For my twelfth birthday, my mom threw a party for me. I hadn’t made that many friends since we’d moved, so it wasn’t a surprise party since my mom didn’t know who to invite. I told the handful of kids with whom I had become acquainted, but I was fine with a smaller party; I didn’t want to invite a person just because I recognized him in the hallway.
About a week before the party, I called Josh to see if he wanted to come. He said that he didn’t think he could make it. My mom had planned a lot of games and activities — there would be a piñata, “pin the tail on the donkey,” and she even convinced a coworker to come perform a part of his amateur magic show. It occurred to me as we sat on the phone in silence that Josh might think he was too old for these activities, and I tried to reassure him that he didn’t have to play any of the games or watch the magician, but he said that he just didn’t feel up to a party. He said, “Maybe some other time,” and we hung up.
After the phone call, I told my mom that I didn’t want to have a party. I told her that I was too old for those games and that magicians were for kids. I told her that the whole thing was a dumb idea that she never should have had. The conversation with Josh had hurt me tremendously, and, senselessly, the only thing that I could think to do was to try to hurt her. It didn’t work, and she just smiled and put her arm on my shoulder and said, “It’ll be fine, sweetheart.” And, inexplicably, I felt better.
The day before the party, Josh called me in better spirits to say that he would be there. It had been several months since I had seen him, and I was excited that we would get to spend time together and not have to worry about what to do or what to talk about, since there would be activities. I wasn’t sure why he had changed his mind, but it didn’t really matter to me. He was coming.
The party went pretty well. My biggest concern was that Josh and the other kids wouldn’t get along, but they seemed to like each other well enough. Josh was quieter than I hoped he’d be. He hadn’t brought me a gift, and he apologized for that, but I told him that it wasn’t a big deal — I was just glad that he was able to make it. I tried to start several conversations with him, but they seemed to keep reaching dead ends. I didn’t know what else to do; I had acclimated to the timid disposition that he had developed over the last couple years, but I had hoped that things might be different that day.
I asked him what was wrong; I told him that I didn’t get why things had become so awkward between us — they were never like that before. We used to hang out almost every weekend and talk on the phone every couple of days. I suspected that it all really was because of the night we snuck back to my old house, and even though I couldn’t know for certain, my voice trembled and quaked as I told him that Boxes was my cat and that it wasn’t fair for him to hold that night against me for so long. But he didn’t say anything. At a loss, I asked him what happened to us. He looked up from staring at his shoes and just said,
“You left.”
I was about to ask Josh what he meant by that when my mom yelled in from the other room that it was time to open presents. I forced a smile and walked into the dining room as they sang “Happy Birthday.” There were a couple of wrapped boxes and a pile of cards, most of which were from my extended family, since they lived out of state. Most of the gifts were silly and forgettable, but I remember that a kid named Brian gave me a Mighty Max toy shaped like a snake that I kept for years afterwards.
My mom was insistent that I open all the cards and thank each person who had given one, because several years before on Christmas, I had torn through the wrapping paper and envelopes with such fervor that I had destroyed any possibility of discerning who had sent which gift or what amount of money. We separated the ones that had been sent by mail and the ones that had been brought that day so that my friends wouldn’t have to sit through me opening cards from people that they had never met. Most of the cards from my friends had a few dollars in them.
One envelope didn’t have my name written on it, but it was in the pile so I opened it. The card had some birthday balloons on its face and seemed to be a card that had been received by someone else who was now recycling it for my birthday, because it was a little dingy. I actually appreciated the idea that it was a reused card since I’d always thought that cards were silly. I angled it so that the money wouldn’t fall to the floor when I opened it, but the only thing inside was the message that had come printed in the card.
“I Love You.”
Whoever had given me this card hadn’t written anything in it, but they had circled the message in pencil a couple times.
I chuckled a little and said, “Gee, thanks for the awesome card, mom.”
She looked at me inquisitively, and then turned her attention to the card. She told me it wasn’t from her and seemed amused as she took the card from my hand and showed my friends, looking at their faces, trying to discern who had played the joke. None of the kids stepped forward, so my mom said,
“Don’t worry, sweetheart; at least you know now that two people love you.”
She followed that with an extremely prolonged and excruciating kiss on my forehead that transformed the group’s bewilderment into hysteria. They were all laughing now, so it could have been any of them, but one of the boys named Mike seemed to be laughing the hardest. To become a participant rather than the subject of the gag, I said to him that just because he had given me that card, he shouldn’t think that I’d kiss him later. He gave me a slightly bewildered look, and we all laughed; as I looked at Josh, I saw that he was finally smiling.
“Well, I think that gift might be the winner, but you have a couple more to open.”
My mom slid another present in front of me. I was still feeling the tremors of suppressed chuckles in my abdomen as I tore the colorful paper away. When I saw the gift, however, there was no more laughter in me to stifle. My smile dropped as I looked at what I’d been given.
It was a pair of walkie-talkies.
“Well, go on! Show everyone!” my mother encouraged.
I held them up, and everyone seemed to approve, but as I drew my attention to Josh, I could see that he had turned a sickly shade of white. We locked eyes for a moment, and then he turned and walked into the kitchen. As I watched him dial a number on the corded phone attached to the wall, my mom whispered in my ear that she knew that Josh and I didn’t talk as much since one of the walkie-talkies had broken, so she thought I’d like it. I was filled with an intense appreciation for my mom’s thoughtfulness, but this feeling was easily overpowered by the emotions resurrected by the returning memories I’d tried so hard to bury.
While everyone was eating cake, I asked Josh whom he had called. He told me he wasn’t feeling well so he called his dad to come get him. I understood that he wanted to leave, but it was so hard to get Josh to come to my house that I, perhaps selfishly, wished that he would stay, despite how he was feeling. I told him that I wished we could hang out more. I extended one of the walkie-talkies to him, but he put his hand up in refusal.
Dejected, I said, “Well thanks for coming, I guess. I hope I’ll see you before my next birthday.”
“I’m sorry… I’ll try to call you back more often. I really will,” he said.
The conversation stalled as we waited by my door for his dad. The rest of the kids watched my mother’s coworker perform magic. Rather than sounds of amazement, most of the vocalizations were critical but in good fun. Despite the haranguing, the magician and my mother seemed happy; perhaps it was exactly what they had expected.
I repeatedly opened my mouth as if words would just pour out and catch the interest of my friend, but I would silently shut it each time. I looked at his face. Josh seemed genuinely remorseful that he hadn’t made more of an effort, but I thought I perceived some other brooding emotion behind his regret, though I couldn’t tell what it was. As I stared at him, perhaps a little too intensely, his mood seemed suddenly bolstered by an idea that had struck him.