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September 5th, 1928
“Ozzie!” A voice whispered.
The rabbit stirred in his bed, shoving his head deeper under the covers.
“Ozzie!” The voice grew louder.
No response.
“Oswald!” The person shook his shoulder more violently as each second passed.
Oswald finally turned towards the person, taking the covers away from his face, “Whaddya whaaant, Sadie?”
“It’s ya birthday, yu ragamuffin! Get up!” The cat continued whispering to him. “An’ dere’s loaaaads of people here.”
Oswald rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. “Is Dad here?” Sadie’s face dropped, and that was all that needed to be said.
“Maybe he’ll be here lata?”
“Iunno. Let’s go see.”
The two young toons made their way out of Oswald’s room and into the nearby studio. Oswald had been excited about his birthday, but something had been nagging at him about his dad. He hadn’t seen him in nearly six months, and he was starting to get nervous. Not like his dad would ever abandon him, he knew that wouldn’t happen—his dad loved him too dearly—but he had a growing suspicion that something was wrong. The way people talked about his dad, how he never got any letters from him; it was all way too unusual. He was hoping that his dad would show up for his birthday and explain his absence; that’d be the best gift.
“Hey,” Sadie pushed her shoulder against his, “Ya nervous? Don’t be.”
Oswald wanted to respond but didn’t say anything, instead choosing to give a tight squeeze to his dear friend’s hand. He knew he shouldn’t be nervous, everything should be fine either way. Still, the anxiety made his heart beat fast. He was sure that she knew that.
When the two turned the corner, a familiar man was seen.
“Mornin’, Os!”
“Mornin’, Mr. Lantz.”
Lantz squatted down, levelling himself to where Oswald’s ears stood. “How’s the birthday boy?”
No response.
He sighed, “Thinkin’ bout Walt, huh?”
Oswald nodded, “Is he gun’ be here?”
Lantz looked aside, thinking for a few moments about how he should respond. Sadie then turned to Oswald, stating, “I’m gun’ be goin’ so ya can talk ‘bout him in peace. See ya.” And just like that, she walked away. Oswald was thankful—he always cherished it when she gave him space.
The man finally turned back towards Oswald. “I don’t think so, but I got a letter from him recently with a gift for you.”
The rabbit’s eyes widened, “Really? For me?!”
“It’s not much, but,” Lantz reached into his pocket, then pulled out twenty-five cents, “he wants you to grab one of ‘em ice creams.”
Oswald graciously accepted it, “And ya ain’t lying ta make me happy?”
“And I ain’t lyin’ to make you happy,” Lantz repeated. “I don’t see why you like those ice creams so much.”
“‘Cus dad likes ‘em. So I like ‘em,” Oswald flicked the quarter with his thumb. “Say, I think we should have an all-ya-can-eat ice cream contest fuh my birthday.”
Lantz chuckled. “Really? What makes you think that’s such a good idea?”
“‘Cus who ain’t like ice cream? In fact, I think we should have an ice cream contest every year fuh my birthday!”
“Twenty-five cents isn’t gonna buy you that much ice cream. Maybe try again next year?”
Oswald smiled and tossed the quarter into his pocket. “Sure, and maybe my Dad’ll come to participate too!”
Lantz’s face visibly faltered. Did his dad do something wrong, or what? He couldn’t quite understand. Sure, maybe he did say, “To hell with Oswald!” and “I don’t even care about him,” but that was just a heat of the moment thing, right?
…Right?
Oh, whatever. Oswald wasn’t going to let this bother him anymore. He decided today would be a good day; he’d go open up some gifts, play around with his friends, and see if he really could make that ice cream contest a reality. If not, there’d always be next year.
September 5th, 1946
There’s always something to do or someone to see when you’re the king. Even on his birthday, Oswald was rushing everywhere. This time, though, it wasn’t the typical problem-solving and people-helping—no—this time, he was making sure everyone was having a good day. Currently, he was making his way to Gremlin Village. They came into Wasteland shortly after his birthday last year. After World War II ended, there weren’t many purposes for them, so they quickly faded into irrelevance. It’d be all the gremlin’s first time seeing what a holiday Oswald’s birthday had become.
“Gus!” Oswald shouted out, seeing the gremlin near his house.
“Oswald! Happy birthday, my dear boy! What’s the rush?”
“Wanted ya ta have the good ol’ Oswald birthday day! It’s like a holiday around here, ‘n I wanted ta see if ya gon’ do anythin’ fun.”
“Really, like a holiday? What’s going on today that’s so different?” Gus asked.
“Well, there’s loads of things ta do, like…” Oswald started counting on his fingers. “One scoop of ice cream is free, another scoop is half off. We got an all-ya-can-eat ice cream contest. We do more fireworks than usual at Dark Beauty. All the rides are free ta go on. We got ice cream cake—”
“Such a fascination with ice cream! What for?”
Oswald smiled wide, proud of himself. “I told someone I wanted ta do an ice cream contest every year fuh my birthday. And so I have. Ya wanna come?”
Gus shook his head, “Oh, I couldn’t. I’m much too old for those sweets. Gives me a headache.”
“Aww, I ain’t say you had ta do it. You can just watch the others make a fool of ‘emselves. Maybe you could convince some of yous gremlins to do it?”
“It does sound entertaining,” Gus pondered for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Sure, I’ll see if I can get either Prescott or Jamface.”
“Sweet! It’s always fun to have new faces around—you’re a saver! See ya in Mean Street, then?”
“Sure, see ya, Oswald!” And just like that, both of them were off.
“Why aren’t you up there Oswald?” Gus asked, sitting in the seat across from the rabbit. “With you so obsessed with ice cream, I figured you’d be the first to sign up.”
“Not trying ta brag, but I always win,” Oswald took a bite into his ice cream. “People stopped competin’ cus they didn’t like losin’, so I stopped playing. I still play it with my kids though.”
“Who wins?”
“Me. They’re gettin’ better though, that’s for sure.” Oswald smirked a little “Wonder who they got that from?”
Gus tapped his fingers against the table, watching everyone else around him. He never realised how many toons there were here. Most of them must be homebodies because he could swear he’d never seen half of them.
“Who'da invite anyway? Didja two boys decline?”
“Prescott and Jamface? No, no, they’re coming. They’re just finishing up their daily duties so they can relax after this. They should be here at any moment.” Gus noticed there were plenty of gremlins around, but most of them seemed unnatural in the environment. Perhaps they, too, weren’t used to all the chatter? “Prescott wanted to come because he heard there’s rocky road. Jamface wanted to come because he wanted to beat Prescott.”
“Typical brothers,” Oswald mumbled, gently rubbing the nape of his neck.
“Do you have any siblings, Oswald?”
Gus must have found his soft spot because Oswald suddenly froze up. The rabbit sat there in thought for a few silent moments, then started. “Y’know that Mickey guy? That’s my lil bro.”
“Really?!” Gus asked. He’d have never guessed Oswald was related to someone so popular!
“Yeah, I’ve never met him personally.” Oswald continued looking away from Gus, instead watching himself tap his hand against the table—a habit he did when he was nervous. “I hafta admit, I’m a little sad that he became so popular instead of me. But I’m happy he’s out there livin’ the dream. No hard feelings, we all end up down here someday, ‘n I await him with open arms.”
“That’s a wonderful way of looking at it, Os.” Gus smiled at him, and Oswald couldn’t help but do the same back.
“It’s th’ least I can do.”
“I can’t believe Prescott ate that many cones.”
Gus chuckled, “I believe it. Anything for rocky road, and anything to beat his brother.” Prescott had ended up beating Jamface by a few cones, making him the champion of this year. Oswald promised to challenge his record next year, as he couldn’t imagine getting Prescott to enter the competition for the second time today would be a good idea.
Oswald and Gus sat on top of Mean Street’s train station. Oswald claimed it was the best place to watch the fireworks, and Gus wasn’t one to doubt him. The rabbit had supposedly ditched his wife and kids to hang out with Gus; something Ortensia would surely degrade him for later.
“Have you liked today?” Oswald asked timidly. Perhaps he was nervous, perhaps there was more on his mind. Gus couldn’t tell.
“I have. Have *you* liked today?” Gus put a heavy emphasis on you, hoping to actually coax an answer out of the rabbit. The conversation the two had earlier made him curious, and he wanted to see if there was something more on his mind.
“Well, there’s the positives and the negatives…” Oswald trailed off, then hesitantly looked over to Gus. The gremlin gave him the cue to continue, so he continued to talk. “I have to admit, I’m real happy with the way things have been recently. Back when I was losin’ my heart, I thought I was a goner. I’d be nothin’ more but a toon whose name no one could quite recall.” Oswald took a deep breath, staring off into the night sky. “Things have been real good, but things from when I was a kid still nag at me. I miss the limelight. I miss my dad. I don’t know why he left.” Oswald paused like he was going to say more, but the silence quickly thickened.
“Sorry, I guess that was a little much.”
Gus gave a little chuckle and pulled Oswald’s head against his shoulder. “We all need to talk about it sometimes.”
Oswald let himself rest comfortably against Gus. Strangely, he felt comfortable here; like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Maybe everything really was going to be alright.
September 5th, 1963
If everything went right, this was going to be Oswald’s last birthday.
The Blot War seemed to be never-ending. Toons were being thinned every day and morale was almost gone. Oswald would give anything for the war to end, and so that’s exactly what he set out to do.
He was going to walk up Mickeyjunk Mountain, capturing the attention of the Blot. And when it swooped in to get him, it’d end up getting stuck in the Jug. Then Ortensia would seal it with a cog, and the day would be saved.
But that day was not today, he had a few things he had to finish doing before he let that happen. And one of the final things he had to do was spend some valuable time with his wife. He had already spent the previous days with his kids, so the couple decided to spend today by themselves.
It couldn’t be anything too extravagant, Oswald still needed to be ready to go fight if the Blot attempted any untimely attacks. So instead, they’d just enjoy some of the little things.
“Oswald,” Ortensia called out to him, her voice cracking a little. “C’mere.”
“Hm?” Oswald stood up, walking into the kitchen. On the counter was a sloppy put-together cake—and of course, it was an ice cream cake. A few papers were put next to the cake, and Oswald noticed tears silently falling down his lover’s face.
“Ohh, honey…” he said softly, wrapping her up in his arms. “Now what’s all this for? Ain’t today supposed ta be a simple day?”
“What kind of birthday is yours without ice cream?”
“Not mine at all.” He pulled her face away from his shoulder, giving her a kiss instead. “What’s th’ papers about?”
“Instructions for making an ice cream cake. Their yours now.”
“Why would I need to know that if…?” he trailed off.
Ortensia hesitated to come up with an answer, “I just figured you’d like to look at it.” She bit her lip, changing the subject, “Well, someone’s gotta eat it.”
“Right.”
While the two ate, it was in complete silence. Not an awkward kind though, a comfortable kind. One where you wish this silence could last forever. Oswald did wish this moment could last forever. But it wouldn’t, and just like everything else, it’d eventually pass.
It was an uneventful day, other than that. It was one of those days that were good to be your last.
September 5th, 19––
Oswald didn’t realise today was his birthday. He had lost track of the days since Ortensia died, and he really didn’t want to start counting how many days he’d gone on without her.
Life in his fort was nothing but a mess. He’d only head outside to push the cog into the Jug just a little more. He wanted to make it a daily habit, but every time he went out he was forced to remember just what happened to Ortensia. He didn’t want to go outside; he didn’t want to do anything.
Lay on the couch, eyes closed for hours at a time—he didn’t know if he was awake or asleep, but he hoped each time he opened his eyes that this was all fake. He’d stir awake, and Ortensia would be there rubbing his ears. When she would notice he was awake, she’d gently kiss his forehead. “Had a nightmare, hunny bunny?” Her tone would instantly calm him. “Wanna talk about it?” He’d crawl into her lap crying, and he’d tell her about this oh, so terrible nightmare he had; a world where he lived without her. And so she would pull him into a deep hug, and she would tell him it was okay now; she was here now. It’d all be okay.
But every time he opened his eyes, he’d be met by the same cold room. He didn’t even know why he stayed around sometimes. Then he’d remember— it was for his dear bunny children. The only family he had left.
But he barely ever saw them now. They wouldn’t come up to the fort, and he wouldn’t go down to OsTown. Every day the guilt drove him crazy, and yet he still wouldn’t do anything. Part of himself would beg to go see the children, and the other part just couldn’t get on its legs. It was like having a shoulder angel and devil, except he wasn’t dealing with an angel and a devil; he was dealing with himself. He couldn’t understand why he did this to himself.
I’m just like Walt, he’d say. He was becoming more like Walt and he hated it. He was becoming just like the man who promised his son he’d be back tomorrow, then never came back again. Whenever Oswald thought about Walt too much, he’d finally get up to do something, just like today.
Today he sat below his lair, in what used to be part of a beetleworx factory. He had reclaimed the area and decided to use it for his own projects. Despite never showing an interest in art in the past, he started to pick it up. He would use Paint and Thinner to create his own sculptures, just like how Yen Sid taught him some unknown years ago. For his first project, he decided to make a decent-sized model of Wasteland before the Thinner Disaster hit. Once he’d finished it, he’d be able to sit down there and pretend like this all never happened. Today was the day he decided to finish it off.
With some heaving and huffing, he had managed to drag a record player down there. Some old jazz music played that he hummed along with. Not so long ago, he and Ortensia would dance together to these tunes. After at least forty years of listening to the same song and dancing the same moves, he had to admit that he wasn’t half bad at either.
He sat on his knees, tapping one hand to the rhythm and using the other to paint the final details. Every time he had to go to the next replica, he’d dance a few steps of the song. If he blinked, he’d see Ortensia for a brief second. But it wasn’t painful—no—when he danced, he’d completely forget that she was gone. They’d dance the same dance so many times that even with her gone, he could feel her tugging on his hands and holding his hips.
For the circumstances he was in, today wasn’t a terrible day.
September 5th, 2022
“Heyya, Mick.” Oswald stood in front of the kitchen counter, trying to read Ortensia’s old ice cream cake recipe. “Ca—Wait, huh? How’d you get here?!”
“Surprise!” Mickey said, barely able to hide the excitement in his voice, “I was tired of calling you an’ you pressin’ the wrong button all the time, so I convinced Yen Sid to let me come here for the day!”
“I told cha I get nervous when the phone starts ringin’, and when I get nervous I forget which colours which.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mickey plopped his things down. “Whatcha makin’?”
“Ice cream cake. At least tryin’ ta. I can’t read Ori’s writing.”
Mickey peered over Oswald’s shoulder, squinting down at her handwriting. “I’m dyslexic.”
“So ones of us is dyslexic, an’ th’ other ain’t nearsighted?” Oswald sighed, pulling his ears back. “Sounds like a disasta waitin’ ta happen.”
“Why don’t we just go down ‘n get some regular ice cream?”
“Cus my kids wanna have some too. Cakes are easier fuh parties.”
“Easier doesn’t mean it’s better!” Mickey put his hand into his pocket, taking out many gold-coloured E-tickets. “They can get some ice cream for a quarter a pop! I think I got enough for us ‘n ‘em.”
Oswald contemplated it, then shrugged, “Alwight. Sounds good to me.”
“Os, I ain’t doing the contest.”
“Aww, really? Ya ain’t do so bad last time.”
“It was embarrassing,” Mickey whined, taking a lick of his ice cream.
“It was only embarassin’ cus you lost.”
“It was only embarassin’ cus I was the only one that couldn’t dehinge their jaw”!
Oswald shrugged, “Maybe ya shoulda asked Dad to make ya all-ya-can-eat ice cream contest winner worthy.”
Mickey went to respond but instead stayed quiet. He watched Oswald’s face for a few moments to see if mentioning their dad was upsetting to him in any way. Once he noticed no bad feelings, “Did Dad also take ya to go get ice cream for yer birthday?”
Oswald smiled in melancholy, his voice low, “Walt never showed up.”
“...Huh?”
“Dad never came to my birthday,” the rabbit tapped the table like he always did. “Not even my first one, he was too busy with ya.”
Oswald looked over at Mickey, who was clearly uncomfortable with finding that out. It seemed like the more Mickey found out about their father, the more unhappy he became with him.
“I wouldn’t stress it,” Oswald paused, trying to find his words. “Say, look around at the toons here.”
And so the two stared off at the many toons who stood around the parlour on Mean Street. Many stood in groups, presumably telling stories about the many September 5ths that they had experienced here. Some sat alone, but they still smiled wide as they watched the lives of others. But there was one overarching theme common between these distinct groups of toons: they were happy.
“I’ve hadda lotta birthdays. ‘N when I was younger, most of them were lonely. I’d lock myself in my room, wonderin’ why my family left me. But here,” Oswald gestured towards the many toons here, “these people are my family. *You’re* my family. Walt might not be here, but I ain’t sweatin’ it. Cus all the people I love are here wit me.” Oswald wiggled the ice cream in his hand, “But mainly, I got all the ice cream I need ta be happy.”
Mickey took a relieved breath, “I’m happy yer doin’ better.”
That was all that needed to be said between the two. It really had been a rocky road for Oswald, but he was finally in a place that he was happy with. He tapped along to the radio as the song changed to jazz.
“Say, Mick, ya any good at dancin’?”
Mickey shrugged, “I’m alright, I guess. Why?”
Oswald—with a toothy grin—put his hand out for Mickey to take, “There’s a little somethin’ I wanna show ya.”