On the Day I was Born

I stand up and walk to the table. My brother is already attempting to assemble the scooter he received, a difficult task for a six year old to undertake. The only item left on the table after my brother attacked his giant gift is a small envelope with my name written on it in my mother's handwriting. She is standing over the table with the smile she usually saves for later, when she brings out our cake. My dad is sitting in his chair on the other side of the room, cigarette and beer in hand, but even he is paying unusually close attention. I need the money. School starts again in less than a month, and seeing as how I haven't really grown out of any of the clothes Mom bought me last year, it is pretty doubtful I'm getting anything new for this year.

"Daddy!" my brother's voice demands, and my old man sets down his beer to put the screws in the right places so Billy can start to put together his new means of transportation. He has been asking for that scooter since well before last year's birthday, but he has always been too young to ride it. Actually, he is still too young, but if I had ever had an extra hundred dollars lying around somewhere I would have bought him the thing just to shut him up about it. I reach for the envelope on the table, considering the large investment my brother's gift ended up being. I'm too old to expect to see five crisp twenty dollar bills in the envelope, but the thought is nice. I don't think I've ever had a hundred dollars to my name, and I'm almost positive my parents have never had a hundred dollars to spare, especially around our birthday time.

"Wait!" My mother still has the goofy smile on her face as she speaks. "I need to change the batteries in the camera."

"You just put batteries in the camera before Billy opened his gift!" I can't help but smile as I say it, partly because my mom is still wearing her smile and partly because changing the batteries in the camera every 10 minutes has become a semi-annual event. The thing goes through at least four batteries for every role of film.

"Dave, where do we have more batteries?" My mom is digging through the junk drawer in the kitchen as she yells towards my dad.

"I don't know where you keep the batteries Ellen. Where'd you put 'em when you bought 'em?" My dad casts a 'what are you thinking woman' look through the wall that separates our living room from the kitchen.

"Oh, I think they are downstairs in the desk" She starts to move towards the stairs and then stops to look back, same smile but her 'listen up boy' eyes: "Don't open that envelope until I find them and get back up here." And down the stairs she scampers. I tease her about that camera every chance I get, telling her I think it may very possibly be the first camera ever made. She defends it like it is the most reliable picture taking mechanism on the planet, the same way she swears she wants to go to Denny's on her birthday because she likes the food there better than anywhere else, and that she stays home from the baseball game my dad can take me and Billy to once a year because she doesn't like sports. If she used the camera more than twice a year, once at mine and Billy's birthday celebration (I was born on July 26th, and Billy the 29th) and then again at Christmas, the cost of the batteries alone would have made it more frugal to get a newer camera, but she didn't so I guess it wasn't.

"Okay," she fumbles with the batteries and finally gets them in. "you can open it now."

I slowly tear the envelope along the top and pull out the card. I pretend to read the cover for an extra time even though there are only a few words on it, just because my mom is already holding the camera up to her eye and I get a kick out of watching her stand there like that for so long.

"Very funny." She speaks without moving. "What's inside?" she asks like she doesn't know. Moms. I tell ya.

I open the card and there is no money inside. Instead, something slides out and falls to the carpet. Confused, I look at my mom, who is still holding the camera, but has yet to take a picture.

"What fell out?" she asks, again with the questions she knows the answer to. I look to the floor to see a small piece of metal shining up at me. I bend down and grab it. A key. My mom finally takes the picture.

"What's this for?" I hold up it and my mom takes another picture, with tears now actually running down her cheeks.

"It's not in the best shape, but she still runs just fine." My dad is now behind me with his hand on my shoulder.

"Is this..." tears start to gather in my eyes as I realize what I am holding, which causes my mom to practically start bawling. Billy gets up and looks at mom, then me, with what almost seems to be pity in his eyes. He is sure he got the better end of this birthday.