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Seattle is seeping with cold and something else. Warm, maybe. It was easy to get gifts for teenagers, considering they’d probably forget them in less than a year. October was reeling across the cold lakes. Bill is turning sixteen.
Now, he was very much glad about that. Fifteen was an awkward enough age. It had four factors. Sixteen had five. Sixteen had a base of 2 — fifteen didn’t. Of course, that also gave him some ground to stand on, any substantial concern about his age gradually faded. At least it doesn’t sound stupid for someone his age to start coding (though he had started much younger). He wasn’t someone particularly attuned to his own age or birthdays, not that his parents didn’t treat him to gifts, good meals, and whatever perks he got, but it was more that he didn’t ask for them. It was odd for someone like him.
He did ask for something this year, though. Two months ago, the first floppy disk was released by IBM. Well, not like they didn’t know it was under development for ages, since Paul had gauged them a few connections down the coast in California. But it was the first of its kind. It’s what everyone had dreamed of, and so much more, it was the future that they dreamed of.
To a child, to that wide-eyed, aspiring teenager, this was everything. He was lucky to have been born in this age, to have been born at a time when his talents seemed to all align in a good way. Well, he was also lucky to be born in this age for the sake of those around him. The wind blowing on the lawn was getting chilly. He should probably head inside. The deciduous trees that surrounded the large building had long shielded the lighter green in its centre, their dark green growing so far up into the sky that it was difficult to look up at a normal angle to see the sky. Well, half the time, he didn’t have to. If he could, he spent a lot of time lying in the soft grass, staring directly into the clear blue sky. He would stare at the sun. He was the type of kid to stare at the sun, yet it was too dangerous – he wasn’t stupid enough to do it. Bill liked the idea of doing it, though, of challenging whatever he could, of challenging the only thing he knew in his world. His brain was always filled with various ideas that were ultimately deterred by his own rational thought and knowledge; he knew to take off his thick glasses to stop himself from being blinded by the flare alone. He knew that he could enjoy the sun with his eyes closed, but he’d much rather see everything around him at all times. Without all those trees peering up in the edge of his eyes. It was a warm feeling, you know, to be a child.
Or rather, to be treated like one.
So as he wanders into the computer lab for seventh period, patting the bits and pieces of grass stuck to his trousers, he naturally expects to see Paul there. He sits down at the lab table, the chair creaks a little with that deep impression of his presence. Paul was something like a brother to him, though it felt mildly blasphemous to make that claim, too. It was cool to be friends with a senior, that was the social hierarchy that naturally existed in Lakeside. It was even cooler to be friends with someone smart, at least to him. Thank God that Paul was both. They had been friends for what, two, three years now? It was stupid, now that Bill thought about it, Paul had been fifteen when he was twelve and first joined the school. It was always nice to sit in the lab, knowing that Paul was there solving whatever issue he couldn’t, though his ego preferred things to be the other way around. He liked being the younger one. Being the younger one meant he got whatever he wanted, which meant he could bend the world his way.
Once again, he really had to reckon with the fact that it was not the case.
Paul was off to university. Theoretically, it was not far — they were in the same state, just a few cities across. In practice, though, it was a whole other story. Pullman was around four to five hours away from Seattle, and no amount of begging, truly, could get his mom to drive him all the way there and back. Paul was living in first-year accommodation, because that’s how you enjoy being in university. Bill had asked Paul why he hadn’t gone to UW or if he hadn’t attended any other school. Why couldn’t he be far enough so that it didn’t seem like it was only slightly inconvenient? But he knew that, obviously, Washington State had a good computer science department, one of the few respectable computer science departments in a public school. For God’s sake, Paul had a 1600 — it was about right that he could go anywhere he liked. Bill disliked people like that. The ones that wasted everything they had on going to a state school, for what? Just to be taught things that were far too practical to actually be able to lend themselves to improvement? Maybe he should convince Paul to drop out, or at least, the two of them could do it together.
But now? Paul was one of those people, and Paul couldn’t possibly spend four years in a place like that. Bill was sure of that much. What use was thinking that, though? Paul was already there, and he was learning about cool things that Bill had dreamed of them knowing. It was in the occasional postcard or phone call, where Bill would hear about all the newest and wildest, he would learn about words that he hadn’t even heard of. They grew into teenagers, then adults — or rather, Bill turned into a teenager. They were finding out about the world together when they rode bikes home together, and when they would spend some time walking along Lake Washington, it was like being gently born to your own accord.
Anyway, Bill was sixteen.
Bill was sixteen, and Bill was wrapping up for the seventh period. There was not much time to fix what he had wanted since, ever since Paul had graduated — history that was spawned just three months ago — Bill wasn’t able to fix the system as much as he wanted when they were together. Things were easier when you were with another person; it was easier when you were in pairs. The corkboard with loose leaves pinned on it still with the calculations or to-do lists that he and Paul set out, the gentle wafting smell of burnt wood was something that filled the room enough that he didn’t bother with getting rid of it anymore. It was the light that swung above; sometimes the glare would make it a little difficult to see the keys or whatever he set in front of him, but it was something you coped with. The chairs were hard. He liked sitting on the outside even though he would nudge Paul with his elbow sometimes. It was just the idea of having a presence.
He wasn’t used to walking on his own, either. He preferred walking to the right of Paul, his hand would swing into Paul’s side or hand — whether he does that on purpose is an entirely different question.
Bill was doing both things alone today. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends in the year; a few of the other kids who liked messing around in the computer lab were decent people, but obviously, nothing beat the blueprint. At the end of the day, though, it was his birthday. He was going to go home to a good meal, and it would be good enough, just good enough for him to fall asleep and forget that there were inabilities of his that were simply because of how young he is. Or rather, he wasn’t all too young now, that was probably good, right?
Maybe this was why he got everything in life, because he was so young. He stepped into the car, Mary smiling at him through the rear-view mirror. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Her voice had the same tone it had this morning, just as everything in his life had sort of remained the same. Mother was always mother, that was simple. He leaned in for her to kiss him on the cheek before settling into the seat, setting his bag at his feet. “We’re not going to the diner, but Dad took the other car with Kristi to pick up some takeout, we’ll probably meet them at the porch.”
He nods at her words as he leans back to rest a little. Not that she was tired, he had a natural smile on his face whenever his mom was around; it wasn't every day that she was at home, after all. Seattle looked better through the car window, it passed them by as they moved through the life they had seemed to perfect. One more year until Bill had to take his SATs, for the sake of finishing everything earlier, but he honestly believed that he could handle it. He could handle most things that came his way, that much was clear.
Seattle was pretty this time of year, when the temperatures began to drop slightly, the sky naturally dripped with another sort of gold that made everything feel pleasant. The wires drawn above that gently separate the sky into bite-sized pieces for the eyes to digest. The trees in Seattle were always a dark green, even as the edge of winter was nudged through, it still felt far too early for the cold. The life of this city always drenched those within. The pedestrians crossing as they stop at a red light; the boys, girls, and dogs that rub and laugh through the sidewalk; the life of it all. It was a perfectly operating system that he found himself a part of. This was a special day for him, obviously, but it was not for any of those who trailed on the street. It was precisely that reason that he was mildly annoyed. Not that everyone didn’t think he was special and hail him as a king, no, but because he still hadn’t come to the true realisation that he was not surrounded by the world. He was not the centre of anything, not the reason the Earth turns, not the reason the seasons change. He was perhaps only in charge of something when he sits in front of the keyboard and lays his fingers down to make something of what his thoughts create. He was only the centre of the world he created, and a lot of the time that was sufficient.
The silence in the backseat must have either irritated or offset Mary, and she started again.
“Oh, yes, presents. We’ve had it sorted, but something came in the mail last night.” Bill just nods again, making a non-committal humming sound to show that he was listening.
Mary looks into the rear-view mirror, almost with a smirk on her face, though certainly in a warm way, “Aren’t you curious who sent it, Billy?” They did share a personality when it came to things like this.
So he meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror, and shrugs, “If you’re asking me that, I have to say yes.”
“It’s from Pullman, it has a penny stamp.” She was now smiling without any effort to hide it, she was the one who let the older boy into her house for dinner. “Don’t get mad, but I checked, it’s from Paul.”
Paul.
Great. Bill wanted to sigh and laugh at the same time. He was never not going to be a kid. Never going to be a child who cried for attention and the world to go his way.
It was so simple to just think about it. What else could it possibly be? It was October 28th, and this was the only day that Bill knew exactly what to expect whenever he received anything from anyone. So he wasn’t alone, so he wasn’t being sunken into this thought and hope for no reason. He lay back on his seat, hoping that they could get home a little faster, though he also wanted to cherish the sight out of the window a little longer. Seattle was flying by as quickly as his time here, there was no way he was staying in the state, which unfortunately was the sacrifice he made for himself.
“Oh, okay.” That was all he said, as he remained silent for the rest of the trip, his thoughts already slipped into the postbox on their porch, another twenty minutes away. His mind was adrift, slipping into the next hour of the day already.
The feeling of home, a winding driveway, was something that woke Bill to receive the warmth of home. It was a feeling only to receive, and never to give.
When Bill walked into the door — after he leaned to check the postbox, just for Mary to laugh and tell him that the envelope was inside — the dinner table welcomed him. Aside from the tablecloth set out for the occasion, a button and string envelope sat on the fabric. Bill blinked a few times, staring at what was in front of him — what, did Paul send him a certificate? The address was written neatly, in the typical fashion that Paul had, and his name was signed on the bottom. It felt surreal. It was a thought, a piece of mind, that drifted across two or three days of the Washington fall, landing right on his table, then, in his hands. It was quite a little heavier than imagined, which only made it much more fun.
Well, there was only one thing to do now, while waiting for Dad and Kristi to come back.
The first circle of the string, the envelope had yet to open. One circle around the button, just for the suspense, maybe. Winding it a second time, the string seemed to loosen a little more. His slow moves slowly picked up as he laughed at his own hesitance, and began turning the string at the usual, quick pace.
Then, the flap released as the tension was set free by the string, quite an anticlimactic move, though, considering it was not supposed to be anything surprising. The envelope was quite heavy and gently creased when he had held it by the top. He reached in to feel for the package, the weight of the excitement far more than anything else. First, he pulls out a card. Typical, for a birthday package. But the weight of the envelope didn’t decrease by a significant amount — there was a gift.
“Paul got you a gift, sweetheart?” Mary looks over as she puts her coat on the rack, and walks over to her son.
“Yeah, I think he did.” Bill put the card on the table first, then reached in again. His hand feels a texture that, well, you don’t really expect in an envelope. It was… plastic? Quite thin, then…a label? Two pieces of plastic. Sheets…? For some reason, his head couldn’t really wrap around the idea of this gift for a brief second, but as he held onto it, and pulled it out, he instinctively knew already. Some warmth surged from his fingers touching the cool plastic.
Two floppy disks. The envelope emptied out as he took the disks out, his mouth slightly agape.
“Mom, holy shit-” The words seemed to escape him before he thought about it, his brain barely reacted to this information. Two floppy disks. How the hell did Paul even get his hands on this? Bill flipped the envelope to read the date — October 25th. Hell, has it even been two months since their release?
Mary’s voice brought him down from cloud nine, “Bill, language.” But she could tell that her son was clearly delighted, “Something you wanted?” She asks.
“Yeah, mom.” That was all he could say as he put the envelope on the table, and took a good look at the disks. God, weren’t one of these like, five dollars? The sleek black plastic reflected his profile ever so slightly, and even he could see his own joy through it. Turning over one of the disks, the label wasn’t empty as he thought.
Happy B’Day, Bill - P.A.
He swore that they had been talking about this project right before Paul graduated, considering they had started making these in California only a few years ago. Now, they were in his hands, these markers of their friendship, of what they strived to learn. More than anything, though, the joy of having something that he never asked for, having something that someone else knew he wanted. In their years of knowing each other (albeit it hadn’t been a long while) they had never exchanged gifts, they had never spoken of anything similar, and maybe it was just fitting that suddenly, he got something for his sixteenth. Sixteen was going to be good, wasn’t it?
Bill spends another few moments just looking at the disks, he could feel the intent behind them. He could feel that Paul hadn’t bought these just for him, but had gotten his own copies. This wasn’t a gift, this was sharing. But who cares? He got a gift. Paul had these too, they could wait. He’d have to test them out on the computer later. Though, floppy disks filled up, they were meant to be used, they would run out. Some other things didn’t.
He reaches for the card that he had set on the table. It was the humble kind you bought from a stationery store with a lettered cover of a generic message, though Paul had written To: Bill G. on the front page. He flips the card open, and inside is a Polaroid of the red brick main building of Washington State, and on the frayed edges are the same dark green deciduous trees. You could never truly leave Seattle behind. He didn’t know what to expect when he began reading, considering Paul wasn’t the type to really send out letters or cards.
Dear Bill,
I hope that I mailed this out in time for the 28th. The package weight was difficult to sort out.
Happy 16th birthday! One of my friends from Berkeley got his hands on a box of floppy disks pre-release, so yes, they are more special than the others. Thought you would like them, since I remember you were thinking about the whole storage issue before I left.
Pullman is fine, I think you wouldn’t like it. College is as you think it is, but the computer lab is elaborate enough, though I had hoped they had better funding. I would come back to Seattle for a meal sometime, maybe over Christmas? It’s rough that we both have inconvenient birthdays, I would have to say.
Anyways, you’ve hit sixteen. Your first base 16. You’ll see many more. That’s quite poetic, I suppose. I hope that you have a nice year being sixteen. I know that you’ll be figuring out more things in the lab without me, just don’t leave me behind. Keep in touch. Hope you like the disks.
P.S. I heard they’re doing a few comp sci programs up East as well, maybe considering going there for college? I’ll come along.
Yours,
Paul
10.26.71
Bill stood there for a while, just reading the contents.
Yours,
Yes. His. He owned all of this, he had all of this in the palm of his hand, in the expanse of his ribcage, in his heart, in the gaps of his veins. He had all of this to himself.
It was kind, a gesture that was casual enough. It didn’t feel as much like a birthday card as it did just a letter that gave Bill a glimpse into Paul’s life, almost as if they were living it together. It was the warmth of being remembered, the warmth of someone knowing you better than you do yourself, the warmth of having a piece of a place that you’ve never been. The disks were from California, the package was from Pullman, and yet, the warmth that seemed to drown him in this desperate sense of upward motion would follow him everywhere he went. In his years, as if a branch on a gradually growing tree, it would stretch and grow with him, it would grow its own leaves. He was being nurtured by this very warmth, this very love.
The whirring of an engine followed by a quick pad of footsteps was then concluded by the sweet voice of his sister, “Bill? Happy birthday!” Kristi gently holds her younger brother in a tighter hug, and he responds by slightly leaning into it. The smell of diner food and milkshakes filled the house as his dad walked in holding the bags.
Oh, sixteen, and he felt like the most loved person in the world. He was stupid, stupid for thinking that he could be the centre of the world — but he owned floppy disks that travelled across state lines, along a coast, he owned everything. He had everything he wanted, and perhaps so much, so much more.