The Birthday Party

August 1985

In the sweltering heat of an August afternoon, Tim sat not so patiently on his front porch steps, listening to the locust as they each took a turn resonating out their late summer serenade. Seeking shelter from the hot summer sun, Tim sought refuge on the porch, chasing his shadow ever farther up the steps to the overhang of the porch roof. Although Tim was sitting there almost motionless on the breeze-deprived front porch, the sweat still somehow managed to escape his forehead dripping down to collect, but briefly, on the step below.

Thirsty and growing more impatient with every rise in degree, Tim finally broke from his vigil and stepped back inside to get a cold drink of water.

Where are they? he wondered as he stood in the kitchen, gulping down the cup filled with cold water. Checking the time on the kitchen clock against his wristwatch, he shook his head from side to side and tossed the cup into the sink.

On his way back outside, the phone rang in the living room. Doorknob in hand, he instinctively stopped midstride. Holding the door open, allowing the heat of the afternoon to flood into the foyer, he paused for just a second, listening in as his mother answered the phone.

"Hello ... oh, OK ... really ... well, how late do you think you will be? OK, I'll tell him ... no, no problem ... no, he will wait ... OK, see you when you get here."

"Hey, Mom," said Tim. Hoping he did not already know the answer, he asked the question anyway. "Who was that?"

"It was Uncle Frank. He said they were having some car problems, something about a muffler. Anyway, they are running a little late. They are going to drop off Natalie and her bike here and then go to the garage to get their car fixed. Uncle Frank asked if you would wait here for Natalie until they got here so she could ride to the birthday party with you."

"I guess, I guess," said Tim as he closed the door behind him, stomping off to find a seat on the front porch railing.

Just great, another delay, he thought.

While Tim was resting on the rail, a little agitated with the news, his thoughts slowly began to drift to the birthday party and especially the pool, the refreshing and cool pool.

Immersed and all alone with his thoughts, Tim was interrupted from his daydream by the shouting match from John and Tom, the Weaver twins. Bickering back and forth as they raced their bikes down Grove Street hill, destined for Stretch's house, the twins once again and in true fashion announced their arrival.

Each twin, dressed only in an old pair of cutoff blue jean shorts and a pair of well-worn sneakers, raced side by side to see who would be the first to get to Stretch's house. Flying down the hill with beach towels, tied around their necks, flapping backward into the wind, the redhead freckle-faced boys looked like a couple of caped heroes racing to a rescue.

Faster and louder, they sped down the hill until arriving at their destination. Immediately after passing the telephone pole that signified their finish line, the duel shouts of "I won!" filled the otherwise quiet street. After declaring their victories, they each stood up on the pedals of their bikes coasting to the next pole. While looking at each other as the next pole was passed, a shout of "Now!" was instantaneously followed up with a forceful backward lunge as each twin quickly pushed down as hard as he could on the rearmost bike pedal. As the twins screeched to a sideways stop in the middle of the road and directly in front of Stretch's house, the inevitable argument soon erupted as to who lost the most tire tread to the road. Stopping for only a brief moment and after a quick scan of the premises, the impatient two began to circle the street directly in front of their target.

From Tim's front porch view, the two resembled a pair of redheaded cartoon buzzards circling in rings, eyeing up their next feast. As the two looped back around and rode along Tim's sidewalk, the twins continued their nonstop war of words.

"I don't see him out here yet! I told you we were gonna get here too early!" scoffed John.

"Ah, you're wrong. It's not too early. Stretch said to be here by one thirty. Why, what time is it anyway?" asked Tom.

"It's one fifteen, I told you we were early!" retorted John.

"One fifteen, one fifteen, why, that's not early! Now noon, or even twelve thirty, that might be a little early, but I say one fifteen is right on time," argued Tom.

"Well—I won the race here anyway," declared John.

On and on the two continued to do what they do best until, unable to stand any more bickering in the sweltering heat of the afternoon, Tim stood up from the front porch rail, waved his hands, and shouted out, "Hey, guys, over here. Why don't you two come on over here and wait with me in the shade? That is, as long as I don't have to hear another word from either of you until we leave for the party."

Not needing any further coaxing, the twins retreated from the heat and their continuous parade of circles. Kicking open Tim's front gate, they rode down the flat stone-slab sidewalk, bumping against the front porch step with their front bicycle tires, completing the stop.

"Why don't you guys take a break and sit here with me in the shade for a few minutes. I just talked to Stretch a little while ago and he said he would only be a few more minutes. Said he had to finish helping his mother before we left," explained Tim.

Getting off their bikes and tossing the rides to the ground, John and Tom climbed up the steps and joined Tim on the front porch steps. As they sat and waited for what was hoped to be a short stay, the twins plopped down on the floor and sprawled out on their backs, seeking shelter from the ever-diminishing shade.

Having had enough of the encroaching sun himself, Tim reached over for his baseball cap, twisted the lid on his head, and stood back up to once again find relief from the scourge of the sun.

The twins, resting on their backs with arms stretched up to their heads with hands cupped together acting as a pillow, for once were silent, at least for a few minutes.

"Sure is a great day for a birthday party today," said John.

"And even a better day for a swimming birthday party!" replied Tom.

Thinking about the cold splash of the water, John said, "Yeah, I sure will be glad to get in that pool, can't happen soon enough." After pausing for just a second or two, John moaned, "Just not looking forward to that ride back up Grove Street hill. It's hot!"

Joining in on the conversation, Tim added, "I'm just glad Stretch's grandparents let him use their house and pool for his birthday party this year. The bike ride there won't be too bad, guys. Once we get to the top of Grove Street hill, it's almost an all-downhill coast until we get to Meeker Hollow, and then from there, Stretch's grandparents' house is only a few miles or so away."

Once again John complained, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you, but still not looking forward to that...