Nobody Reads This Page – “Birthday”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-24)

 

 

The aging process makes us all equal, despite artificial divisions of culture, social status, and economic blessings. No one has yet found a way to escape the supreme rule of chronology. Time passes and bodies evolve. Some more rapidly than others, and with more dramatic effects. Yet this path trodden over centuries of human existence is the same. We all enter the world with innocence, and exit carrying fatigue and worries like saddlebags lashed to the midsection of a struggling horse or mule.

 

Those who die young carry a kind of immortality in our world. But it is artificial. Death preserves these individuals in the manner of a Polaroid snapshot. Frozen in time, vanquished, varnished, and unchanged forever. Worthy of enshrinement in galleries or houses of worship, where their images may be contemplated by those of us who are still connected to the continuum. For the rest of us, there is a slow drip of hourglass sand, falling. Grain by grain, until no more of this mortal reserve is left.

 

Such thoughts were active, as I sat with a cup of coffee in my favorite chair around eight o’clock this morning. The furnishing was my perch of choice simply because I could get up and out, when desired, with ease. I had been in bed dreaming about workplace gossip at a retail store where my own presence was as part of the management team. Everyone was buzzing about a potential takeover by corporate supervisors from our parent company. So, members of the upper staff had all dressed formally, to receive our guests. I wore a gray suit jacket, white shirt, and dark necktie. Apparel that was a bit overstated, but respectful. While circling our conference room, I whispered and listened and learned of the new plans about to be implemented. Our HR lead had been marked for redundancy. A step that I confessed to coworkers was logical and even necessary. She never meshed well with the rest of our team.

 

Predictably however, I awakened before reaching the conclusion of this unconscious episode.

 

For some reason, my right wrist felt oddly sore and weak. This infirmity made it difficult to palm my cane, for support in walking. Something that was a dealbreaker for maintaining my mobility.

 

After starting a BUNN brewpot in the kitchen, I heard my cell phone chirping with notifications. Something that made me slightly anxious, because I rarely had any human contact at such an early hour. But when I took the device in my hand, embarrassment made me bow my head.

 

My niece, nephew, sister, and a treasured friend from Cleveland, had all sent encouraging messages on this special day.

 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUUU!”

 

My face burned a little while I tried to focus on these texts. During the previous day, I had been able to shower, drive to the nearby community of Rock Creek for food and supplies, and then finish assembling a book manuscript which I uploaded to the Amazon KDP website, for publication. All things that put me in an upbeat frame of mind. Later in the evening, a neighbor visited to share brews and conversation, until sunset arrived, and the cycle of mosquito activity became a nuisance. I had a meal of Buffalo-style chicken, used to make tacos with cheese and sour cream. Then crashed in my bed. Never once thinking that the anniversary of another trip around the sun was about to occur.

 

My mentor from Cuyahoga County candidly expressed her disbelief, when I confessed to having forgotten my own day of birth.

 

“YOU SILLY GOOSE! SILLY, SILLY GOOSE!”

 

September seemed to be a productive month for reflecting on such life anniversaries. An associate from Chardon was born on the fourth. A radio hero who I followed via the internet, had celebrated two days earlier. His daughter and on-air partner, would do the same, in another week or more. My own block on the calendar was shared by a television personality and satirist with whom I was familiar, an R & B crooner that I appreciated in past years, and a cantankerous pal from Ashtabula who had passed away suddenly.

 

My mood was contrite in view of being so disconnected. I offered a plea for understanding to those who were miffed about this egregious error.

 

“One day is pretty much like the rest, here in my rural township. I clear the cobwebs in my head with caffeine, sit at the desk, and eke out some sort of writing project to justify being alive. I feel that it is a tribute to our creator, if you believe one exists. My work for having breathed in the blessing of life. I never want to take that gift for granted. Everything is connected to everything else. The sky, earth, and spiritual harmony of those who populate this blue ball...”

 

Least impressed was my friend Janis, a nursing-facility resident who has always kept me grounded philosophically. Her unassuming outlook never wavers from a straight-and-narrow path from here to there, and beyond.

 

“GIFT OF LIFE? WHAT THE HECK, RODBERT? MY LIFE IS EATING MUSH AND LISTENING TO OLD PEOPLE SQUAWK ABOUT THEIR ACHES AND PAINS! THEY TELL ME THAT I’M TOO YOUNG TO HAVE SO MANY WORRIES! THAT DAMN SURE DOESN’T MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER! THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A GIFT?”

 

Listening to her sober opinions was like a brace of cold water over my cheeks. Something that settled the moment, as I drifted toward a poetic horizon.

 

“Well, I prefer to take it as such. Though at the moment, I’m having some difficulty hiking between the countertop where my toaster sits, and the living room. I like a browned slice of bread with peanut butter, to start the day. It gives me a protein fix. And energy for tapping away at my keyboard...”

 

My medically-challenged cohort sounded off like a farm animal waiting for its trough to be filled.

 

“Don’t you do anything fun? Like watch movies or play video games, or smoke weed? Or ride four-wheelers around in the mud? Geez, Rodbert! You’re an overgrown geek! Get with the program! Quit acting like a dunce!”

 

Her assessment sounded very familiar.

 

“Yeah, I’ve been told that plenty of times by my neighbors in this rural park. It’s an interesting place though, very inspirational for creative projects. A place where people drive pickup trucks that are worth more than their living spaces...”

 

Janis must have been twisting her hair out of spite. I could hear her hot breaths surging, over the wireless connection.

 

“Okay, okay, enough already! I’m getting boooooored. Go play on your computer. I’ll call again later, when you’re drunk. That guy is more fun on the phone than you are!”

 

She hung up rudely. Only later did I realize that my birthday had escaped her notice as well. Something that made me feel less foolish for my own transgression. I guessed than such niceties were unimportant, when viewed against a backdrop of ‘Golden Girls’ reruns, walking aids, and Bingo games.

 

Her non-participation actually seemed quite appropriate. I appreciated not having to battle pangs of guilt as our interaction ended.