"Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday dear Adrian~ Happy birthday to you!" Everyone sings as they sway back and forth surrounding me and the great oak-wood table. I lower myself and whisper to the candles.
"What'd you wish for?" Friend number twenty-one asks me, knowing damn well if I tell her the wish it will never come true.
"Heh- it's a secret," I reply, scratching my nose. I walk around the house, glancing at everyone to ensure they're having a good time. My Mom confronts me as I enter the kitchen. She's wearing a large, puffy, yellow blouse to match her golden hair and bright emerald eyes.
"Hey, if it isn't the birthday boy! I can't believe you're already fourteen! You've grown so big and strong!" She says, pinching my cheek. Incorrect, I am short and scrawny. But at least I have a handsome brown face, emerald eyes, and curly hair. But, my Mom paints her own pictures. She insisted I have this party, no, she pestered me until I agreed to have this party. 'After all, you have so many friends,' she told me. As if.
"Man, I've been waiting for you do something crazy all day, but you're pretty chill at home I guess," Friend number nineteen says in front my Mom like the fucking air-head he is. He's a blond headed buffoon, and a well intentioned jerk--the ladies love him.
"Why, what crazy things does my boy do at school?" My Mom asks, raising a curious eyebrow.
"Aw, Ms. White, Adrian is hilarious is class! He always does and says the weirdest things, but it's really funny! Like one time he-"
"Mhm," I cough cheaply, elbowing friend number nineteen in the gut before he says some unnecessary shit. We both giggle. Idiots, they're all idiots.
"Oh, I know what you mean," My Mom replies, "He's always done and said quite strange things. Oh honey, remember that time you killed a baby bird. Oh- it was awful. My daughter and I rescued a lil' injured baby bird, and my boy jus' smashed it to bits with a rock! I thought, 'Oh no, my boy is going to grow into a cruel man!' But when I asked him why he did it, he said, 'I was putting it out of his misery.' So compassionate! So we just put him in a lil therapy, and now, he's turned out just great! You remember Dr. Bran, don't you honey?"
"No, Mom, I was three years old!" I explain, my voice cracking. My Mom really needs to get some friends... and some social skills. By the time she was done, half the party was in the kitchen to hear about lil' Adrian and his therapy adventures.
"Mmm, yes, the therapist said that it was caused by his father... well, I don't wanna get into all of that!" She says, the attention intoxicating her.
"Yeah, Mom, I think that's enough about me haha, it's sooo embarrassing" I say, slowly stepping backwards. She continues rattling off. Fine by me. She'll work as a good distraction... I need to check in with my generals. I need to know what Vier thought of the new plan.
"Oh, and there was the time with the priest. He took me and he told me that my son is so strange! That he talks to God as if they're equals. But, well, I don't see a problem with that! That just means that they're close, right?" I hear my Mom explain as I slip away. I turn swiftly, only to clash with friend number twenty-eight. Her thick blond hair, her soft plush lips, and the breasts of an older woman- all bounce off of my bony chest; scaring the living hell out of me.
"Don't touch me!" She screams, attracting everyone's gaze. Shit! I wanna punch her in the face, but I can't. Hmm... what's pussiest statement a person could make right now? As I ponder the room grows quieter; torturing the atmosphere I'd worked so hard to cultivate. Shit! But it's just when you believe a situation cannot get any worse, that it does- it gets so much worse. A strong knock on the door tears through the awkward silence, jamming chills down our spines. Who could it be? This late into the party? Could it be... the feds? Did they discover my plans?
"I'll get it!" I say, walking calmly to the door. If I freak out, everyone freaks out. I open the great white door and there stands a hairy man in black rags.
"Who's this?" I ask, turning to my Mom. I know who this fucker is. Green eyes, dark skin, and curly hair- old age didn't leave him very pretty though. "Why- honey... that's- I invited him... becau- well, he wants to see you," My Mom says, taking baby steps with every broken word.
"Hello son." The man says proudly, in a deep and endearing tone. The tone surges from his broadened shoulders but crashes gently. I've heard prison either makes a person strong or it makes them fat--it made the man both. I've known who he is and where he has been for four years now. All it took was a simple google search- the man killed five people for drug money and got sentenced to life at the southern Ohio Correctional Facility (Mom was going through her bad boy phase). So then, how did he get out of prison?
"I'm here to make amends..." He explains, taking a lonely step forward. As he does, my arm jerks involuntarily, aiming for his esophagus. Silence consumes the living room. And yet, I can hear everyone waiting for my reaction--watching my life play out as though it were a drama; immersing themselves in this fools tragic tale. All of them except for friend number twenty-eight who's helping herself to some velvet cake. Ah- a way out!
"Of course, of course... would like some cake... Dad?" I say with a smile. The man smiles back, barely containing his tears.
"I'd love some cake, son." The man whispers and the crowd behind me cheers. I turn back around but friend number twenty-eight is no longer standing by the oak table. I almost feel compelled to look for her, to thank her for providing me with the answer- the key out of that awkward situation. But, she's no where to be found... she only seemed interested in the food anyways. I hope she got her fill!
Time moves on and so do the guests. To other dramas- to entertain and distract them from their inconsequential existences. Until finally, only my father and I remain, bathing in the sun stained kitchen. I lean up against the entryway, while the man leans against the wide oven in an eerily similar fashion.
"Son, I just wanna apologize," The man begins. I peek into the living room to see my Mom cleaning.
"No need," I tell him, walking forward slowly and placing my right arm around his shoulder. With my right hand I casually slip a medium sized steak knife out from it's scabbard.
"Did Mom- did she ever tell you about the story with the baby bird?" I asked, twirling the knife around in my right hand. The man didn't notice, his attention focused forward.
"Yea- yeah, she did. Look, I- I'm so sorry son. But you don't know the full story of what I did, and I can't tell you now.. but I promise that I will one day." He says, gazing into my eyes.
"So, then, you know of the story. I took a knife and cut open that baby birds head while it was still alive, just to see how it flies. You see, I want to be free," I whisper to him.
"Son- that's..." He says, confusion fogging his weary eyes.
"And now, here you are. Another person to tell me what to do, to give me commands, to impede on my freedoms. Do you understand?" I explain while playing diligently with the blade.
"Now Adrian hol' up-"
"Shhh. I understand. The world is cruel. I mean, look at what it's done to you! I don't think I lied to my Mom. I believe a part of me did put that bird out of its misery. So which is the truth? Did I cut it open to learn how to fly, or did I smash it with a rock to cease it's misery? I think it was both. Dad, you can't fly, I have nothing to learn from you. You have nothing to gain from this world. Should I put you out of your misery?" I ask, glancing the knife across his neck. Tears begin to stream down the mans face, and he begins shaking impulsively.
"Son, I think- I think we all just need to cal- calm down, yeah?" He says, his voice quivering.
"You're right. The joke went too far, yeah?" I giggle, shifting the knife away from his throat. "Thanks for coming to the party Dad. I'll see yah tomorrow," I whisper in a deep tone. The tone surges from my narrow shoulders and crashes gently, ever so gently.