Hey Rockstar
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When he came home it was well after dark. I was ruffling the pages of my Brit. Lit. book back and forth, pretending my homework had my attention. He came in quietly, shutting and locking the door as he always did and went straight to the bedroom.
I hadn’t looked up, so I don’t know what he looked like. He’d been quiet all day and it was starting to get to me. It’s not like I wanted to pry into his business or anything but I was just curious. Maybe it was because he’d spent most of the night tossing in his bed or maybe it was because the skies had been pouring cold rain for the past week. He did always like sunny days; he said clouds made him feel claustrophobic. Then again he always said starry nights made him feel like he was falling into space.
I found myself missing those times when we’d gone camping, just the two of us by the lake. I’d bring my tent, he’d bring food, and we’d swim and relax all day. He always did it to get away from his girlfriend, me from my family. Sometimes we’d hike up to the top of the tallest hill about a mile from where we camped just to watch the sun fall beyond the horizon until the stars came out. We’d rename the constellations people’s names and later wind our way back to the tent to crash. I missed those times.
My eyes flicked to the clock, he’d been uncharacteristically silent in there for the past fifteen minutes. Finally giving up the guise of my impossible homework, I went into the bedroom. He was laying on his bed sideways, flicking darts up to the dart board on the ceiling languidly. He was missing the target every time and the darts would bounce and fall back onto the bed. He was dressed in the usual black clothes that made him look paler than pale, his naturally black hair didn’t help any either, he was also drenched from being outside. I went and sat by him but he did little to notice until said something.
“What’s up?” I asked casually, laying back and folding my hands behind my head and crossing my ankles.
“Nothing.” He replies nonchalantly, never stopping the rhythm of flicking the darts to the ceiling, but I do notice they’re farther off their target than they were a minute ago. I wait a few minutes before pressing it, hoping he’ll come out and say whatever it is.
“Something’s up.” I say, using the same tone he had when he’d replied. I watched him continue to toss the darts up, his rhythm becoming more fast-paced and unsteady. Finally he stops with a sigh, fisting the darts for a moment before letting them fall to the floor. He turns to me and pushes himself up to lay his head on my stomach, just like we used to do when we’d name the stars.
“It’s my birthday.” He finally says, closing his eyes.
“Oh.” Is all I can come up with. That’s right, I knew that. His mother had raised him and she’d been in a fatal car wreck last year. I’d always come over to his house on his birthday and the three of us would play games. His mom was so cool. She was like a mom to me since I couldn’t remember mine. Every year I’d come to his house and we’d sing happy birthday, toasting marshmallows in his fireplace. His mom would put the burnt things between chocolate and we’d eat until we were too sticky to continue, then we’d wash up and play games or play our instruments. We’d play board games, card games, any kind of games, and I’d stay the night so we could jam our favorite tunes earning our nicknames Rockstar (for him) and Groupie (for me). This was his first birthday without her.
He was staring up at the ceiling again with that unreadable look on his face; I knew he was thinking about her. I reached down and messed his hair up, getting his attention. When he looked up at me from under fall of dark hair I could see the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. I really didn’t know what to do.
“Hey, do you want to celebrate?” I blurted, cringing at how stupid it sounded for the current mood. He sat up and shook his head.
“It’s not the same.” He said quietly, ready to stand and go somewhere else. On impulse I sat up as well and wrapped an arm around his shoulder and chest, resting my chin on his shoulder.
“Hey,” I said softly, drawing my legs up into a more comfortable position. “Don’t run away. We stick together, remember?” He nodded silently, his eyes on the carpet. We sat like that for a few minutes before I broke the silence again.
“You know, she wouldn’t want you to be sad on your birthday,” I told him with a smile. “At least not until you had your birthday spankings.”
That earned a snort from him, but his eyes were still on the floor as he bit his lip.
“Hey,” I said a little louder with a smile, rubbing his shoulder to get him to look at me. “I don’t have any marshmallows,” I got up and went to my guitar. “But I do have some cards and…” I came and sat down beside him again and started to strum the strings with a mischievous smirk on my face that broke out into a full-fledged grin as I sang.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Mister Rockstar, Happy Birthday to you.”
When I looked back up at him he was smiling that lopsided grin of his, the tears still in his eyes. I put my guitar back on its stand and grabbed my worn playing cards and a bag of half-eaten M&M’s.
“Now for some chocolate to keep the tradition going.” I intoned, handing him the cards to do his fancy-shmancy shuffling thing while I counted out some chocolates for my ante. He caught my hand as I counted out the pieces and held onto it in our “secret handshake” we used to use as kids with our hands clasped and our pinkies stuck out.
“Thanks.” He said, bringing me out of my reverie and giving my hand a good shake before releasing it and opening his mouth and tilting his head back in an invitation.
“No problem.” I grinned, flicking a red M&M at his grinning face.
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