My eyes open and I am greeted with the sight of the boathouse, the place I have been staying for the last four months. I have come to know it as home. My apartment stays cold and desolate, a place I do not wish to stay. Although it was ultimately nicer and prettier, cleanlier too, I like to stay here because it reminds me of him.
I turned over in the nest of the bed we built and see him. He was smiling already, cheeks red, and sent me a silent wish with his eyes. They were twinkling and bright.
"Good morning, my love." His face was pressed against my chest, sweet and child-like I gave him a giggle as he looked up at me with his drooping eyes, laden with thick sleep. He looked like he had a good rest, one he needed desperately.
He was home for just a short time. Soon he'd be off to Bron Yr Aur. He'd been home for a week now and I was enjoying our quiet bliss. I didn't think I would have been so relieved to see him, but I was.
"Good morning, my little Jimmy."
"Happy birthday!"
"Thank you." I bloomed like the flowers outside our windows. The Spring air was in full effect, Summer on its way. A thin melon-slice smile played on my face. Today would be a good day. It would be the first good birthday I'd had in many years. I knew this because he assured me and I had no reason to not believe him.
"Do we have any plans for today?"
"As you've requested, it shall be just us for most of the day. But the guys wanted to stop by to see you for a little bit and wish you a happy birthday."
"Awe, that's so sweet!"
I played with a loose thread on our sheets. The sun was coming in from around the edge of our drawn curtains, painting shapes on the carpet.
"I am going to give you your first of many presents today." He reached over to the side table and produced a joint. It wasn't wrapped very neatly, so I could tell it was done by him. Robert had better rolling skills than either of us.
"Oh, thank you!" I took it from his hands and admired his poor craftsmanship. It was sweet that he tried.
We shared the joint, passing it back and forth until there was nothing but a smoking stub left. He pressed the remainder into an ashtray that was perched on his bedside table. It was a marvelous way to start my birthday.
When the ashtray was firmly tucked away on the bedside table, next to the tiffany lamp, he turned to me and spoke, "Now we have breakfast."
"You've prepared breakfast?"
"Of course. It's on the table, all ready for us." His smile was sweet and rested comfortably on his face.
"Well, we better make sure Lucy doesn't gobble it all up before we get down there."
We made for the stairs. We walked together, his steps trailing behind me, and soon reached the bottom of the steps. When we got down to the kitchen the meal was pristine and untouched. Lucy sat on one of the white chairs, her front paws on the edge of the table, creeping her way onto the cloth.
She was quick, but not quick enough. I scooped her up before she could snatch anything up.
"When it's your birthday, we'll make you breakfast. Not today though." I held her in my arms long enough for her to start purring. The rumbling radiating from her body was sweet and made my heart swell. I placed her on the ground and sat at the table, ready to eat. "This all looks so good!"
He made a wonderful spread of all my favorites. Waffles topped with whipped cream and fruit, eggs, a breakfast sausage I did not know the name of, and fruit juice. It was plated nicely with chocolate syrup on the side for my waffles and flowers placed in the middle of the table in a vase. He told me they were for me.
The arrangement was beautiful. Blooms of purple, yellow, and pink were spread evenly in the glass vase. I tapped my fingers against the sturdy container, listening to the twinkling sound it produced.
The herb was working its way through my system to full effect, causing me to devour my plate. I was gluttonous and greedy on my special day. I didn't care for table manners. I sang in pleasure as I ate. The fruit was so sweet and soft, tasting as if it were a perfect Summer day in July. I was curious how he got berries that tasted so delightfully. They couldn't have been normal fruits, they must've been picked from wavering trees in the backyards of gods older than the sun.
I thought maybe he had gathered them himself, fighting through millennia of carnage to retrieve the fruit. What could he have encountered on this journey for my breakfast? Perhaps ancient and sentient beings much larger than him, things unfathomable by the human mind. I thought of him moving through space and time to join me here, with his great gifts. He returned at just the right hour to celebrate my birthday, bringing with him wonderful news and of course, the magical berries.
Forever the memory of the sugary delights would stain my tongue. I fear the magic of fruit would be tainted, no Summery gift being as wonderful as this one. I pushed that thought aside and ate my eggs and sausage.
"So, how was it?" He asked when I was finished.
"It was great, thank you. Just what I needed." I said as I sat my fork down. I was full and longed for a nap.
He stood from the table and collected our plates, planting a kiss on the crown of my head as he went.
-
After breakfast was finished and our plates were clean we sat back at the table to read. He was reading A Sicilian Romance by Ann Radcliffe. It was gothic horror, combining psychological terror and poetry to create a chilling tale of death and betrayal. It seemed to be Jimmy's kind of book, a real page-turner. It was published in 1790, as old as he seemed to be. I was not too fond of reading novels as I found my attention span hard to suspend. But this book I had was special. I was reading I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, a recently published autobiography, written by a new writer named Maya Angelou. She was a black woman from San Fransisco who had a penchant for storytelling. I found the book excellent so far. Ross, a dear photographer friend from California, had given it to me as an early gift. I received it in the mail just two days ago.
The kitchen was quiet as we sat in chairs next to each other, our knees pressed close together. The sun was shining expertly, the only way it knew how to, and illuminated our books. I could hear the occasional turning of a page from Jimmy and the waves down below the boathouse. I was filled with an aura of peace, perhaps tranquility. I had never known such a sweet silence.
Lucy joined us, starting first by wrapping her soft body around our legs and then jumping up on the table. She took a seat in front of me and began chattering to get my attention. When I only gave her a passing glance and a pat on the head she turned to Jimmy. She sat in front of him and started chattering once more. She was a loud cat, often alerting me to her presence when I got home from work. My day was never complete unless I heard her cries for attention from the next room.
He laughed and sat his book down, placing a mark on his page, then picked her up. He held her like the baby she was and scratched her under her chin. She threw her head back in simple pleasure, the kind only a cat could experience. We smiled at her cuteness, fawning over the creature was saw as our child. She really was, so desperate for our love and always hungry, just like a baby. I feared her toddler years of destruction and energy.
"So cute," He murmured as he set her back on the table. She jumped down, contented with the love she had received and went back to wherever she wanted to be. We returned to our reading and remained that way for almost another hour.
When I finally grew tired of reading I sat my book down and yawned, leaning my head on his shoulder. He mirrored my actions and sat his book down, turning his attention to me. "Robert and Jonesy should be here soon."
"Can we put on some music and prepare the tea?"
"I've trained you so well. I can hear the accent coming in already." He wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes and feigned a sob.
"It's fookin' tea time!" I belted, slamming my hands onto the kitchen table.
He did not find my impression humorous. But I threw my head back and cackled, tickled by my own joke. He simply rolled his eyes and walked to the other side of the kitchen. "Oh, c'mon, it's my birthday, give me a break! I can't help that I wasn't born into this feeble nation."
"I'll let that one slide since it is your birthday," he turned to me, hand still on the cupboard, "but I'm getting sick of your cheeky impressions." He ended with a toothy smile. I grinned back, barring my teeth the same as he.
Robert and Jonesy did come by soon enough. I was a little embarrassed that they had brought me gifts, no matter how small. When they presented their boxes I covered my face and laughed into my hands. Robert told me not to be so meek, prodding at me until I dropped my barricades.
He had given me a simple present, a bag of magical herb wrapped in a pretty package. It was tied with a curly red ribbon. Jonesy was less dissolute than the singer, opting instead to gift me with a book. It was a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson, a portly, pink volume of her completed works. I hugged them both and thanked them repeatedly, delivering kisses to their faces. I felt like someone's garish aunt, delivering sloppy smooches in a tight grip.
I hadn't read much Emily Dickinson. I was pleasantly surprised with the large edition, it must have been expensive! The binding was thick and the ink was regal. I brushed my fingers over the golden imprint on the cover, which sported the title and author. It was the nicest poetry book I'd owned. The guys must be making good money from Zeppelin with these gifts. Robert gave me a half, I can't imagine how much that cost!
I thanked them both a thousand times and rambled on and on about how much I loved their gifts. I must've sounded silly. They just laughed and shook their heads, telling me it was no trouble. I wondered where Bonzo was, but I chalked it up to us not knowing each other as well as the others. I took to Robert and Jonesy immediately and the friendship just stuck. What can I say? We were compatible!
They didn't stay too long after they finished their tea. They said their goodbyes and took their voices and mirth with them. I was left in the living room with Lucy while Jimmy gathered the tea tray and took our discarded dishes to the sink. I absentmindedly pet her while I thought about how I'd spent this day in the past.
One year stood out in particular. On my 14th trip around the sun, my first with my father's new family, I was still very scared of the new home I inhabited. It was not memorable for the lack of events or being misremembered. I had a party, and that was the issue. My step-mother treated it as a celebration of Summer, a time I just so happened to be born in. My cake, which I didn't eat because she chose vanilla knowing I hated it, didn't even have my name on it.
I remember the feeling of sadness that filled me. I thought having a real party was going to be wonderful. I'd never had one, after all, unless you count the nights of my mother stumbling in late at night coming home from a party, smelling like alcohol. But even the downcast glances and displaced cheer were much better than spending my day alone wiping away tears.
The day wouldn't have been too special to any other child, just another birthday spent by the pool if it hadn't been my first one with this new family I was forced into. I remember feeling so small and scared, so tempted to hide in my bed and shut the world out.
My step-mom was always so spiteful about me. I suppose being forced to raise a thirteen-year-old that was a long-harbored secret was not a pleasant ordeal, even if you could afford it. There were times that I had wished my mother would've just kept me, even if that meant I was left on my own often and with very little money. I thought, sometimes, that it would've been better than feeling like a floundering fish hoisted onto the scorched deck.
This was a similar feeling to my first birthday with my first love, Dominic. He wasn't one for big displays of affection but my birthday was a different story. He had thrown me a party which was quiet and elegant. He was not the type to throw a raging drug fest, unlike many of the parties happening in the early '60s. It was more of a cocktail party complete with formal wear and champagne. I felt saliant having such a fancy party thrown in my honor.
He invited the few friends I'd made during my first year at Berkely and some of his. I didn't like his friends too much, they were all snobby and intellectual, something they could tell I wasn't. I never felt quite good enough for Dom, and his friends were part of the reason.
My friends were the opposite. Carolyn, nicknamed Care, was an art major and a known socialite. I felt lucky to be so close to her. She'd taken me under her wing, one could say. She helped me slip into a friend group with people like Frankie, short for Francesca, and Liz, obviously short for Elizabeth. They were also art students but focused more on pottery and sculpture. They were kind to me from day one. I still miss them sometimes.
I found it hard to make friends with the people in my department. The psychology majors were largely male and horribly white. They were entirely obsessed with Freud's approach to academia, making it inacesseabile to the undereducated and non-white, which ironically made up most of the country. I suppose Dominic saw the disinterest in me for this line of thought and that's what attracted him. He was into all of that pan-Africanism and returning to the mother country stuff. It all sounds like a crusade to me now, a noble one, but a crusade nonetheless.
As the night wained on he brought out a large white cake. It said "Happy Birthday Guinevere" in purple frosted lettering. After I blew my candles out he swiped a thick glob of frosting off the cake and dotted it on my nose. I giggled and wiped it off with the sleeve of my cardigan.
At that moment someone took a flash photo of us. It was taken on my polaroid camera but I never saw the photo. I felt like we were getting married. I was a beautiful bride on my birthday and he was a terribly dressed groom. I wonder where that photo ended up. I imagined it sitting in a shoebox in someone's attic or a landfill. I hoped for the former.
I laughed at this memory. Never did I think I would have a day like this, spent basking in the warmth of someone I truly cared for. We gave equally, I got back what I put in. I'd never had that.
The memories of my first birthdays were lined up now, at Dad's, with Dom, and now with Jimmy. Of course, this day was the best I'd had, spending it with someone I felt truly understood and accepted me, but I couldn't help compare it to the first one at Dad's. It wasn't great, as I've already mentioned, but a wonderful thing happened to me that day. My step-mom, even through her cruelty, and dare I say wickedness, had gotten me my first camera that day.
I remember pulling it out of the box and being amazed. I had never really interacted with a camera of that quality. Mom only ever had enough money to pay the bills, buy food, and party away what was left, so I never got new things. I never got nice birthday presents, and we definitely didn't waste time pining after luxuries such as cameras or televisions. I had a record player, a tape recorder, and a library pass to fill my time.
I took hundreds of photos that Summer. Sophia, my step-mom, was not happy with the six rolls of film I devoured in one month, but I didn't care. I had a new lease on life, it seemed. I had a purpose. As long as I had that camera, I had a reason to get out of the house and talk to people. It was my way of sinking my teeth into the outer world around me, a way to escape from my head and drab room. I would ask people walking down the street if they could pose, I would ask them about their day and what they were up to and snap two or three photos in the process. It was my first introduction to the art of photography. And it was all me.
Out in that bustling town in California is where I attempted and perfected the techniques I still use today. I could loosen up strangers into telling me their business and posing for me. I learned very quickly how to get people to open up. Most people don't like having their photos taken, but they love to talk about themselves. So I combined the two and the result was lovely!
"You ready for your gifts?" Jimmy asked, bringing me back to the present day. The memories faded. The faces of strangers and the lilting voice of an angry Sophia Banks washed away. She shouted something about "wasting money and film on people you don't even know" as she went. He had already brought out three boxes. I buried my face in my hands once more.
"Oh, don't do that, this is your special day. I want you to be happy." The boxes were stacked in his hands, resting innocently as I grinned.
"I know. I've just never had someone make me feel this special before." My face was hot and red.
"Well I'm your boyfriend and I want to make you feel special on your special day." He sat next to me on the couch and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I was glowing at his insistence on our relationship.
"Say that one more time." I insisted.
"What? Boyfriend?" He smirked, looking at me from the corners of his almond eyes. They were glistening with vitality even from the side.
"Yeah."
"I'm your boyfriend."
I scrunched my nose and giggled. He was, wasn't he? My very own. Just mine.
"Go on, open 'em up!" He cried, watching over me as I picked up the first box. I unwrapped it with care, trying my best not to seem eager. I was pleased as punch when I finally pried the top of the gift box off.
Inside was a pair of white loafers with a heart on the back of each shoe. They were sturdy and well made, maybe the best pair of shoes I'd ever had the pleasure of holding. I slipped them on and they fit perfectly. Once again, I felt overwhelm by the simplicity of his care. It wasn't a grand display of cheerful romance but it wasn't underplayed either. It was small but incredibly wonderful.
"These are nice. I've never had shoes this nice. Wow! Thank you." I sat back down and hugged him. I had opened one gift and I was already wrought with emotion. I felt like crying.
The second box was smaller and wrapped in turquoise foil. "These are wrapped very nicely. Lovely paper." I commented. He smiled a toothy grin and told me he'd done them himself. He was much better at gift-wrapping than joint rolling.
Inside the box was a beautiful ring. It was gold-banded with a glittering green stone. I slipped it on immediately. It fit on my middle finger snugly.
"Oh my god, you are like the best gift-giver!"
"Go on, open the last one."
The final gift was my favorite. It was a painting, a messy landscape of the Thames. There was a scene with a picnic blanket on which two figures were seated. One had flowing red hair and the other had curly black locks. The dark-haired person was playing guitar and the other was listening intently. It was our first date.
"This is beautiful. Jimmy, you're gonna make me cry." I put my face back into my hands and leaned into his shoulder. He was a pillar of mushy emotion. I could practically see the pink love hearts bubbling around us.
"I did that myself." He was proud with a smile resting on his face.
"You made this? Oh my god, I'm really gonna cry." I put the painting aside and buried my head in his chest. I couldn't keep the tears from coming. After a few escaped the floodgates had opened. I kept my face in his chest for a few minutes, wetting his shirt with my well of flowing emotion. He pets my hair and rocked me side to side, letting me enjoy a peaceful moment where I felt loved.
"This is the best birthday I've ever had." I wiped the tears from my face and laughed. I laughed so I wouldn't cry again. I didn't expect such a visceral reaction, but I also didn't expect such lovely gifts. It wasn't the idea of money spent or the gesture of gift-giving, it was the time allotted to the careful search and execution of each present that made emotion well within me.
"I'm glad I could make it so good for you. You made my birthday wonderful and I was returning the favor. You're such a lovely person, you deserve it."
"I couldn't ask for someone better."
-
He made dinner for us that night. It was a nice spread of pasta and homemade garlic bread, another one of my favorites. It was the same meal he made for our first date. I don't know if that was on purpose, but I loved it either way. Lucy joined us for this meal as well. She cried for attention the whole time we ate. This chorus was a wonderful soundtrack for my birthday meal.
Because he let me pick our activities, we were going on a walk after dinner. I decided a walk would help our food digest and tire me out before bed. The streets of Pangbourne were illuminated wonderfully by the moon and the temperature was nice. It was the perfect night for a stroll.
I allowed Lucy to come with us as well. I had to hold her but it was worth it. She loved going outside. I held her under my arm as we walked, keeping her tight in my grasp even when she squirmed around. I have taken her on walks before but she had a leash then. It was at my apartment with the rest of her things.
"You're so peculiar with that cat. A real witch."
"I think it would be better if she had black fur." I retorted.
"Nonsense! She's perfect just the way she is." He feigned open-mouthed offense.
"Oh, yes, yes, that's true. But I meant I would be more witchy."
"Don't let her hear you. She'll curse you." He covered her little ears. She squirmed again, trying to wriggle herself free from our hands.
"I don't think cats can do that."
"I don't want to find out." His tone was dramatic and he shook his head. He was always acting silly like this, making me laugh.
The smell of a campfire was thick in the air. I imagined a group of people surrounding the glowing pit, a circle of friends and relatives. I hoped it was a time of serenity and memory-making. I was in such high spirits that I wanted to spread that joy, even on a molecular level.
We walked along for a little while longer, just enough time to be refilled by the sweet blowing wind and gaze at the moon. We had gotten our fill of fresh air and made our way back to the house. I wore my new shoes, which were already giving me a blister. I would have to break them in before wearing them out of the house again. They were so lovely that I didn't mind.
It was time for cake now. He was in front of me and it was the most unusual cake I'd ever seen. It didn't have candles, instead incense sticks stuck out of the top. I furrowed my brow and looked at him from across the table.
"Did you not have any candles?"
"No. Now blow them out before the ash drops into the icing."
"There should be twenty-six sticks."
"I didn't have that many."
I couldn't blow them out, obviously, so I just lifted them out of the cake. I sat them aside and made a wish in my head. The wish was for happiness, just as I had thought on Mabon. I knew I would get this wish, for it was already happening. It was Jimmy. He was my happiness.
And happiness had never looked so beautiful. He rested his chin on his hand, looking intently at me as I worked carefully to remove the incense. A soft smile sat upon his features. His hair looked wonderful today, and his eyes were shimmering in the reflection of the kitchen light. I leaned over the cake and kissed him, a special thank-you for all he had done today.
"What was that for?" He asked.
"For being the best boyfriend."
He kissed me, "That's for being the best girlfriend." It was terribly cheesy, a banal display of romance but I didn't care. For once, I was happy with cliche. Life had been endlessly disappointing and out of the norm, I could handle some decorum.
"This is so good!" I sat back in my chair, eyes closed, and savored the sweet taste. It was the best I'd gotten yet. It was a chocolate cake with green frosting. He had listened to me when I told him in passing that I didn't like vanilla. Another small detail he hadn't spared.
We ended the night in bed, where he sang me a soft song, his voice low in my ear. Lucy was cuddled between us and I drifted into a peaceful sleep, feeling more loved than ever. It was certainly the best birthday I'd had yet.