The Thought came then, as it did from time to time, but always at my birthday or at Christmastime. The Thought-the one I’d played with in my mind for the better part of nearly five years-The Thought that maybe my mother, wherever she was, was thinking about me that day.
I wondered if even though she left us to start some big, new life, that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t completely forgotten about her old one. Did she remember that it was my birthday? Did she know that Bruce had started high school? Did she even think about us at all?
I had this delusional fantasy that my father was in possession of a stockpile of letters and postcards from my mother. That he’d intercepted a mass of correspondence that she’d penned over the years and hidden it away under a floorboard in his closet or something, thinking that he was protecting Bruce and me. That one day, maybe even my birthday, he’d come to the realization that we were entitled to read what our mother had written. He’d hand over a stack of unopened envelopes, tied with a ribbon as if they were a gift.
The postcards would be brief but witty, with pictures on the front of exotic places that she had visited. She’d write how she was always thinking of us, how we were with her in every corner of the world, and how she missed us terribly. The letters would be long and flowery, explaining why she left and letting me know that she loved me.
I’d find out that even though she left us, it wasn’t because her life with us wasn’t good enough. Maybe she had left because she loved us, because she didn’t think she was good enough.
I swiped the tears from my cheeks as I threw my empty cereal bowl into the sink. Bruce staggered in just then, grumbling to himself about something or another.
Bruce wasn’t much of a morning person, so normally, I steered clear of him until he was fully awake and could act like a normal human being. But that day, I interrupted him on his way to the fridge, said, “Good morning,” and wrapped my arms around him for a hug.
We weren’t normally so touchy-feely with each other, so his first reaction was, “What the...?” But then, it came to him as he hugged me back. “Oh, hey, happy birthday.”
I pulled back to give him a kiss on the cheek. I had to stand on my tiptoes in order to reach his face. When did he get so much taller than me?
I gave him a big smile and a punch in the arm. “Thanks, Bruce. I’m glad you remembered.”
*
That night, Dad let me borrow the car so I could drive myself to work. It was so liberating, to finally be behind the wheel on my own. No Dad, no driving instructor! I immediately reprogrammed all of my father’s radio stations, but then set them all back to his original choices, thinking that if I ever wanted to borrow the car again, I’d better not push my luck.
I parked in the employee lot and went in the rear entrance to Totally Videos, where Martin was in the storeroom ready to greet me.
“So?” he asked.
I couldn’t contain my smile. “Yeah. I passed.”
He offered a pat on the back and, “Well, congratulations. And happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Martin.”
“Now help me unpack these boxes.”
And at that, my birthday party was over.
I spent a good hour unpacking the new shipment of movies, re-packaging them from their original video covers into barcoded clear cases, then stuffing bricks of Styrofoam into a few of the empty covers before shrink-wrapping them. I knew that in a few months, I’d be expected to reverse this process, returning the videos back into their original covers for sale in our “Previously Viewed” bin. It was a vicious cycle.
It wasn’t until about seven o’clock or so when Trip showed up to surprise me. It was a pretty slow night and I had just been daydreaming about him from behind my post at the front register. I was envisioning a Sixteen Candles-type scenario; Trip and me sitting on his dining room table, sharing our first kiss over my birthday cake. And suddenly, poof! there he was, right there in the flesh. Okay, maybe I spent a lot of my time thinking about him, so it’s not like he just happened to show up at some fluky moment or something, but I still like to think that I psychically willed him to manifest at that exact instant.
I watched him stroll in wearing black jeans, a grey jacket and a shit-eating grin. “Happy birthday!”
I must have been smiling ear to ear when I told him, “I knew you’d come.”
He came over and leaned his forearms against the counter I was standing behind. “So... Do I even need to ask?”
I dug underneath the shelf into my purse, coming up with my father’s keys and jangling them in front of his eyes in answer.
“Awesome! You passed! I knew you would.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face or the satisfaction from my voice when I replied, “Thanks. Even aced parallel parking.”
“Thatta girl.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a twin-pack of Twinkies. He tossed them on the counter saying, “I baked you a cake.”