert Blue to even think about getting to State. There were still more games to win, of course, but tonight’s was an important victory to clinch.

  “Throw me the ball!” I started running down the sideline.

  Ryan didn’t even look at me. He was dribbling the ball so fast he probably couldn’t see me if he tried. He took the shot and missed.

  Coach Welch had his hands pressed against his face like he was trying to prevent the veins in his forehead from exploding. I could see my dad rocking in his seat back and forth, my mother sitting next to him with her hands behind her head. My sister had her headphones on, like always, but she was there, too.

  She caught me looking at her. “Go Cameron!” she shouted.

  I looked up at the clock. There were ninety seconds left. And we were ahead by only three points.

  I turned and faced my fellow players. Our best point guard was sprawled out on a chair mending a wounded knee that had collided with the hardwood floor just minutes before. Matt, our tallest center player, was staring at me, as was Ryan. As the clock started winding down, we needed to play the best defense possible.

  As the minutes turned to seconds, and our supporters in the stands started to rise to their feet, we had one final scare to deal with. The Nevada Blue point guard, a fast little munchkin named Jesse, rushed straight at me.

  I jerked my right foot forward. He was standing in the wing eyeing a potential three pointer that could tie the game and lead us into overtime.

  I stepped close enough to his face to smell his licorice breath, but I didn’t want to foul him. Our frantic gazes met each other, and for a moment, time stood still.

  He stepped to the right and took the shot. I jumped into the air as high as I could, and before the poor fellow knew what hit him, I slapped the ball out of the air and let it fall into mine.

  The crowd went completely berserk. The buzzer rang and I threw the ball across the court. It missed, of course, but no matter. We were still the winners. All the players jumped on top of me like I was a comfy six-foot pillow.

  I looked up into the audience. My parents were thrilled as can be, and my little sister was jumping up and down as if she truly gave a damn. Charisma and Wesley were standing—together—making an effort to cheer for me the loudest.

  Even Ryan was happy. He knew, as well as I, that this was our year to bring it all the way to State.

  ---

  The room was spinning. I felt exuberant, uninhibited, free.

  “I really think you should sleep over tonight,” I said to Charisma, patting her on her head as if she were a newborn puppy. “It’s the one night we can get away with it. My mom and dad think so highly of me right now they’d probably cheer me on.”

  Charisma sat on my lap, her arms wrapped around me, as the boys and I all ate the greasiest pizza of our lives. Even though I had just stopped by this pizza joint on Friday, I had already started to miss it.

  She took a big bite out of one of my vegetarian slices. “Not gonna happen. How many times do I have to tell you? Not until you become a man.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Not even the five-times-distilled vodka in her system was bringing her guard down. She brushed her fingers against my smooth chin and gave me a pouty face.

  I shook my head and started wondering if I’d ever get any action with my girlfriend. “I just won us the game! How much more of a man do you want me to be!”

  “Sorry, baby. It’s my rule.”

  She kissed me on my forehead as the players down the long row of connected tables talked amongst themselves, laughing, clapping with drunken joy. Some had their girlfriends at the table, too, but none was half as ravishing as my Charisma.

  “Is this all gonna be on one tab?” a voice asked from above.

  I looked up to see the waitress. It was the same one from Friday, the one with the red hair, pale skin, and green cap. She had a smile on her face, albeit one that looked way more forced than the one she displayed for me Friday.

  I handed her the credit card. ”That’s right! This one’s on my dad!”

  My father had told me I could treat the boys to a late dinner, on the condition that there would be absolutely no alcohol involved. Thankfully Matt had smuggled in some vodka for our sodas, so by now, during this second hour, we were all as happy as can be.

  “Oh,” the waitress said. “Great.”

  I turned back to my pizza, which was starting to taste so heavenly I wondered if I had been slipped a doobie, too.

  “Cameron?” the waitress asked, kneeling down toward my face.

  “Yes?” I looked up to see the girl’s red hair and green cap. I was immediately reminded of Christmas.

  “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the game tonight. You were really great out there.”

  She saw the game? I didn’t even realize she was a student at CRHS.

  The girl moved even closer toward me, now just inches away from my lips.

  I laughed, awkwardly, and everyone around me started laughing, too.

  Matt, who looked like a cross between Clark Kent and Zac Efron, nodded to the waitress. “You want some lovin’ there, honey? I’ll give it to you.”

  Another player high-fived him, while Ryan, sitting by his lonesome in the corner, just rolled his eyes.

  Agitated, Charisma pushed the waitress lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, this man belongs to me. Step back, just step back.”

  The waitress did as she was told and stared out at all of us. She didn’t look embarrassed. She looked pissed.

  “We’re past closing time,” she said, quickly changing her demeanor from forced pleasantness to annoyed scorn, “so I really need for you all to just pay the bill and be on your way.”

  The waitress started walking in the other direction.

  “Hey, wait a second!” Charisma shouted.

  She turned around and dangled the credit card from her fingertips. “What?”

  Charisma grinned at me, and I instantly knew what was on her mind. “We haven’t ordered dessert yet,” she said.

  The waitress started stomping her foot against the ground. “OK, quickly though. What would you li
ke?”

  “It’s not for me,” Charisma said. “It’s for Cameron.” She leaned forward and whispered, “It’s his birthday.”

  The waitress crossed her arms and looked past Charisma, staring right at me. “Oh really?”

  I wanted to just shake my head and put an end to the charade. This waitress wasn’t stupid, and she must’ve known I had pulled the ‘birthday’ card on her just three short nights ago. But I was hammered. And nothing in the world right now sounded better than a free slice of chocolate cake.

  “You heard the woman,” I said, standing up, and turning to my fellow players. “It’s my birthday!”

  Everyone at the table started clapping. Some were in on the joke; some weren’t. Charisma had been in on the B-Day Challenge for only the last month or so, but she got a kick out of every time I lied to somebody about my birthday.

  “But it was just your—” The waitress stopped and chuckled to herself. I held my breath, waiting for her to start screaming and calling us out on our cheap lies.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she presented the whole table with a warm smile.

  “The other waiters have gone home for the night,” she said. “Will it be all right if only I sing to you?”

  My eyes grew three times bigger. “I think that would be great!”

  I slid down into my girlfriend’s arms and pretended to be a little baby that she had to start rocking. “Free cake for me! Free cake for me!”

  “I want some, too,” Charisma said. “It’s not all for you, you know!”

  “It’s all for me!” I shouted. “It’s my birthday after all!”

  I turned to my right to see that the waitress had disappeared. I imagined she would return a minute later with a slice of the gooiest, most decadent chocolate cake the world had ever seen.

  What happened next was even better.

  The waitress appeared in the corner of my eye. She didn’t have a slice of chocolate cake in front of her.

  She was carrying a whole chocolate cake. Smothered in vanilla icing, with a bow of Oreo crumbles running along its side, and one single unlit candle on top, it looked like something out of a dream.

  This day couldn’t have gotten any better if it actually were my birthday. We had won the big game, my dad seemed proud of me, I was spending quality time with the prettiest girl in Reno, and an orgasmic chocolate cake was headed my way.