I remember my first birthday on the Earth. I was turning six. We were staying in Philadelphia at the time, in a small, redbrick row house. Henri had never been very big on celebrations. The day was pretty much like any other. He was sitting at the table with the laptop and his newspapers, scanning the news as always. We hadn't been here long, moved in maybe a little bit under a month ago. Henri never liked me to get used to the idea of settling in one place.
I was playing on the floor in the living area with one of the only toys I had, a plastic rocket. It could only take off, fly, and land so many times though. Eventually it lied idle on the floor beside me and I sat, watching Henri, trying not to show any disappointment about my birthday being not so very exciting or special. He looked up and caught my gaze, staring back for a moment. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, sternly, as if he was going to explain to me that birthdays weren't so important when it came to our survival.
He didn't though. Instead his expression grew thoughtful, and he leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin, still looking at me. Then he stood, pushing back the chair and grabbing his keys, giving me a look. "Stay put, don't answer the doors or do anything you know you're not supposed to. I'll be back soon."
I nodded my head, watching him leave through the front door and lock it, going to the window to try to get an idea of where he was going. Once he was gone from sight, I walked back to the couch, falling backwards onto it and staring at the ceiling, blowing out some air, waiting. I closed my eyes, just listening to the quiet of the house, the sound of cars, birds chirping, people shouting from time to time.
My eyes pop open when the front door opens, jumping up from the couch and rushing in that direction, remembering Henri's continuous warnings at the last moment and holding back by the table until I see that it's him, my keeper, holding what appeared to be a plastic grocery bag. He started for the rather tiny kitchen and I followed after him curiously.
"What did you get?" I asked, trying to see into the bag. Henri pulled it away, taking out a carton of eggs and putting them in the fridge, but that's all for the moment.
"Just the essentials," He said, reaching into the bag again, turning his back to block off my view. He glanced back at me, telling me to go play. I frowned slightly, leaving the kitchen but not without sending one last suspicious glance over my shoulder.
Over the next hour, I heard many noises come from the kitchen. Henri muttering, the clatter of bowls, pans, and cooking utensils, the cracking of eggs, pages turning. I wanted to peek in a couple of times but I was always greeted with a stern stare that sent me right back to the living room.
After a little while, Henri emerged, taking off oven mitts and returning to the table to read his newspapers. I stared at him hard, trying to figure out what was going on. He didn't even glance my way. He disappeared into the kitchen a few more times. I stayed put, as a six year old having a very hard time waiting patiently.
At last, the Cepan stuck his head out of the kitchen, telling me to sit at the table. I gave him a funny look but obeyed, starting to ask why but he had already ducked his head back in. He came out, singing and carrying what I recognized as a slightly disfigured cake, lit up with candles, and he set it down before me. I stared down at it, my face illuminated by the flickering light and then back up at Henri. He was smiling, a smile like one I hadn't seen in a while.
I was amazed he had done this. I blew out the candles carefully and the cake was cut and served. We sat, each with a large piece of cake and dug in. The frosting was sort of an interesting consistency, but it didn't make very much difference to me. I was six. The only thing that mattered to me was that Henri would care that much about me to do this. It wasn't like the birthday parties I would have on Lorien, but it was good enough for me.
From that year on, every birthday he made me a cake. Some years it was chocolate, some years it was vanilla, and the frosting was always made a little bit differently (until he learned you could buy ready-made frosting). He always made a good effort though. Every year, the cake was served in a different location and another candle was added to the cake, signifying not only my age, but how long we had lived on Earth. How many years we had managed to survive.
It's my seventeenth birthday today. Henri's gone now. No birthday cake, no celebration, as little as it may have been. I'm traveling with some of the other numbers. I always think back to that first birthday though, and all the rest. As long as I'm living, I'll remember those memories, those little things Henri did. I miss him more than ever. Maybe not his stern lectures, but I guess I'm grateful for those too. All his life he spent preparing me for now, when I would be on my own, fighting, running, hiding. I owe everything to him, to Lorien, my race. I will not disappoint him. I know better than that.