Birthday Card
Thursday, April 16th, 2009
Inside the birthday card, they’d scribbled his favorite word, Guinness, and written something about hoping he would finally lose his virginity. The envelope was scribbled on, too. His name was in the center in block letters with sharp-leaning shadows behind them: M-A-R-K. They’d spent a few seconds adding smiley faces, some with stick bodies and a couple striking poses with triangle-shaped boobs. Around those, some hearts were added in different sizes but all swollen and about to burst at the center. In one corner was a sun with a happy face in it, but it’d been poorly drawn. The face was surrounded by limp sunrays so it could be a smashed spider with dotted eyes and a mouth on its back.
Mark laid the card on top of his closed menu. This was the best gift he’d gotten for his birthday. He wasn’t a card person, but he liked it because they personalized it for him. He would have laughed if he read the card, which said: “(cover) I don’t have any regrets in life … (on the inside) except not buying condom stock.” He was happy with the drawings, though, and they’d taken the time to decorate it with words and pictures they knew he’d like.
“I’m glad this occasion could bring out such bad taste in you guys,” he said. The guys were actually four girls –two he’d hired as interns when he started his own public relations company three years ago. The other two were summer interns he’d let stay on until another summer.
“Well, aren’t you going to read it?” Samantha joked.
“Ugh, my mother used to make me read my birthday cards aloud. I hated it. You either had to fake laugh or act touched,” Andrea said.
“I didn’t get to read it. What’s it say?” Jessica asked.
Jessica took the card and Angie leaned over. “I hadn’t seen it either,” she said.
All four girls had excused themselves to the ladies room before they gave him the card. They decorated it and signed it on the sink, then surprised him with it together.
The waitress came and took the menus away one at a time as they ordered.
The girls loved him. They all were younger than him by at least 15 years and were into guys their age. On the way to the bar, they drove, and all the music on the way to the Mexican place was music they thought he’d like. They knew he liked classic rock, so they’d brought along some Whitesnake to listen on the car stereo. They were so young, they had no concept of classic rock.
“I want to hear Mark read it,” Samantha said.
Samantha was the leader of the four. She was the only one of them with dark hair and Mark had wondered why it was that dark-haired women always took the lead.
Mark glanced up at them as he read. Since it was his birthday, he allowed himself to dream a little. In his dream, he was drinking Guinness in a real pub in Ireland. The bar was closed and the barmaids were using a hose to wash the floors down. The bar floors were slanted so that all the spilled beer could be flushed out in one big river each night. He felt the foamy water thick with beer dampen his shoes and seep in through the shoe laces. The barmaids wore traditional outfits with big billowing shoulders and hats with ruffled brims that looked like shower caps. These last few details pulled him away from the fantasy. Irish women wouldn’t dress that way. He couldn’t imagine how they’d really dress or how this idea came to him that seemed more milmaid than bar maid. But, not being able to imagine the details of their clothing, he let the dream go as he closed the card.
“Thanks for the card,” he said. “I am a virgin you know.” (TO BE CONTINUED)
