Michael Turns Ten

          My son once told me that he was afraid he would one day forget his Mother. She had been dead two years. He told me this a week before his ninth birthday at dinner right in front of his sister Annabel, who upon hearing this dropped her egg roll in mid bite and started balling. This subsequently led to Michael and me howling, and before we knew it, the three of us were a triangle of snivels, tears and mucus. This scene happened more often than not. It was hard to let go of Amy.

            That evening, after four readings of Annabel’s favourite story, The Munchkin Munching Machine, she finally surrendered to sleep. I made my way to Michael’s room to tuck him in. He was perched on the side of his bed playing a hand held video game that his aunt Rita had sent to him from out West. I sat beside him.

            “Mike,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said at dinner, and I want to help.”

            “How? I’m already forgetting things... what she smells like. I know she can’t come back.”

            “That’s true, but there are ways to remember the ones you love. What is the one thing you remember that made you love Mom the most?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Come on bud, there’s got to be something.”  

            “I miss my birthdays. Mom would always throw parties for me with cake and my friends and a magic show. I loved when she did that. I think I want to do that again,” he said this, looking up at me with sad kid eyes that cut into my heart like hot daggers.

            I realized that Michael hadn’t had a genuine birthday party since Amy passed. He hadn’t wanted one. He must have felt guilty about celebrating.

            “Mikey,” I said, “consider it done. I’m gonna throw you a party just like Mom used to.”

            “You mean it?”

            “Just you wait.”

            I wrapped his Spiderman sheets around his body like a cocoon.

            “Goodnight buddy.”

 

....

 

            The party was on a Saturday. My preparation was so meticulous that I doubt as much effort went into planning the Normandy Invasion. I left no invitation unsent, no goody bag unstuffed. The attendees were as follows: Michael, Annabel, Shelly (their cousin), seven of Michael’s closest friends, and crusty old Grandpa Jack who was Shelly’s legal guardian. Including me, there were twelve in all. I tried to make everything as authentic as possible for Michael. I even made a cake.

            Amy used to say baking a cake gave the house that “birthday smell”. Mike’s original birthday smelled like a birth canal and amniotic fluid, but I suppose I know what she meant. I gathered ingredients from the supermarket. I tried to make the cake look like The Thing, Michael’s favourite superhero, and I planned to write: Happy Tenth Birthday above his phallic looking head once it was finished baking. I popped him in the oven.

            The week before, I called a number of party magicians and could only find two in the area. The first number, some guy who called himself “The Great Bonanzo”, didn’t return my message, so I settled on a “Vincent the Great”.

            The living room was decorated with streamers and birthday balloons, and I even managed to find a piñata at the last minute. When parents started dropping off their kids, and the presents piled up next to the window, I was sure Amy would be proud of what I had orchestrated for Mikey.  Once the kids were settled, I asked Grandpa Jack to watch them while I poured some punch and put together some snacks.

            “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on the little b******s.”

            “Jack, please don’t call them b******s,” I said. “And where did Annabel and Shelly go? They were right here a minute ago.”

            “They took off upstairs,” he said.

            I climbed the stairs asking myself why I invited Grandpa Jack when I heard giggling from my master bedroom. I found Annabel and Shelly in my closet, trying on Amy’s old clothes.

            “Girls,” I said as commanding as possible. “Stay downstairs; this is not a play room.”

            They flew past me in a fit of laughter, Shelly stamping on my foot as she passed. I thought I saw something under Annabel’s shirt, but before I could question her about it, the doorbell rang.

            Vincent the Great had arrived. He was dressed as a medieval wizard and spoke in character when I opened the door. His hands waved around ridiculously. He looked like a complete jackass.

            “Behold! I am Vincent the Great! I am here for the festivities to demonstrate a remarkable flurry of illusions! May I enter thy humble abode?”

            “In the living room,” I said, not impressed.

            Vincent set up his show. The kids took their seats around the carpet. Once they were all settled I made my way to the kitchen to check on the cake. Grandpa Jack grabbed my arm.

            “You mind if I watch TV?”

            “Fine, just keep the volume muted,” I told him. “And stay away from channel five hundred fourty.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “Just stay away from it,” I warned.

            “I fought in three wars,” he said.

            “No, you were a roadie for Steppenwolf,” I said.

            Vincent started his magic show and I made my way into the kitchen. The cake needed another ten minutes, so I started separating paper plates and counted out twelve plastic forks. The doorbell rang again.

            “Who dares disturb my illusions?!” Vincent yelled from the living room.

            I ran to the door and couldn’t believe my eyes. Another wizard jackass stood before me waving a plastic wand.

            “Behold! I’m�"”

            “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

            He brushed past me into the foyer, taking off his shoes.

            “The Great Bonanzo! You called my answering machine to book me for today, and presto! I have appeared; ready to conjure an assortment of fantasy and trickery!”

            Just as I was about to kick Bonanzo’s a*s out, Vincent interrupted me.

            “Yooooooou!” He bellowed. “You dare set foot in my presence? I thought I banished you last week!”

            “Last week?! Bah! You stubborn hack! Your futile enchantments are but a stone to my mountainous power!”

            Vincent actually spit on my floor. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The children watched in awe of these two jackasses, shovelling Cheetos into their mouths. I tried to intervene.

            “Alright, that’s it! I want the two of you idiots�"”

            “Excelorento!” interrupted Bonanzo, pulling a multicoloured ribbon from his sleeve. He balled it up into his hand, turning it into a tennis ball, which he hurled toward Vincent. He dodged the projectile as it slammed into the mantle above the fire place, knocking over an antique ornament.

            “Vendee Begonia!” shrieked Vincent, taking four rings from his sleeve, connecting them together into a chain. He swung it around himself like a nun chuck, beckoning his rival toward him.

            Before I could get between them, I heard the smoke detector screaming. I’d forgotten about the cake.

            I bolted into the kitchen. Plumes of smoke came up toward my face and the heat from the oven burned my eyebrows. I looked down at the cake. The Thing was somehow more deformed than his previous self. He was also now African American.

            The commotion in the living room escalated in my absence. When I walked back into the scene, I witnessed what I’m sure Hell would resemble.

            Grandpa Jack ignored my warning and had the TV locked to channel five hundred fourty. It displayed a muted version of a film titled Gang Bang Ghandi. While Ghandi was getting blown by three of his wives, Annabelle chased Shelly around the TV set, brandishing Amy’s old vibrator. I realized that they must have stolen it from the upstairs closet. Before I could switch off the TV and grab the vibrator, I noticed that Mike and his friends had ripped apart the piñata with their bare hands and were feasting on its Twisler and Mars Bar innards like a hoard of sugar crazed zombies. Behind them were the two battling magicians.

            Bonanzo strangled Vincent with his ribbon. Vincent tried to reverse this with a flurry of incantations. Before I could run over and separate them, Bonanzo tripped over one of the presents and the two of them crashed through the front window of the living room.

            Through the thick cloud of cake smoke I could see several of the kid’s parents pulling up to my driveway through the shattered window. Annabelle came over to me in tears, holding the severed head of the piñata.

            “Daddy, take donkey to the Hopspittle!”

            I looked into the thing’s lifeless paper eyes, envying it, dropping to my knees, crushing shards of glass and candy bars. The calamity around me seemed to blur and mute itself as I fell into a daze. God I missed Amy.

            God, I miss my wife.        

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

What a hoot! With it's sad beginning, I really didn't expect the metamorphosis it would undergo. I have no idea if it's true or not and don't want to make too much of the humor and diminish the very tragic and sad part, but this is REALLY funny. A few mispelled words and punctuation, but overall, a real gem.

[Gray Witch]

OMG... Now THAT was hilarious and really well written. I loved it....Most Mom's have similar stories so don't fret .... You will always be glad that you put it all down for the future and so will your children....I also feel as Sam does and don't want to make less of your pain at losing your wife, but this story is amazing. Thank you for sharing it with us all...

[Timothy Lawmowe]

Wow. like having kids but with.... well like having kids. funny as hell!

[Erin]

This was really good. I really liked it a lot. In fact, so far, I've really liked everything that I've read from you. It started off really sad and kind of ended sadly too, but it was in turn a really funny story. I enjoyed it...a lot. Gosh, I'm repetitive. But that's not the point.
You've got some talent, I must admit. Great job.
Oh yeah, I had the same problems too but when you copy/paste things into Writers Cafe, it does this really weird things with dashes (--) where it turns them into "'s...yeah, that's right.
I don't know why.
Here's an example:
“Alright, that’s it! I want the two of you idiots"”
So, you know, just to let you know, in case you didn't.
PBP