The Birthday Project by David Erlewine

Shelly came home from work with a cat. It was Will’s sixth birthday and she’d figured a feline would do the trick, help the boy start talking and all the rest of it. She set the crate on the kitchen table, next to the cake that Will had watched me make.

Will peered into the crate, screamed, and headbutted the wall. His oversized helmet jiggled from the abuse. I pinned his arms to his sides, whispered “It’s okay,” and avoided Shelly’s eyes, pissed as I was at her latest attempt to fix the boy.

During that first drive home from the hospital, Will had faced away from us in his infant seat; I kept craning my neck to see that he was okay. Years of doctors’ appointments followed, producing nothing more than a series of helmets to prevent the concussions.

Shelly took Will from me and headed towards the living room. “Can you get that thing out of here?” she said, not looking at me or the cat.
In the garage, I took the cat out of the crate and held him in my lap. He was gray and weighed maybe two pounds.

“Maybe you could stay out here.”

He licked his paw.

“Like the name Rocky?”

He seemed okay with that. We sat there until the screaming started over.

I left Rocky on the floor and hoofed it into the living room. Will was yanking on the helmet strap and kicking Shelly’s shins. I held him tight—maybe too tight—and carried him to bed, rocked him to sleep.

Back in the garage, I told Rocky about Will, and Shelly, and even about Tina; how much happier I might be with her. Past midnight, with Rocky staring at the tire pressure gauge and no longer purring, I lowered him into the unlocked crate.

I headed up to the guest bedroom, turned the fan on high, and tried to get some sleep.

About the author:

David Erlewine lives and bitches near Annapolis, MD. His stories can be found at http://whizbyfiction.blogspot.com