Friday the 14th, 12.2001
The Crappy Birthday.
It began at midnight (all days begin at midnight, of course, but why not mention it?) as Matt and Jeremy and I climbed out of the Pathfinder into the rainy parking lot and entered the Mall, a food court mostly deserted at this hour. The three of us stood around for a moment by the movie theater, squeezed through the exit doors, took a piss and joined the crowd of people heading down the corridor to see Vanilla Sky. We sat down just in time to see Cameron Crowe's all-too-tidy tricky beginning of the film, in all its Hollywood glory.He's a talented director, and everything, but damn if he doesn't lay it all out and set you up with every little answer to every little question that might pop up during the film. Most of the audience came looking for a big pop Tom Cruise blockbuster, I guess, but it's kind of insulting when a movie explains everything up front. A good film should ask to be closely examined, don't you think? Anyway, there were some funny parts, good shots, very few blips of bad dialogue. People will be yelling "TECH SUPPORT!" in every parody film and comedy sketch of 2002. I was more interested in watching Penelope than Cameron - but even then, not so much. The final dream sequence scene was probably the best part. Can't imagine what kind of resources, digital or monetary, it took it took to get Time Square cleared for the filming. Afterward we sat in the theater for a while, thinking the movie probably wasn't worth the hype. Matthew showed me how his giant cup of soda was too large to fit in the armrest cupholder, then stood up and left to go to the concession stand, watching as we waved at him. Jeremy and I followed him out, after a minute or two.
We drove home listening to an LL Cool J disc, Mama Said Knock You Out. Pretty damn good. Say what you want, but Ladies Love Cool James because he's got good flow. Nice break beats on that record, too. It felt nice, riding through the rain listening to hip-hop I hadn't heard in 10 years. Matt pulled into our driveway; brother and I jumped out and bulleted through the cat-and-dog rain toward the front porch, and slipped inside.
We had to get ready for dinner. I called Dave and Adam, to tell them about the movie, but they weren't home. I drank a plastic cup of water. I sat down for a little while. I felt okay. Mom and I hopped into Jeremy's Camry, and he drove us to a new Italian restaurant called Foppiano's, in Manomet. My father and my sister Alyssa met us there, having just driven up from her high school dance in Falmouth.
We'd brought a cake from home, one that Dad had bought in a Boston shop. It was angelfood. Mom explained to me the difference between angelfood and regular cake. It also had peaches inside, but I didn't have a slice because I wasn't hungry for cake. I blew out two candles. I guess they figured two candles makes 2, then the two again squared makes 4, so I'm 24. Works for me.
I wrapped up my gifts and set them aside. I returned four nice cards to their envelopes. Dad gave me a collection of short stories and a Darwin Awards book. Mom gave me a very nice set of stainless cooking utensils. I received a beautiful earthenware mug from my sister, and the LL Cool J CD from my brother.
Dinner was delicious. I finished an entire plate of food, but I didn't feel so great afterwards. I went for a Caesar salad, too. I ordered the spinach and garlic ravioli. On the menu they had this gimmick where you could create your own dish. Pretty cool, but not for me. I didn't say much while we waited for our waitress, I just looked around at all of the movie stills from Scorsese films and so on. Pretty cheap way to bring Italian tradition to your place of business, if you ask me. My family chatted about this and that, but I didn't really feel like talking. We moved to the bar, so they could clear our clean dishes from the table. The usual football junk on the bar TVs. Mom finished chatting with some woman she ran into. Lots of Friday night laughing going on and so forth. I only had a Sprite, because I felt sick. I refilled it and felt worse.
I shuffled back to the car. The rain kept on falling. Alyssa joined me in the back seat. Brother put on one of my favorite albums from Suzanne Vega, and we drove home with my forehead pressed against the rain pane, wincing through the bittersweet nostalgia of her murky industrial folk.
At home, I stood around, paced around and moped around. I couldn't come up with a good reason to think about anything. I nearly lost it at 6 o'clock, standing in the dark kitchen, trying to put on my sweater. The corners of my mouth twitched down and up, and I squinted, tears rising up into my eyes. I fought them half-heartedly, staring at the floor with an uneasy stomach. Mom gave me a Pepcid AC that expired in mid-2000. Feeling half-rested, I climbed into bed and fell asleep to the sound of my sister's voice, elsewhere in the house.
I awoke alone in the house at 4pm, daylight finally creeping in through my bedroom window. My stomach was dancing, and I rubbed my face, and I lay in bed for a while, and I listened to some music or something. I put on a chamois shirt and drank water, and stood alone in the empty house, and stared at our undecorated Christmas tree, more like a bush. Matt picked me up, and I had little to say as we drove to the mall. We wandered in through the Jo-Ann fabrics exit-only door. Everything was so bright, the music getting to me. I needed to sit down. I was carrying a muffin around to the bookstore, through the crowds, to the bathroom and I didn't want coffee.
I couldn't think about gift shopping. The goddamn acids were scraping my stomach, asking me to eat, not wanting food. I'd let out a sigh, before looking at any passing couple. Every girl needed a second look. The sensory overload was better than nothing, and we walked. It was nice to talk to Matt, as always, and we drove home and stopped at Shaw's to get rid of my muffin and look for something good to eat, raining always raining pretty cold. I told him about what I thought was happening, and he was surprised but sympathetic
We hung out at his house for a little while, where I munched crackers, then he let me off at my big empty house. The same, under everclouds. I called him once he got home, then rainwalked back out to my car, sat inside musicless with my head tilted motionless for a few, stomach buzzing on empty. I sat there. I put the key in the ignition and tried to turn it over a few times but my old heap of a car wouldn't start, so I tried again. I flooded the engine, probably. Inside I put the crackers on my shelf, helped myself to a bunch of orange juice for some god forsaken reason, and stood in the house watching windows for the rain, poured myself a bowl of Kix, swore shaking my head, discovered only one quart of milk expired 11/26 in the fridge and poured the Kix back into the box, hopping to find some snack to absorb the stomach burn. I climbed stairs, razored my face, took a shower. I felt disgusting, and put on boxers, and emailed someone and ended up feeling less connected to everyone, disconnected from the world. No one was around. The thought of having to do something plagued me. I read the end of the third Harry Potter book in bed, cursing my curdling stomach, trying to lie comfortably on my crap-ass mattress. I put the book down at 10:30 in the morning, spoke to Matt on the phone briefly, hung up and instantly fell asleep.
I woke again, washed my face and stumbled to the toilet, knelt dry heaving the most violent hiccups, the water splashing with an acidic red syrup, awful helplessness, my stomach and diaphragm yanking puke at me as I ran back to my room. It was killing me, trying to find a comfortable position on the bed. I turned my head and my throat stung with bile. I couldn't sleep. I turned over, again again. I fell into an awkward slumber of dark Harry Potter nightmares and tummy churnings, sore muscle groups everywhere.
It was three A.M. when I woke to the sounds of Grandaddy, put some cranberry juice in my aching stomach and and killed off another 75 pages of Alison's Harry Potter book. Incredible stories. I didn't feel so sick. I rose, drank some water and brushed my teeth, then settled down by the toilet for another round of throatstung spitting and puking, the taste of cheap burgers and fries scraping my palette, many quick jolts, my eyes darting around the bathroom, tummy swelling, the reflex. It all faded violently in a way that reeked of food poisoning. I fled to my bed, and kept reading. My birthday ended with only the faintest of stomach churns.
I somberly put down my book just after midnight, and got dressed for the long day of travel ahead. It was a new day, but it felt no better. Thursdays are never too interesting, but rarely so lonely. I said hello to my mother, going through the motions, feigning a smile. I felt strange then, to be living in my parent's home. I grabbed my luggage, and got into the car. Dad and I drove to the commuter rail station in Kingston. I read almost a third of the way into the Harry Potter book by the time we arrived at South Station. We waited for a while, talking a little. Everything looked the same as always. I took a leak. At McDonald's they gave me five bucks for my Quarter Pounder Value meal.
We took a cab to Logan airport, where I hugged my dad with a weak smile and climbed onto my plane just as it prepared to depart at 9:45, a half-hour ahead of schedule. I read on toward the beginning of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I figured that sometime after I landed in Houston, Alison would probably tell me something to take away the empty, scared, and lonely feeling. Something to calm the hurt and quite anger that had been building up inside me for days.
