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Ever since Damien was just a kid, he knew this: birthday parties were never only about him. Or even about birthdays, for that matter.
Sixteen. An age that, in other families, would have been celebrated with colourful confetti or with the loving hymn of a birthday song. Not his family, though. Instead, his birthday was an afterthought, a subscript in the invitations sent out to all his parents’ insufferably rich friends and colleagues. Birthdays weren’t celebrations of life in their house, they were celebrations of wealth – and to an almost laughable extent.
Large crowds weren’t Damien’s thing, and every year he dreaded the anniversary of the day he was born because of them. Every year, on what should have been his day, crowds of these snobbish, pretentious adults gathered at his house like bees to honey. These people remained nameless in Damien’s head, and yet they would still come every year, pretending to celebrate him. Their thin, forced smiles would greet him with a ‘happy birthday’ and pinch his cheeks, barely veiling the competition of wealth that would start as soon as they walked through the front door. He could almost taste the metallic tang of the tension in their sharp stares and their rehearsed, drunken laughs.
Anxiety, a familiar serpent, coiled in his gut, and Damien couldn’t wait for the second in the evening when he could slip away. He could almost feel it: the moment when the adults grew weary of their backhanded compliments and unspoken battles, when the finger sandwiches materialised out of seemingly thin air, and conversations laced with infidelity and passive aggressiveness devolved into a meaningless hum. That would be his cue. He’d slip through a back door and find calm under the leaves of his favourite tree, a sanctuary at the edge of the perfectly manicured lawn. This year, his companion would be a battered copy of Romeo & Juliet, which he’d picked out at random from the house’s library. The fading words and yellowed pages had more soul than anything his parents could’ve arranged.
The breeze was a little softer than usual today, and the grass was slightly damp from the morning showers that had been happening throughout the week. The moon shone down on the ground as Damien made his way to the tree, boots creating an unpleasant squelching sound with each step. The air was as cold as it was silent, and the stars looked down at him with their pitiful, glowing eyes.
It did get lonely sometimes. But it was a lot lonelier to be surrounded by people who couldn’t care less about you on what is meant to be your special day, so he couldn’t complain.
Hugging himself in an attempt to keep away the biting cold, Damien plopped himself down on the sharp blades of grass, his back towards the dark tree covered in hearts and the initials of some old lovebirds who’d found their way here. Reading over each initial, he clutched the cover of his book a little harder.
Right as he flipped past the dedications and informative essays, he heard a familiar voice shouting from right outside the woods.
“Damien?” Mark shouted. “Damien, buddy?”
Damien froze up as the footsteps got closer and closer, and out of the trees appeared his best friend, holding a plate loaded with cake in his shaking hand. A wide smile of relief and pride spread across his face – like a kid in a game of Hide & Seek.
The Ipliers never missed a single invite to these parties. They were always at the top of the invitation list, the very first people who came to mind for any event the Whitacres hosted. If anything, it’s the reason Mark and Damien grew so close together over the years. The close link of their families is what allowed them to keep the fire of their friendship alive for so long. Who knew the secret to lifelong friendship was emotionally neglectful parents?
“I knew you’d be here.” He said, sounding a little more prideful than he probably intended. “I brought you some cake.”
Damien stared at him like a deer in headlights, still somewhat in his own world.
“Oh! Uh…” Damien fiddled with the page of his book anxiously. “That’s okay. I’m not really hungry. Besides, didn’t my mom say that cake was just for her and her friends?”
“It’s your birthday. I’m not letting you hide in the woods alone without at least having a slice of cake.”
After a small smile appeared on Damien’s face, Mark slowly sat down right next to him. The bark of the tree was relatively thin, forcing them to squeeze close together – shoulders and knees touching. Damien had his book resting on his lap, while Mark had the paper plate balancing on his stomach, a fork stabbed carelessly into the side of the fluffy chocolate cake. Damien couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten cake on his birthday – at least not the good cake, the one his mother insisted be shared just with her friends. He was always offered the leftovers, or whatever food the little children at the party were given to keep themselves occupied. Trying not to appear too excited, Damien reached for the plate and cut off a small piece with the white plastic fork.
Damien hesitantly placed the piece of cake into his mouth and chewed slowly. Mark’s eyes were locked on him, waiting for a response that eventually came in the form of a muffled “Shit, this is good…” as he reached for another bite.
“...Soooo,” Mark droned, putting the plate of cake down between their feet. “You gonna explain why you snuck away from your own birthday party to hide in the woods?”
“Tch, my birthday party… yeah, right.” Damien let out a single, mocking laugh. He put a hand on his knee and looked in the direction of the house. “I can’t remember the last time a party on my birthday my parents organised was about me.”
“Oof. That’s rough.”
“Yeah. But, hey, whatever brings home the money, I guess.” Damien responded sarcastically, picking up the plastic fork and (quite aggressively) cutting off a larger chunk of cake and putting it directly into his mouth.
There was a brief moment of silence. A breeze hit Damien’s face and pushed his long hair back before Mark tentatively said, “You don’t even like parties, do you?”
“Hm.” Damien laughed a little, swallowing the cake he was chewing. “See, how come my friend knows that and my own mom and dad don’t?”
“You always do this thing right before you sneak off, you know…” Mark started, in a quieter voice than before. “You stand next to the nearest wall and you just look at all the people… and you start fidgeting with your pocket, just completely in your own world. Then you get a book from your room and leave. Every time.”
Damien turned to face Mark, a small smile that he almost never wore at these parties on his face. “How did you notice that?”
“Hey, don’t get sappy on me!” Mark responded defensively, fighting back letting Damien’s contagious smile infect him. “How could I not notice after going to a million of your parties? Jeez.”
“Okay, okay,” Damien laughed, the sound low and soft. Despite Mark’s defensiveness, the fact he noticed something so small made Damien’s face feel a little warmer — both in embarrassment at being caught in such an anxious act and in joy at being so noticed, even down to the littlest things. It was something he was used to, and the fact it came from his best friend of all people felt even more heartwarming. It felt good to be actually perceived for once.
The two sit in silence for a few seconds, breathing in each other's presence in the cold of the night. Mark broke the silence, “So, why this tree?”
“What?” Damien turned his head fully to look at him, “What do you mean?”
“I mean… what’s so special about this tree specifically that you come back to it every time?”
“I don’t know.” He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “It’s just… full of love, you know? Like, look at all the carvings— there are hearts and names, and… I don’t know, it just gives me hope.”
“Hope?”
“Yeah. Hope that if I sit here long enough all the love in it will seep into me, and I'll get something similar.”
Mark slowly turned to face him, raising his eyebrows and slowly blinked. “I think the poetry in that book is getting to you.”
“Shut up…” Damien replied jokingly, and gave him a playful shove before putting his hands back on his knees.
After feigning pain and clutching the spot on his arm where Damien had pushed him, Mark’s eyes suddenly widened, and his expression seemed a lot more alert. A smile began to form on his pale face.
“Close your eyes.” Mark commanded excitedly.
“Wh— What? Why?”
“Shhh! Just do it, just do it! Trust me!”
Damien reluctantly obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his brows as he began fidgeting with his bowtie in anticipation. He heard and felt his friend sit down in a different way, and proceed to scratch something – presumably into the tree behind them. Damien’s eyes threatened to peek out of his eyelids out of sheer curiosity, but he figured being surprised by whatever mischievous scheme Mark was planning would’ve at least brought some excitement to the woeful night he was having.
“Ta-da! Turn around and open your eyes!” Mark finally spoke, the thrill of anticipation seeping into every word.
Damien followed and turned his back to look behind him before cautiously opening his eyes and taking a few seconds to process what he was seeing. After his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, he noted two distinct things:
Mark standing next to the tree the two were leaning on just moments before, smiling from ear to ear with eyes that sought approval in Damien’s face.
And, right there on the tree, the initials “M + D” carved messily into the oak bark – framed with a childish heart.
Damien stared awestruck as Mark waited patiently for some kind of reaction, still frozen with the same expression on his face.
“Mark…” Damien started his sentence and seemingly had no clue where he was going with it. He had forgotten what words were, how sentences worked. He was utterly speechless – and his lips formed into a subtle frown, then a smile, then trembled and pursed as his eyes began to gloss with tears.
Realising how Damien’s mood had shifted, Mark was quick to run towards his friend, his once smiling face now covered with an empathetic concern. The palm of his hand found Damien’s shoulder, and he squeezed it tight. “Hey– What? Don’t cry.”
With a sniffle, Damien replied, “I’m sorry, it’s just…” He wiped his face with the back of his hand and returned Mark’s eye contact, his head tilted slightly downwards and his shoulders high and tense. He tried to ignore the blush forming on his face at the soft look in Mark’s eyes. “You’re so sweet.”
Mark squeezed his shoulder tighter and then shuffled to his side, in the same position they were before – except they were now facing the newly carved tree. The air felt warmer than it did when he first came out here. And the pity the light of the stars once had on him was gone, leaving only an array of beautiful glowing specks floating above the two of them.
With a deep exhale, Damien rested his head on Mark’s shoulder. Mark wrapped his velvet covered arm around his friend and held him a little closer, the warmth of his hand making the rest of the cold world feel like it was drifting away.
“Happy birthday, Damien.”