Happy Birthday to Me Again (Birthday Trilogy, Book 2)

by Rowe, Brian

  “Can I at least tell Mom and Dad?”

  “Especially not Mom and Dad!”

  Some students walking to a school bus turned to us. I just smiled back, like Kimber and I were sharing a frivolous conversation.

  “Kimber, listen to me.” I took her hands and brought them down to the cement sidewalk. “The reason I came to see you today was to show you what’s happening to me, and for you to help me lie to Mom and Dad about my whereabouts.”

  “What—”

  “Mom and Dad can’t know I’m aging again… it would kill them.”

  “How will they not know, Cam? I mean, look at you!”

  “They won’t see me. At least, not until I figure out how to stop this. Which should be soon.”

  She pulled away from me. “I don’t understand. If Liesel is the cause of all this, why don’t you just get her to change you back to normal?”

  “She’s disappeared.”

  “She’s what?”

  Again, more students turned to us. I awkwardly waved back as the last of them stepped inside the overcrowded school bus.

  “I’m trying to find her,” I said, “and when I do, I’m going to—”

  “Dump her,” Kimber interrupted.

  “Huh?”

  “What? You can’t seriously be considering staying with her now.”

  “Stay with her? I’m gonna marry her, Kimber. I love her.”

  “She cursed you! Again!”

  “It was an accident…”

  “How can you ever trust her again? Every single time you guys have an argument, she sets a curse on you. What if you do something really bad, like cheat on her or something? She’ll turn you into a rat, or a hamster. Or worse, she’ll make you vanish into thin air, never to return!”

  “She wouldn’t do that! She loves me. This is all just a huge misunderstanding. I’ll figure this out, OK? I promise.”

  “How do you know for sure?”

  “Because she’s going to turn up. She will.”

  “What if she doesn’t, Cam? You’re growing a year younger every day?”

  “Yes.”

  “So how old does that make you now?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” Her jaw just hung open.

  “Yeah.”

  She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “So that gives you… what… just…”

  “Two weeks.”

  Kimber stood up, turned around, and started pounding her fists against the school fence.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Stop! Stop it!”

  I grabbed her arms and pulled her back. She was really bawling now, barely able to speak through her sobs.

  “I just… I can’t lose you…”

  “I know,” I said, hugging her.

  “You’re everything to me, Cam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I know,” I repeated.

  “Promise me you’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’ll leave her. If you find her and she makes you better. You’ll break up with her and call off the wedding.”

  “I can’t…”

  “Swear it, or I’m telling Mom and Dad!”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I shook my head and took a deep breath. “OK. OK, I promise.”

  “Good.”

  I started walking with her along the sidewalk, heading back toward the school. “So this is what I need you to do for me…” I started.

  I made it back to my car a few minutes later. I had another missed call from my mother.

  I’ll talk to you in a few days, Mom. I need time to figure out how to stay alive.

  7. Twelve

  I spent the last two nights at Liesel’s apartment, hoping and praying with each passing minute she’d return home, with a reasonable explanation for her absence. But by Friday afternoon, I had still heard nothing. I started to worry that she may be gone for good, and that I’d have to stay like this forever, or—let’s be honest—the next twelve days.

  Liesel had been gone so long, even her grandpa Dom was getting worried, not used to seeing her disappear for so many days on end. Of course it made him feel more comfortable to have me around the apartment, although, oddly, he didn’t really notice my weird aging condition.

  “Cameron, have you by any chance seen or talked to my granddaughter today?” he asked late on Friday afternoon from the hallway.

  I just shook my head. “She’s just… you know… so busy, preparing for the wedding and all. I was gonna go meet her in a few.”

  I didn’t want to worry the old man by telling him the truth. He stepped inside Liesel’s bedroom, where I had made her couch in the corner into a bed.

  “Remind me again, why are you staying here?”

  I sat up and smiled. “We… uhh… just have so much work to do for the wedding that it’s easier to remain in close proximity.”

  “I see.” He stared at me for a moment, before turning around. “I swear, that granddaughter of mine likes her fiancées young!”

  I tried to laugh. “I just slept well, that’s all.”

  “She’s always been a little cougar, that one,” Dom said as he exited the bedroom. “Do you want some waffles?” I didn’t answer him.

  I put on my sister’s super small white t-shirt and loose blue jeans—they were the only clothing that could fit me now. I managed to wash them last night after Dom had gone to bed, and now they had shrunk even more, making their fitting against my body almost perfect. I grabbed my car keys and headed out of the apartment. I tried to ignore the fact that I was hungry for the twenty-seventh time today. I had raided most of Dom’s pantry and fridge, and even found myself hungering after one of his famous waffles, despite the fact that it was no longer breakfast time. I made my way outside and down the corridor.

  My mom called me again yesterday, but Kimber promised me that she had told them what I wanted her to tell them. I needed to explain my disappearance for a few days, so I told Kimber to tell my parents that I had whisked Liesel away for a long weekend at an undisclosed location, for a pre-wedding celebration. My mom was apparently upset because she had something she wanted to tell us, but I had Kimber tell the two of them that I’d be returning on Monday. I figured that was the longest I could stretch it. And I also figured by Monday, if I hadn’t located Liesel, I’d be nine years old. And there’d be so little I could do at that point, that I’d have no choice but to reveal my condition to them.

  So I had a mission. Fix this, Cam. Fix this by the end of the weekend. Find Liesel. Make everything go back to normal.

  I kept my phone charged and by my side. I called Liesel at least fifty times a day. I knew she’d have to call me back sometime. She’d comfort me and tell me this had all just been some major misunderstanding.

  That is, if she’s not dead.

  I had to admit, after five days, that it was becoming increasingly likely that something unthinkable had happened to Liesel. But I knew who she was, and what she was capable of. She was going to find me. And I was going to find her. She and I were going to be OK.

  Right?

  I pulled up to the parking lot in front of the jungle gym and swings again, but today, I only stayed for an hour or so. I got out of the car and walked around the area, including that sidewalk where I had seen that strange female figure days before; alas, there was nothing unusual. I decided to get back in my car and just sit inside for a few minutes, quiet as can be as I surveyed my surroundings.

  It was so uncomfortable trying to control my damn car. Problems had started two days ago as I continued to shrink more and more; now I had to sit on the edge of my seat, my right leg stretched out toward the pedal. I knew if I grew any shorter it’d be near impossible to reach it. I figured I had one more day, at most. Soon I’d have to walk everywhere, and that was going to be a major problem. Reno’s public transportation system wasn’t exactly user-friendly. I needed some kind of new clue as to Liesel’s whereabouts soon, or I was
going to be at a loss, growing younger and younger by the day, with absolutely no lead on where I was supposed to search for her next. I didn’t have three months to figure things out like I did last year. It was only day six of my condition, and my age was already heading into the single digits. This was bad. I had to admit it: I was more worried now than I ever was during my equally freakish condition last year.

  I waited another few minutes, decided I didn’t see anything remotely suspicious, and started driving back out of the park. I reached California Avenue and made a left. I decided to head downtown. I didn’t want to see a doctor; I knew this wasn’t a medical condition that could be fixed. I didn’t want to see my parents, either; I figured I’d give them at least the weekend to think I was OK.

  I figured it’d be worth my while, at this trying time, to see a woman I had been hearing about for years, but who I always assumed to be completely bogus. Right now, though, after everything that had happened to me, I figured she was the most logical person to see at this illogical period of my young adult life.

  I stopped at a signal, yawned, and looked out the driver’s side window, immediately struck by the car parked up against the curb on the other side. The windows were tinted enough so that I couldn’t see inside. The van was big and brown, just like the one that had been in the parking lot the minute before Liesel was stolen from me.

  I rolled down the window. “Hey! Hey you!”

  The driver rolled down the window, but only to the top of her head. All I could see were her vindictive pair of eyes. This is the girl who stole Liesel.

  “Hey! Liesel! Are you in there?”

  The honk from the car behind me almost gave my small twelve-year-old body a heart attack. I looked up to see that the signal had turned green. I turned to my left to witness the van starting up and heading down the opposite side of the street.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said as I sped my car into the intersection and pulled an illegal U-turn in such a tight space that I had to stop the car, back up, and then pull forward again. I heard another honk behind me but I ignored it. I could see the van make a sharp right on a residential street. I followed.

  I could see the van starting to slow down at the end of the street. It was a dead end.

  “Yes!” I shouted. “I got you! I got you now!”

  But right before I slowed down, I heard the harsh sounds of sirens start blasting behind me.

  Oh no. No no.

  I looked in my rearview mirror to see a cop car right on my ass. I wanted to try to outrun the cop (for obvious reasons), but there was nowhere I could go. I was trapped.

  This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

  I looked ahead of me to see the van pulling into a driveway at the end of the street, as if this young woman was faking she lived in one of these middle class homes. I pulled to the curb and crossed my arms in frustration. I almost had her.

  I could make a run for it. What’s the worst that could happen? The cop shoots me and I die. I’ll probably die, anyway. Seriously.

  I turned off the radio and rolled down the window. I waited an agonizing minute for the middle-aged black cop to step out of his car and make his way up to me.

  I tried to make my voice sound low. “Uhh, good afternoon, officer.”

  “You pulled an illegal U-turn back there, sonny. Did you see it?”

  “Uhh, no I didn’t.”

  The cop took another step forward, and then turned to me. He crossed his arms and showcased a giant grin on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “How old are you?”

  I looked up at him. I brought my hands to the wheel. “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen? I might have bought sixteen, kid. Maybe. There’s no way you’re eighteen. What do you take me for, an idiot?”

  “No, of course not. I get that all the time. I look really young for my age.”

  “If you’re eighteen, I’m Denzel Washington. License and registration. I look forward to seeing this.”

  I pulled my registration out of the glove compartment, and went to grab my wallet from my back pocket. But the wallet wasn’t there. I wanted to start crying. Everything was going to start unraveling if I didn’t have that driver’s license to prove I was eighteen. But then I sighed, happily, finding the wallet grazing the edge of the passenger seat. I pulled the license out, and handed both the license and registration to the officer.

  He looked at the picture on the license, which had been taken on my sixteenth birthday, just a few months before I really sprouted. Thankfully I didn’t look noticeably different from when I took that picture and now. I certainly looked young, and probably not close to eighteen. But I figured I had enough proof to scoot by.

  “What’s your birthdate?” he asked.

  “June tenth, 1994.”

  He sighed. “That means you’re almost nineteen.” He analyzed the license even further. “Wait, you’re Cameron Martin.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You’re the kid who had that weird aging disease. My boy talked about you all the time.”

  “Your boy?”

  “Yeah. His name’s Aaron. You two played b-ball together.”

  “Oh, you’re Aaron’s dad? It’s nice to meet you.”

  I stuck my hand out, and he shook it. “My name’s Arthur. It’s nice to meet you, too. Aren’t you the one who’s getting married?”

  “That’s right. We invited Aaron. I believe you and your wife are invited, too, right?”

  “Indeed we are.” Phew.

  I decided to take the aging matter one step further. “Yeah, see the thing is, as a result of surviving that awful aging condition, I ended up looking a few years younger than my eighteen years. It’s a weird side effect to the medication I was on.” I’m such a good liar. The best one I know.

  The cop handed me back the registration and driver’s license. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, suddenly cheery. “Please watch out for those U-turns, all right?”

  “Absolutely, officer. And I’ll see you at the wedding.”

  “Of course. Have a good afternoon.”

  I watched as the officer strutted back to his police car as jovial as can be. I could barely catch my breath. Oh my God, that was a close one.

  I stashed the registration and license away and looked forward to see that the van had vanished.

  No. “NO!”

  I just sat in my car for a moment, trying to breathe, trying to stay calm. I thought of the girl in the van. I knew it was only a matter of time.

  I’m gonna find you, I thought. Whoever you are.

  ---

  At 5 P.M. I pulled up to the curb in front of the sketchy house at the corner of Plumb and McCarron. The house looked dark and unoccupied. I wasn’t sure if this woman was still seeing anyone today, or seeing anyone ever. I stepped outside my car and looked in my wallet to make sure I had a few twenty-dollar-bills inside. I did. I wasn’t sure how much this woman was going to be charging, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot traipsing inside her little establishment with nothing but a couple of quarters.

  I locked my car and stepped up to the sidewalk. It was odd, really, to see one normal looking home after another on this block, with probably the smallest house of all in the dead center being the one to inhabit one of Reno’s most famous psychics, according to Google and Yelp, at least. It was a little red house, with a cute, thin walkway leading up to the front porch, surrounded by perfectly trimmed grass and an indefinite amount of shrubs. The sign outside said “MAGICAL ROSE: Successful Palm Readings for 35 Years,” and from this sign, I wasn’t sure whether to call her Rose or Ms. Magic. I reached the front door, which was painted a funky yellowish-brown, and knocked three times.

  I took a step back and heard, “Come in!”

  I opened the door, took one last look outside, wondering if this might be the last time I see daylight, and headed into the home. The waiting area was really small, with just a single couch in the corner, and a desk with various pamp
hlets on it sitting on the other side of the room. Ambient music played throughout the home, and the light level was low, so much so that I could barely see my child-like hands. Most of the light was coming from various candles placed around the room.

  I hate candles, I thought. Candles only bring me trouble.

  The psychic woman appeared a minute later, and I was disappointed to discover she looked relatively normal, dressed in a blouse and slacks, with the only unusual decoration on her body being a pink headband that covered most of her curly brown hair. I was hoping for a truly crazy lady, with a big black mole on her nose, jewelry dancing off every part of her body, and a cackle in her voice that would suggest she was the witchly mother of Liesel I had yet to meet.

  “Hello, and welcome,” she said, parting the drapes that separated the back room from the front. She walked up to me and put her hand out.

  “Hi,” I said, shaking her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Did you have an appointment?” I turned to my left to see no other people waiting.

  “Uhh, no.”

  “That’s fine. My establishment is first come, first served.” She took a seat at her desk and started writing on a pad of paper. I tried not to giggle at her funny voice. She had a weird accent, Brazilian, or South African, maybe. I couldn’t tell.

  “Lovely place, you have here,” I said.

  “Thank you. I must admit, I rarely see anybody in here so young.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not as young as you think.”

  “Really? Well, we’ll see about that.” She jotted some more notes down, and then tapped her fists against the table. “So, shall we begin? It’s sixty dollars for thirty minutes.”

  I looked in my wallet. I had exactly three twenties. “Sounds perfect.”

  “I take cash, but I also take all major credit cards, as well as money orders, cashier’s checks, and Paypal.”

  Uhh, right. I stood up and handed her the twenties. “Here.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She brought me through the curtains to the back room, which housed even more candles than the front. The ambient music was still playing as she blew out the candles furthest away from the table. She sat me down and lit a lone candle in the center of the table.