HomeI can't remember exactly what time it was, only that it had not yet passed the 11th hour (which is when I was born). I wasn't wearing enough layers to be totally warm and I doubt I'd put on comfortable walking shoes. It didn't matter to me. The air was dry and crisp and perfect for just wandering. People all around me rushed around, oblivious to my presence and concentrated on their personal tasks. I'm sure I was knocked around a few times in their mad race. I hated that even then. Got grumpier with every minute and every block. I'm sure, of the thousands of strangers I'd run into that night on the street, they might have been less aggressive had it been their birthday. Grr.
I stopped suddenly in front of a set of bleachers arranged on a sidewalk, facing the opposite end of the street. I climbed up to the middle and sat down on the cold metal. Looked across the street to the second floor of a dilapidated building. Laughed hysterically at what I saw, but realized that I had reached Times Square after all, so it shouldn't have come to such a surprise. Had a nice little birthday silhouette dance by what seemed to be a naked woman jiggling behind a lit screen. I wondered if she ever called in sick on her birthday, so that a lover could dance sexily for her.
It started getting too cold to sit there so I got up to go back to my dorm. I walked back quick this time, trying to get my blood circulating again. Nearly tripped over a large black plastic bag - I swore it had moved. I looked down to reconfirm and a homeless woman poked her head out of the bag. I began apologizing profusely but she just smiled at me. I fished out some coins from my pocket and handed them to her. She mumbled a happy birthday to me. I think my heart stopped at that moment. Incredulous, I asked her to repeat herself. She didn't say anything for a second, looked confused. She spoke again after what seemed an eternity. "Happy Hannukah."
So much for that, I thought as I moved on. Looked at my watch at that moment. Ten minutes past the time I was officially a year older. Skipped home. My roommate was bundled up in bed by the time I entered the room. I tried to shake her awake to tell her all that I had seen that night. She couldn't be stirred, but when I awoke the next morning my dear roommate had picked up five boxes of single serving assorted cereals from the cafeteria downstairs for my breakfast and left them on the ridge of my headboard. Each box had a thin candle planted on its top flap. A note found nearby said, "Happy Birthday. How do you like being 5?" She was always amusing me with her "alternative" gifts. I ambushed her later in the day with a rib-crunching hug. The contents of the boxes, on the other hand, did not fare as well - they were emptied into my bottomless pit of a stomach by the end of the morning.
I haven't really boogied down to celebrate a birthday since then. I almost
always disappear for a few hours to take a walk, but I can't find the nudie
bar, the homeless woman well-wisher, or any kind of cereal I like.