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“Happy birthday, babe.”
Lisa looked up at him with sleepy eyes and he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. He could already feel the aches and cramps from sleeping intertwined in her twin dorm bed. “Thanks,” he said, running his fingers up and down her bare shoulder. Michael spent a lot of time thinking about what the nicest way to touch her was.
He supposed she was his girlfriend. They’d never talked about it. Star had a girlfriend, too. They still spent the night together a few days every month. He wasn’t a very good boyfriend. He wasn’t a very good person these days, maybe, but it took so much to just be a person. A positive thought to drown out a negative thought. He’d never taken a human life. He sat up and rubbed at the knot in his shoulder, it was starting to feel permanent.
Lisa sat up too, covering herself with a pink sheet. They’d met on the boardwalk, of all places. Most kids from the university never made their way down there, they were long gone by the time it came to life in the summer. She’d been taking moody photos for some art class and caught him brooding under a blinking neon sign. He’d seen the picture once and hated it.
On their first date he’d taken her for a ride and taught her how to smoke a joint. She’d told him about the blonde ex-boyfriend who ruined her life and he’d kissed her under the stars. They didn’t have a lot in common, ultimately, but everything had just carried on from there. He never had the nightmares in her dorm room.
“You’re coming to the party tonight, right?” she asked, as Michael stood up and pulled on his jeans.
“Yeah,” he said, almost falling over as he tried to put on a sock while standing. When his footwear was finally on he bent down to kiss her goodbye. “Pick you up at nine?”
___
“You ever gonna sleep at home again?” Sam asked, as he walked in the front door. Michael flipped him off, running his other hand through his hair. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Where’s mom?” He opened the fridge to grab the orange juice and saw a big white box in a plastic bag. He could see the logo through the gaps in the handles. He really shouldn’t have lied about liking the orange-chocolate monstrosity she’d gotten on clearance for his nineteenth.
“Running errands.” Michael took a seat at the kitchen table next to him and glanced over at his homework. Sam had such neat handwriting. He really loved highlighters. He was doing homework on a Saturday. Sam was a good person.
“So, uh,” Sam said, biting his lip. Michael smiled at him encouragingly. “Edgar wanted me to ask…” Michael braced himself for another insane request; a midnight ride to a haunted cemetery or cash for knife-sharpening services. “Could you buy us beer, now, maybe?”
He laughed. “You guys got a party or something?” Sam shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable so he put a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “You won’t tell mom, right?”
“I’m not an idiot, Mike,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Michael let go and punched him gently in the shoulder. The world moved so fast sometimes, he had to stop and remind himself that he’d chosen to let it.
___
The card from his dad had a five dollar bill in it. He took it out and threw the card away. The five dollars joined the wages from his under-the-table construction job in a plastic piggy bank on the shelf above his bed. Twenty-one years old and still sharing a room with a high schooler. Sam would move out before him, at this rate. He probably should have been saving up for rent or to finish his degree but every penny he earned was going to the house budget or the sketchy mechanic off the boardwalk.
He’d totalled his bike a few months ago after a large bird had flown across the sky. He’d seen its shape in the moon out of the corner of his eye and skidded off the road. He’d thought about that bird a lot since then. He hoped it had clipped its wing on a telephone wire or something, had spent the last few months of summer grounded just like he had.
___
“My baby,” his mother said from across the table with something like awe. “Twenty-one years old.”
He dug a fork into his pasta and tried to ignore the unspoken part. Everyone had been all about talking about it, for a few months after, until the focus had shifted to moving on. He almost hadn’t made it past eighteen. Even ignoring the whole vampire thing, twenty-one felt like a small miracle. “Maybe not a baby anymore, then?” he tried.
She shook her head and smiled. “Never.” She rolled some pasta onto her fork but didn’t eat it, just looked between both boys. “What are my two babies getting up to tonight?” she asked, and Sam groaned at his inclusion. He tried to remember being seventeen.
“Going to Alan’s house,” Sam said, noodles hanging down his chin. Michael assumed they’d crack into the six pack he’d stashed behind the comic book crate. Two beers each had felt safe. Would they get a little tipsy and spill some on a Superman? Or did they talk about other things now? He’d been seeing them less and less.
“And you, birthday boy?” she asked, smiling at Michael.
He swallowed his food before he answered. “Party on the campus,” he said. “Probably gonna stay over.”
She hummed, smile tightening. “Are we ever going to meet this girlfriend of yours?”
The thought of Lisa and her pink nails in this house made him want to crawl out of his skin. He always pictured her high heels sinking into the floorboards in one particular spot.
“Sure,” Michael said, “Soon.”
___
“Wanna come to a college party tonight?” he said into the phone.
Star laughed. “Not a chance, Moonbeam.”
“Aww, c’mon,” he said, wrapping the cord around his index finger. “It’s my birthday.”
“Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, but he wasn’t mad. “Happy birthday. So it’s your birthday party?”
“Well,” he said, “No. But it’s a party on my birthday.” She laughed again. It had never stopped feeling like a victory, making her laugh.
“I’ve got plans tonight,” she said, “Sorry. Can I take you out tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. Michael could tell she was lying, but he still wasn’t mad. Star didn’t like Lisa or her friends, he could tell. She’d frowned a lot the one time they’d all hung out. It was probably for the best, he’d just hoped to spend the night around at least one person who knew something about anything. “Let’s do it.”
___
He gripped the plastic cup in one hand and Lisa’s waist in the other, taking slow sips. The coke was flat and warm. She was swaying on her feet already, humming along to Vanilla Ice. Maybe he should take her home soon, he thought, before he ended another night holding her hair back in an upstairs bathroom. Two guys behind them started shouting and the mood shifted. He guided her into the crowded kitchen.
“Birthday boy!” one of her friends called out to him. Michael didn’t remember his name, just that she’d met him in some dumb class like Movies 101. “Tequila shot?” And that he’d also offered Michael a tequila shot the night they’d ended up kissing behind the gymnasium.
“All set,” he said, tipping his cup of soda in a mock toast. The world had finally decided he was ready to drink, but he hadn’t had a sip in six months. Weed felt better to him these days. He usually just pretended he was drinking but if someone really asked he said it was because of the hangovers. The truth was that he’d started forgetting when to stop. Too many lost memories. Too many nights stumbling into his or any bed with a direct channel to the desires buried deep in his chest, the ones he thought he’d laid to rest. He’d woken up once with blood on his shirt and still didn’t know why.
Lisa wrapped both of her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. She looked at him the way he always thought he wanted to be looked at. He needed air.
___
The back of the frat house smelled like cigarette smoke and vomit. So did the inside, actually, but it seemed so much more noticeable out back, mixing with the cool night air. The lawn ended in a tall group of trees that suggested a dark forest, but if you looked closely you could see the lights of more houses right on the other side. It was always a little quiet back here, unless one of the college guys wanted to set off a firework. He’d been to a decent amount of parties at the house now, and the only good conversations had happened out here.
Michael was starting to think he should have spent this one at home. He imagined warm laughter and the static that came from their now half-broken TV. Elbowing Sam hard in the ribs and listening to him insist he hadn’t been falling asleep. His mother asking questions about a movie none of them had ever seen, which would inevitably be answered in detail by a character within the next five minutes. In the landscape of his regrets, it was a minor one, but it was needling at him painfully. He kind of wished he had a cigarette for the first time in three years.
The moon was bright and he could hear music and laughter from inside. Michael wasn’t sure when the night had lost its edge. A lot of things felt blunted these days. He took a deep breath in. He heard footsteps on the gravel that edged the house and a low, mocking whistle.
“Twenty-one, huh?” a familiar voice said, each word a knife. “Happy birthday.”
Michael looked over and all he could do was laugh. A clawed hand offered a cigarette and he took it. Of all the birthday wishes to come true. Death had never stopped hurtling its way towards him, he realized. It had just taken a break. He let the smoke fill his lungs and savoured the long breath out.