Brian's Birthday

Brian McFadden entered his Language Arts classroom on the heels of his current girlfriend, Karly Reid. He tried to follow Karly's path so he could slide into a vacant seat beside her but their teacher, Ms. Monet, nixed that plan.

Pointing at Brian's assigned seat she crossed her arms expectantly.

Despite having his strategy thwarted, Brian bestowed an impish smile in Ms. Monet's direction and she grinned back. Rogue though Brian could be, he was also blessed with an abundance of charm, so it sometimes proved difficult for her to reprimand the high school junior.

Once class began Brian settled quickly and focused upon the day's lesson. He generally worked hard in his classes and took his studies seriously. Honestly, though, Language Arts didn't rank as a favorite class or even as a second favorite. He preferred the numbers and facts and hands on approach of the math and science disciplines.

A movement from across the room caught his eye. One of his football buddies, Bransen Elliott, motioned beyond Ms. Monet's view.

Brian shook his head and frowned. Though normally he would have participated in any ruse to get out of class with one clever excuse or another, today he wanted to stay put and just chill.

He had just come from gym where the Coach had worked all of them hard. It would feel nice to just relax and catch his breath.

"Do you agree, Brian?" the teacher's voice came from right at his elbow and he nearly jumped. Evidently Ms. Monet had worked her way to his side of the room while his mind wandered.

Or maybe the teacher had become savvy to Bransen's clandestine plans and decided to put him on the spot.

Whatever. He was still caught.

Brian had absolutely no idea about the question's genesis so he turned an angelic expression her way instead. "I agree with whatever you decide, Ms. Monet, because your knowledge of Language Arts far exceeds mine. I entrust myself into your expertise."

His sincere delivery caused the class to burst into laughter and even Ms. Monet grinned. "Pretty smooth, Brian, but from now on I want you paying attention to what I'm saying."

Grateful for the reprieve, he agreed. "Absolutely, yes ma'am," before swiveling to wink at Bransen and Karly.

Still, he delivered on the promise and fifteen minutes later when she assigned written work he picked up his pen, scanned the directions on the board, and began to write.

An Extraordinary Birthday

Brian McFadden

Growing up all my birthdays were always an exciting time at my house and the one real day each year where I could get all the attention for myself. It allowed me to be a celebrity-king for the day. Birthdays weren't like Christmas where all my happiness over my own presents competed with happiness from all my brothers at the same time. So over the years birthdays were times to savor and anticipate in a house full of up to seven kids.

My mama understood that sometimes it's hard being part of such a large group. So for our birthdays we would get to pick out a cake idea and she would have it designed in a real bakery. She let us just decide everything about it and when she presented my cake to me at the kitchen table I would get that excited rush of seeing something created just for me. The year I was five I had a cake that looked like a bulldozer. Inside it was even cake with green food coloring so it would copy a John Deere tractor's exterior paint job. I loved bulldozers then and probably had five or six toy ones. My eighth birthday cake was built like a saddle with a lasso because my dad was teaching me how to rope and I wanted to be a cowboy. The icing was caramel with chocolate for the lasso tips and I can still taste it. My fifteenth birthday cake was shaped like a bench press with barbells, because by then I'd gotten into serious weight lifting. That cake- that birthday was the last time my parents watched me blow out my candles and make my wish.

By my sixteenth birthday last September my folks had been dead a few months and the wounds were just still raw to me. Even now the pain just lies there right at the surface, and I have to work hard to deal with it some days. When my brother Adam asked me what kind of cake I wanted to celebrate my sixteenth I thought he was joking at first. He said he was serious and I told him I never wanted another cake and I never wanted another party. But he thought it would mean a lot to the younger kids and he asked me to reconsider. I eventually agreed and decided on a cake like a football, since I'm a football player.

Adam tried really hard and I tried really hard to make the party like it would have been if Mama and Daddy had been there. Crane and Adam had supervised the little boys and they had made me presents. Still, the whole time in the pit of my stomach I just ached though, 'cause I just missed my parents so much. Besides, sixteen is one of those major birthdays, like one and five and ten and eighteen and this was the first one my folks wouldn't share with me. Of course the biggest hurt was they had been there to welcome me the real day of my birth and for those moments it had just been the three of us. Now there was one of us.

That night I got ready to go to sleep and Adam came and sat on the side of the bed. He hugged me good night, wished me a happy birthday again, and handed me this packet with my name on it. I could see the handwriting was my mom's. I just sat there a long time just running my fingers over where she had written the letters of my name. Before he left Adam told me to go ahead and open the packet and when I did I found a journal my parents had kept about me beginning at my birth. They had dated the pages and both had written these predictions of my grownup life. So like the first day my dad wrote he thought from my broad shoulders I would be over six feet and my mom wrote that I would be an extrovert because I perked up the second people visited our room. My fifth birthday they predicted either a pro ball player or race car driver (dad) or an entertainer (mom). Six years letter they went with teacher or cowboy.

The last entry was for my sixteenth birthday and sometime before the accident the two of them actually stopped and wrote down what they thought. For that, though, they didn't make predictions. They wrote personal messages to me instead. Daddy said my drive and motivation made him very proud, and Mama told me she loved my gentleness and my willingness to fight for justice. She had filled the bottom margin of that page with hugs and kisses, x's and o's- all over the bottom and around the side. I held that book up close to my face and I could smell my dad's smell again. He always- well, he always smelled like the outdoors, the grass and hay and wood and leather- just like that. But my mom's scent was there, too, like baby powder and flour and lavender soap and gardenias- always gardenias because they were her absolute favorite flower. I'm a pretty tough guy, a football player, but I cried myself to sleep that night- you bet I did! I cried for what I had lost and I cried for what I had gained. I cried because I would never again question whether or not my parents had dreams for me and I cried because they would never know if their dreams for me came true.

Later I asked Adam how he had gotten hold of my book and it turned out that he had known about it for a while. Our parents had locked it inside the strongbox in their closet where they kept important documents. Adam had come across it not long after their deaths when he needed our birth certificates for the guardianship. He found my book there and thought it would be something I would cherish for my birthday. Adam was right. I am sixteen years old and I expect to have a lifetime of birthdays ahead of me. But no matter how many more I enjoy, none can remotely compare to my sixteenth, because it turned into the most extraordinary birthday of my life.

The bell rang as Brian penned his last few lines and Ms. Monet watched, impressed, as he stayed seated to finish his composition.

Nearly five minutes later he grabbed his materials and his assignment to hurry to his next class. He handed Ms. Monet his essay as she stood at the door and she glanced down and smiled at the topic he had chosen.

Brian remained beside her and she asked, "Do you think you'll need a pass for your next class?"

"No," he answered, "I can make it I think. I just wanted to say my thanks to you before I leave, though."

The teacher smiled. "Why are you thanking me, Brian?"

Brian pointed at his assignment and explained, "For letting me relive my best birthday ever."

Ms. Monet watched him jog down the hall to his next class and whispered, "You are welcome."