Willy´s birthday (sort of)

The old, wooden steps creaked underneath Willy´s tiny feet as he went down the stairs. In the vestibule, the light was as dim as usual even though the sun shone remarkably bright outside. It was still winter and quite cold, but despite that Willy had opened the window in his room to let some light in and to breath the wonderful, fresh air. But the rest of the already much too grey house remained grey all through, except through some of the door chinks and windows that were not directed towards another wall. It was as if the light somehow did not reach through the thick brick walls in Willy´s house and Willy was not sure why. Although he was pretty certain that it had something to do with his father. He was without doubt the most colourless person Willy had ever known. At all times, when he wasn´t wearing his usual, white dentist coat, he always wore black or grey, and those were the "colours" of the house. Even all of Willy´s clothing had the same, boring grey and black shades. He went into the kitchen where his father, Wilbur Wonka, already sat by the table, reading a newspaper and having a cup of tea. Opposite of him on the table there was a tea cup for Willy too and next to the big cup there was a small, rectangular shaped parcel. The paper was of the common, cheap brown kind and tied together by the most common, brown strings. And next to the parcel lay £5.

"In this house we use our manners and say 'good morning' as one enters the room", Wilbur said suddenly, his dark, deep voice completely dominating the room. Willy jumped in surprise.

"Good morning", he greeted politely and sat down. "But why do I-"

He didn´t get any further than that because his father immediately interrupted him with a somewhat less stern voice:

"Happy birthday, Willy", he said shortly and finally put the newspaper aside. Then he went on:

"But it is not really your birthday today, if we are to be correct. Actually it is two years left to go until your proper birthday arrives and by then you will turn twelve."

"Yes, I know", Willy said quitely. "That´s the way it is when your birthday only occurs every fourth year."

Wilbur gave him a slightly sly grin that showed his nearly perfect, white teeth.

"Affirmative. But if you count all the real birthdays you have had so far, then you are not turning twelve next time, but only three."

He grinned spitefully at Willy, who sighed sadly and looked down, his eyes fixed upon the edge of the table. It was the 28th of February and he happened to be born on the day that nobody wanted to be born on. It was the worst birthday imaginable; the 29th of February. Today was therefore the closest he could get to his birthday and because of that he was always celebrating on the 28th. Although calling it "celebrating" was really an exaggeration of the most extreme sort. The so called "celebrating" usually meant a penny and a small present in the morning and that was it. His unusual birthday also gave people a strange opportunity to joke madly about his age – a chance which his father rarely ever missed. Neither Wilbur or Willy himself liked Willy´s birthday and they both had their reasons.

"Are you not going to open your present?" Wilbur asked suddenly and nodded towards the parcel in front of Willy. Willy looked at it, tilted his head on one side and then he gave his father a small gaze.
"I already know what it is…" he said in an unenthusiastic, careful voice. "It´s the same every year…"

"Nonsense!" Wilbur cut off. "Go ahead, open it now!"
Willy reluctantly put down the tea cup on the table and reached out for the present. He tore off the paper in fast movements and was careful not to look at Wilbur while doing so, afraid that his father would notice how utterly bored his son actually was. Inside the parcel there was a small box made out of cardboard and its contents were nothing more or less than a toothbrush. A completely regular, white toothbrush. Willy picked it up and looked at it for a second. He tried not to grimace and wondered if he could use it as a painting brush. On the other side of the table, Wilbur was watching him curiosly.

"Well?" he said. "Are you not going to-"

"Thank you", Willy interrupted quickly before he recieved any further remarks. "It looks… er, nice."

His father seemed pleased. Then he rose up and walked towards the fridge.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked.

"I´ve got tea", Willy said.

"But you are going to eat something too. You can have a toast if you like?"

No answer. Wilbur turned around.

"Would you like a toast?" he repeated, not particularly harsch. He just wanted to know. Then Willy nodded in silence, where he still sat, holding his tea cup.

"Good boy", Wilbur said and picked a slice of bread, butter and cheese. "You have to answer when I am talking to you. You understand that, don´t you? Otherwise I won´t know anything."
He put the slice of brown bread in the toaster and when it was finished he spread some butter over it. It melted against the hot surface.

"No cheese, thank you", Willy uttered in a low voice. Wilbur raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.
"What? No cheese?"

Willy shook his head.

"No, just butter."

Wilbur only shrugged at that and put the cheese back in the fridge. Then he gave the bread to Willy, who took it and began to eat obediently. Wilbur sat down on his chair again and continued reading his newspaper. They sat there for a while in silence before Wilbur once again rose up, this time to refill his cup. Willy had just finished his toast and tea. He looked down and tried to appear calm, but his unique, brown eyes with their strange, violet shade, were darting nervously around the room. He tied his fists together and took a deep breath.

"Dad?" he said in a small, high-pitched voice.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Er… you know… it…it is…" The words seemed to get stuck in his throat. He tied his fists even harder so that his knuckles turned white.

"Get to the point, boy!" demanded Wilbur. "What is it that you want to say?"

Hearing that didn´t make Willy feel any better at all, but it made him hurry and he did his best to put himself together.

"Yeah, well… It is my birthday today… er, sort of."

"Yes", said Wilbur slowly and a suspicious look came over his face. "I know that."

"And the other kids, they always… they always…" Willy grimaced. He sounded too pitiful.

"They always what?" Wilbur asked tiredly. It was obvious that he had had enough of Willy´s waffling.

"They always get a cake on their birthdays."

Crash! The big tea cup slipped through Wilbur´s fingers. It smashed loudly to the floor into a thousands of pieces and the tea splashing all over the porcelain mess. Willy jumped. He almost jumped off his chair. He stared at the mess on the floor, wide-eyed and terrified of what he had achieved. Then he swallowed hard and very, very carefully met Wilbur´s gaze. Wilbur on the other hand, was standing like petrified on the floor. He did not move an inch and he stared at Willy; his expression showing a strange mix of surprise and disgust.

"Sorry", Willy whimpered, his little voice more high-pitched than ever. His father sighed heavily and shook his head slowly, his eyes still focused on Willy.

"We have already talked about this", he said sternly. "You know that."

"Yes, but-" Willy tried but Wilbur interrupted him:

"No 'buts', Willy! Not in my house! You are very much aware of what happens to your teeth if you eat something as bad as cake! Cake destroys them."

"But it seems so tasty…" Willy said quietly. "Everybody say it tastes wonderful. I am the only one who´s not allowed to eat cake."

"You will understand when you get older", Wilbur said. "You might even thank me then."

The tall, imposing figure of Wilbur Wonka towered over little Willy. Slowly and nearly soundless, Willy slithered off the chair. He was careful not to forget his tea cup and the tooth brush. He put the £5 in his pocket. Then he made a small jump over the smashed cup on the floor to get to the sink. He stood there, washing his own tea cup while Wilbur still didn´t move a muscle. He was just standing there with his back on Willy and the only sound made was the water coming from the tap. Willy had expected that his father at least would start to clean up the watery mess on the floor, but that didn´t happen. Willy washed the cup as fast as he could and then he quickly disappeared out of the kitchen, quiet and fast as a scared rabbit. Not until then, Wilbur grabbed the broom and started to clean up in silence.