Chapter 5: The Birthday Party

They say it's your birthday
It's my birthday too, yeah
They say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you

—The Beatles, "Birthday" (used without permission)

The rest of June seemed to last forever. With few exceptions, each day was a repeat of the last. The gang stopped by once or twice each week, but only on their way to other places. Sometimes they were going fishing, sometimes to the mall, but usually they were going to Tito's to "hang out." A couple of other kids from school stopped by after hearing about my accident, but those visits were also few and far between.

The Morrisons stopped by every few days as well. They gave me Charlotte's address at the hostel in Montreal and I promised to write her. The thought of getting a letter, or even a postcard back from her, boosted my spirits considerably. Mrs. M's leg was getting worse, though, and by the middle of the month, it was bad enough to keep her at home. At the end of her last visit, she told me she was scheduled for knee replacement surgery the following week.

She nudged my arm, and with a wink said, "I'll get a cast just like yours. Next time you see me, we'll be twins!"

Aside from the few-and-far-between visits from the gang and the Morrisons, I had one more thing to break up the monotony. Every Wednesday in June, Mom took me to the big library in town. There I would spend the afternoon learning as much as I could about my new favorite subject: Ants. For instance, did you know that some ants actually herd aphids and protect them from predators, and eat the aphids' sugary secretions? Or that Honeypot ants have specialized workers that store a honey-like substance in their abdomen like a water balloon, which is then used as food for the rest of the colony? The more I learned, the more fascinated I became. And the more I wanted to know.

The trips to the library quickly became the highlights of an otherwise excruciatingly boring month. I even began considering Entomology, the study of insects in general, or Myrmecology, the study of ants, as a career!

I also learned some interesting facts about the Ant Farm itself: Milton Levine, aka "Uncle Milton," was born and raised in Pittsburgh, less than 20 miles from my home. His original business with his brother-in-law was selling mail-order toy soldiers via ads in comic books. And some of the Uncle Milton Industries Ant farms were manufactured right here in Jeannette! Most of them were made by NOSCO Plastics in Erie, but at the peak of production in the mid 70's NOSCO contracted out to Jeannette Plastics when their own facility couldn't keep up with demand. Unfortunately, Jeannette Plastics went out of business in 1976 when a fire destroyed their assembly line. The property, just north of town, still had the abandoned warehouse and part of the factory building standing. It's entirely possible that my ant farm was one of the ones made in Jeannette, but without any identifying marks on the pieces, it would be impossible to know for sure.

Eventually, June became July. I say that as if July brought about a change from 'excruciatingly boring.' It did, but only by adding further frustration. Independence Day, July 4th, fell on a Wednesday. The rest of the gang was either out of town, or had family plans for the holiday. I was stuck at home, alone. Even my weekly trip to the library was curtailed because it was closed for the holiday. Mom offered to take me to the municipal park for the fireworks show, but I declined. Even after a month on the crutches, I still wasn't comfortable navigating in crowds. We stayed home and watched the Pittsburgh city fireworks on Channel Four instead.

Saturday, July 7, 1984

The following weekend brought the annual birthday party. I had mixed feelings as Saturday approached: I was elated that I would finally have a whole afternoon with the gang and some of my other friends from school, but I was also sad that Charlotte was away. This would be the first time I could remember not celebrating our birthdays with a joint party. I had never blown out the candles on a birthday cake without her by my side!

The Morrisons were the first to arrive, with Mr. M pushing Mrs. M in a wheelchair. True to her word, Mrs. M sported a toes-to-hip plaster cast on her right leg. My autograph, which read "Get well soon! From your twin, Adam" seemed to brighten her day.

The Morrisons both said they wouldn't be able to stay long. Mrs. M claimed she didn't want to be in the way in the wheelchair with her leg sticking out, and Mr. M just looked worn out. It must have been rough on him, taking care of Mrs. M's every need while she was off her feet. Just getting her across the street for the party, he would have needed to navigate the wheelchair from their foyer down one step onto their front porch and another from the porch to the sidewalk along the driveway, then reverse the process to get her into my house. Going home would be the same ordeal all over again. It made me feel guilty for not being available to help them all summer.

I asked if they had heard from Charlotte. I hoped that perhaps she had called, and that perhaps she had asked about me. My question took them both by surprise.

"She hasn't sent you any letters or postcards?" Mrs. M asked, flustered. My answer in the negative seemed to fluster her even more. At that point some of my other guests, kids from school, had arrived early and wanted to autograph my cast. When they finished, I pointed them in the direction of the refreshments table and told them I would be there after a few moments. I turned my attention back to the Morrisons, who had been having a hushed but animated discussion between themselves in the interim. Mrs. M was clearly upset. Her face was beet red and her lips were pursed tightly. I had known this sweet woman all my life and had only very rarely seen her this vexed. Mr. M shook my hand, wished me happy birthday, and pushed her wheelchair toward the front door.

I took a quick moment to wonder if or how I had managed to offend Mrs. M, but any real pondering on the subject would have to wait. It was my birthday party, and I had guests to entertain. In fact, as I hobbled toward the front of the house I saw several members of the Alphabet Soup Gang helping Mr. M get Mrs. M's wheelchair off the porch and onto the sidewalk. Brett and Eddie even offered to help the rest of the way, assistance which Mr. M accepted gratefully. By that time several other guests had arrived so I started to mingle.

Most of my guests hadn't seen me since school ended, so questions about the accident and my cast seemed to dominate the conversation. There were also a handful of Charlotte's friends from East Middle, a pleasant surprise to me considering that they came despite knowing that Charlotte was away. Some of my friends and most of Charlotte's asked if I had heard from her. I put on a brave face and simply answered, "No." I did alright at first, but each time someone else asked I found it more difficult to keep my replies emotionally neutral. In fact, after about the fifth time my replies were downright surly. Well, if they wanted a pleasant conversation, they should have asked a pleasant question!

Gift time came. Most of the presents were either books or gift certificates from Waldenbooks, as everyone knew I was homebound for the summer. The one notable exception was a gag gift: a set of oversized bicycle training wheels ... from The Alphabet Soup Gang, of course.

Then I caught a glimpse of Mom in the kitchen preparing to put the candles on the cake, and everything nearly fell apart.

I had, up until that point, kept my melancholy mostly at bay. Having so many friends around, especially after the isolation I had been feeling for the past month, helped me almost forget that Charlotte wasn't there. I had even managed to field all the questions about where she was, how she was doing, and when she would be back without completely losing my cool. Seeing the cake, however, swept my fragile defenses away like a stack of toothpicks in a tornado.