Doctored Chance #NaNoWriMo2019

2 | Birthday

When we are children, adults bring up stories of broken friendships and swear to things that they believe in that friendships, even powerful ones, don't always last. They chuckle sadly at their children when they see them making future plans involving their friends and say things like "Don't get your hopes up." But children have a great sense of hope and tend to believe strongly that they will break the chain—that their friendships will last their lifetime.

Tobias MacClain did not break the chain, and he had no regrets, disappointments, or woes about it. He had suffered the company of Benjamin Jones for twenty-six years of his twenty-eight, and the company of Poppy Tris only one year less. While the other two remained thick as thieves, Tobias had grown sick of their company. On some days, even resentful of it.

On the morning of February 29th Tobias awoke to another dreadful year of, so he thought, enduring them. He opened his eyes to his gloomy, windowless room and turned the dimmer on to the lowest light to stare disdainfully at the plain white ceiling above and considered how foolishly he had wasted his twenty-seventh year tolerating Benjamin's arrogance and Poppy's tactlessness.

He sighed and pulled back the covers to rise. After neatly setting the bed, he tugged an already-buttoned button-up over his undershirt, then slipped into his closet to find a pair of pants and his most comforting fuzzy slippers.

Mornings were his least favorite time of the day. His head spun, reeling with blurry and disorienting images. In his dizziness, he toppled back onto the bed upon his exit from the closet, only one arm of his red robe in place. He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, slipped the other arm through, and looked up at his door.

What were the chances, he wondered, that Benjamin Jones would break it down again this year? It happened every single birthday, ever since they had moved in together, and it rattled Tobias to no end. He pressed his fingers to his brow and tried to focus.

What were the chances?

As he'd grown older, and tireder, and more dependent on caffeine and schedules, Tobias's powers to see the possibilities of the near future had grown, too. Futures buzzed and bounced around his skull, speckling his vision until he simply couldn't bear to try further and most of the little blurry images fizzled out. A few always stayed to plague him, and before his morning coffee, they were nothing but static.

He groaned and shook his head and unlocked the door, just in case Benjamin was going to be predictable once again, then settled at his desk. He pushed on his glasses and opened his computer. While it booted, he contemplated the framed photographs pushed up against the wall and smiled particularly at those including a black-haired girl, and in the more recent photos, a black-haired woman. Her hair was always a mess—he loved that about her. So carefree, unafraid of how her appearance could shape perceptions of her.

In his e-mails, as he'd predicted even foggy-brained and without his powers, was a "happy birthday" e-mail from her, with a midnight time stamp. Viola Mae Reed, the night owl. He smiled wider and moved to open it, but jolted from his seat so abruptly that his chair fell to the floor, right on top of his already fallen, broken-down door.

"BENJAMIN JONES," Tobias howled, clenching his fists. "That door was unlocked, you brute, you buffoon, you—you—!"

It was futile, for Benjamin Jones, as usual, was not listening. He and Poppy Tris couldn't hear Tobias's protests over their loud and off-key singing of a terrible rendition of a happy birthday song. Between the two, they carried a large tray with a very delicious-looking cake that was really a stack of cinnamon buns held together by glaze and topped with a number seven candle, and a cup of something steaming. Poppy Tris carried a big square present wrapped in paper patterned with onomatopoeia in comic-style text bubbles.