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ninanevermore"By this time next week, I will officially be one year older than I am right now."
The Carney looked at me sideways, looking a little bemused, and spoke around the cigarette clinched in his teeth. "By this time next week, you'll be a week older than you are right now. How is that any different from you being a week older today than you were last Wednesday?"
"The whole anniversary of my birth thing that's happing. It means that when I fill out paperwork, I have to write down a larger number."
"Then, technically speaking, by this time on Thursday you'll be a whole year older than you are right now."
"Thanks for pointing that out."
He smiled. "Happy b…"
"Don't say it!"
"Why, you don't like birthdays?"
"Nope."
"Didn't you use to?"
"Yeah, when I was counting up to a good number. Now I'm counting away from it, and that number is dust in my wake."
"What good number was that?"
I thought for a moment. "Twenty five. That's a nice number. Mature, but still fresh and full of promise."
"As I recall, you were still living with your dad at 25, trying to figure out what you wanted to do with your life."
"Twenty seven, then. I was on my own by then. What can I say? I was a late bloomer. I guess I still haven't bloomed, but at least my dad got me out of his house."
"Thirty eight is a nice number, too, don't you think? So's forty eight, for that matter. Or sixty."
"Thirty eight is a good number if you've done something with your life. I haven't. It's occurring to me that I probably never will. Next thing you know, I'll be dead and the world will be exactly the same as if I'd never been here."
"So you're afraid of dying, then?"
"Pretty much."
"Aw, now that just hurts my feelings."
"It's nothing personal."
The Carney chuckled. "I suck. I'm scary. How is that not personal, baby girl?"
"Well, you do suck and you are scary, but it's not your fault. I mean, I don't hold those things against you. We're still friends."
The Carney leaned his head back blew a smoke ring. He knows I like it when he does. I had an uncle who used to blow them, and when I see someone do this trick I feel like a small child again, watching the ring rise and grow fatter before it dissolves into the air. "I can't really relate, you know," he said, "I don't have a birthday. I've always been here. And I'm not scared of myself."
"Must be nice."
"You didn't used to be so afraid of me, either. You used to be downright pragmatic about the whole thing. What happened?"
"Thirty seven happened."
"How was thirty seven any different from thirty six?"
"My mom was 37 when I was born. Before I turned 37, I didn't relate to her life in any real way. She had never been an age during my lifetime that I had been also. When I turned 37, it felt like a clock started ticking down to, you know, you."
The Carney lit a new cigarette, inhaled deeply, and regarded me with a crooked grin. "I've seen a lot of quirky creatures in my time. I've seen dogs that couldn't stop chasing their own tails. I've seen birds that pulled all of their own feathers out. I once saw a mesohippus that couldn't stop kicking up its hind hooves up whenever it was grazing. But you human beings take the cake when it comes to neurotic obsessions. You really do. If your theory made any sense you mother would have lived to her seventies, the way her mother did."
I smiled at him self consciously. "I was just saying how I feel. It has nothing to do with logic."
"That's obvious. Tell you what, why don't you just enjoy your birthday in spite of yourself?"
"I'll try."
"And quit being so morbid. You're bringing me down, girl."
I suppose that when Death himself tells you something like this, it's best to pay attention. I'll try to be cheerful tomorrow. As they say, any day above ground is a good one -- even if it does happen to be your birthday.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The Carney looked at me sideways, looking a little bemused, and spoke around the cigarette clinched in his teeth. "By this time next week, you'll be a week older than you are right now. How is that any different from you being a week older today than you were last Wednesday?"
"The whole anniversary of my birth thing that's happing. It means that when I fill out paperwork, I have to write down a larger number."
"Then, technically speaking, by this time on Thursday you'll be a whole year older than you are right now."
"Thanks for pointing that out."
He smiled. "Happy b…"
"Don't say it!"
"Why, you don't like birthdays?"
"Nope."
"Didn't you use to?"
"Yeah, when I was counting up to a good number. Now I'm counting away from it, and that number is dust in my wake."
"What good number was that?"
I thought for a moment. "Twenty five. That's a nice number. Mature, but still fresh and full of promise."
"As I recall, you were still living with your dad at 25, trying to figure out what you wanted to do with your life."
"Twenty seven, then. I was on my own by then. What can I say? I was a late bloomer. I guess I still haven't bloomed, but at least my dad got me out of his house."
"Thirty eight is a nice number, too, don't you think? So's forty eight, for that matter. Or sixty."
"Thirty eight is a good number if you've done something with your life. I haven't. It's occurring to me that I probably never will. Next thing you know, I'll be dead and the world will be exactly the same as if I'd never been here."
"So you're afraid of dying, then?"
"Pretty much."
"Aw, now that just hurts my feelings."
"It's nothing personal."
The Carney chuckled. "I suck. I'm scary. How is that not personal, baby girl?"
"Well, you do suck and you are scary, but it's not your fault. I mean, I don't hold those things against you. We're still friends."
The Carney leaned his head back blew a smoke ring. He knows I like it when he does. I had an uncle who used to blow them, and when I see someone do this trick I feel like a small child again, watching the ring rise and grow fatter before it dissolves into the air. "I can't really relate, you know," he said, "I don't have a birthday. I've always been here. And I'm not scared of myself."
"Must be nice."
"You didn't used to be so afraid of me, either. You used to be downright pragmatic about the whole thing. What happened?"
"Thirty seven happened."
"How was thirty seven any different from thirty six?"
"My mom was 37 when I was born. Before I turned 37, I didn't relate to her life in any real way. She had never been an age during my lifetime that I had been also. When I turned 37, it felt like a clock started ticking down to, you know, you."
The Carney lit a new cigarette, inhaled deeply, and regarded me with a crooked grin. "I've seen a lot of quirky creatures in my time. I've seen dogs that couldn't stop chasing their own tails. I've seen birds that pulled all of their own feathers out. I once saw a mesohippus that couldn't stop kicking up its hind hooves up whenever it was grazing. But you human beings take the cake when it comes to neurotic obsessions. You really do. If your theory made any sense you mother would have lived to her seventies, the way her mother did."
I smiled at him self consciously. "I was just saying how I feel. It has nothing to do with logic."
"That's obvious. Tell you what, why don't you just enjoy your birthday in spite of yourself?"
"I'll try."
"And quit being so morbid. You're bringing me down, girl."
I suppose that when Death himself tells you something like this, it's best to pay attention. I'll try to be cheerful tomorrow. As they say, any day above ground is a good one -- even if it does happen to be your birthday.
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Date: 2007-07-26 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-26 07:42 pm (UTC)