Birthday Wish

“Happy Birthday!” Meredith greeted me as if it were just another day in the park.

“I’m sixty,” I answered bluntly.

“I know.”

“I’m old.”

“I know,” she answered me playfully.

“Hey! You aren’t supposed to agree with me!”

“I’m just teasing. You look great.”  She laughed that old familiar laugh.

“I look great? That’s something you say to an old person. ‘Wow, you’re ninety, you look fantastic.’ That just means you look fantastic considering the massive wrinkles and age spots.”

“Stop. You look great for real. You don’t look sixty.”

“Ouch. There’s that number again. Could we agree to stop saying that number?” I scowled, struggling with the reality of my milestone.

“Whatever.”

“Thanks for coming by to wish me a happy birthday.”

“I knew you would be here on the swings just like back in the day.”

“Yeah.”

I sat quietly looking around the old playground. It had changed but not that much. What’s that old expression? The more things change, the more they stay the same. My English teacher told me that in Junior High. He had put me in Honors English, I guess he saw something in me. I remember the day he made me recite all the pronouns before dismissing the class for some unknown reason. I, you, he, she, it, we, they. I still knew them like I knew my name. But the pronouns changed, didn’t they? Or the usage of them did. 

“Things are confusing these days,” I said to my old friend Meredith sitting on the swing next to me.

“They were always confusing. Don’t kid yourself, we went through a lot,” she answered.

“Yeah.” 

I sighed, grabbed hold of the metal chains, and kicked off to start the gentle swinging. Meredith did the same. We looked at each other grinning. She still had that shit-eating grin of hers when I knew she was up to no good and about to do something impulsive and crazy. I felt the weight of the world start to lift, felt lighter as the laughter bubbled up and came out. I missed my best friend.

I leaned back holding those cold grimy chains as I pumped my legs, up and back, up and back. With my legs extended in front of me I looked at my shoes.

“I’m wearing sensible shoes,” I said as if just discovering the fact.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Meredith teased.

“I’m sixty. I wear sensible shoes to work. There’s really no point in dressing up.”

“Unless you want to feel good about yourself.”

“Are you judging me?” I darted her a look.

“Clearly, I’m in no position to judge. Just reminding you that you did love a good pair of shoes once.”

I thought back to those teenage years. I did love a good pair of heels, some dangling earrings, and my black leather jacket. I also loved a good pint of Jack Daniels. 

“Those were some crazy times, weren’t they?” I asked softly.

“The best,”

“No. Not the best. The worst. The absolute worst. I’m still not over it.” I felt the anger rise in my chest.

“I’m sorry.”

I glanced quickly at Meredith, surprised. She’s sorry? I wasn’t expecting an apology, didn’t know how to respond.  What does one say? Oh, that’s ok? I forgive you? 

Pumping my legs furiously, I put my frustration into the swing, going higher and higher fighting the dizziness and nausea. Was seeing Meredith again making me queasy or was motion sickness creeping in? 

“My life turned out pretty great despite what you did to me,” I lashed out, surprising myself with the confrontational tone in my voice.

“I know. I’ve kept tabs on you. You have a great family, first grandchild on the way, a little girl.”

I planted my feet into the ground, skidding out, the swing jerking about haphazardly. I stared at her. Was it possible that she could know this?

“A girl?” 

“A girl.”

Our eyes locked as the memories flooded back. Best friends forever, we had promised sitting on those same swings. After exchanging little drops of blood, we hid the cuts under our rope bracelets as we made our pact. How long is forever exactly? More than a few months, which is what she gave me before she ruined everything.

“I’m really fucking mad at you,” I finally told her.

I looked down at the ground, letting go of the chains, looking past my sensible shoes. How was I still so angry after all these years? Because she left me. After all the drama, all the tears, all the secrets told under the stars, she fucking left me.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I tried. I really did.” She looked distraught, worse than I had ever seen her. Gone was the impish shit-eating grin. Gone was the sparkle in her eye, the look of defiance, the contagious fuck you attitude that had kept me going through my own depression. 

“I couldn’t do it anymore, either. But I did,” I reminded her.

“You were stronger than me. I told you that a million times.”

“No. You were the strong one.”

“No. I was made of toothpicks,” Meredith said in a small voice.

I sighed. It was true. She had told me that a million times, that I was the strong one. I only felt strong with her by my side. Strong enough to handle the abuse at home because she too suffered at the hand of an alcoholic parent. She chose to hide in her dark bedroom while I escaped into the world of reading and writing in the corner of the library. Those little girls weren’t equipped to handle the trauma, forced to suffer in silence before therapy became acceptable.

“Did it hurt?” I whispered, remembering how she had looked when I found her lifeless body.

“No.”

I felt a degree of relief hearing that answer. However, the pain she had left behind was crippling. Having to call off her sweet sixteen and attend her funeral was excruciating, the pain keeping me in its grip for years.

“Were you scared?” I continued to ask the questions that had tortured me for decades.

“Yeah. I was.”

“You didn’t have to.” How I wished she hadn’t.

“I know. Now I know. I didn’t then.”

“You left me.” The anger dissipated as the sadness crept back in, the emotions doing their usual dance where one leads and the other follows.

“Forgive me.”

I looked up at the stars in the darkened sky, the view unchanged after all the years gone by. I thought of my husband at home worrying about me being out so late, my kids with their spouses by their side waiting to cut into the cake after I blew out the candles. All those impossible candles. 

Why did I leave the celebration so abruptly? I hadn’t been to that playground in years, avoiding it at all costs, taking the long way to and from work. What made me leave the house like a sleepwalker and show up as if under a spell? Did I know she would be there? Did she call out to me somehow? Did she need my forgiveness, or did I need to forgive her? I wasn’t sure I could.

I needed to be home, far away from the pain, still raw after all those years. Abruptly getting off the swing, setting it in spinning motion I ran, hearing Meredith behind me. 

At the edge of the park, I looked back over my shoulder. I was surprised, but not surprised, to see only one swing gently swaying in the dark.