There was so much running through my head today as I showered: I wonder if it will rain? Maybe I should buy an electric shaver? OMG! Today is the last day of 28! Tomorrow I shall enter the last year of my 20s!!

Then I washed behind my ears.

The remainder of the morning, I had memories of past birthdays on total recall. It's not that I was washing myself in bittersweet symphonies of youth and reckless abandon, however. I mean, I even cracked a few random smiles on the subway, prompting a few "what the fuck are you so smiley for?" glares. I find it ironic that, upon turning 22, I griped to anyone with an ear about how "old I was getting." And how, with every subsequent year after, my age-innappropriate birthday whine became near ritual. "I can't believe I'm 25!" "Eww! I'm 26! I'm soooo old!" Yet crunched into a standing room only subway train this morning, I felt, at the dawn of 29, younger than I've felt in years. And then there I was beaming, smiling again. I clearly remember complaining for days to my roomates in college about turning 22. Twenty-fucking-two!? Because they were 19 and I was 22. My roomates thought I was nuts. Granted, I tend to overblow virtually everything ("OMG! I can't believe there's an extra 2 minutes of commercials on American Idol today!! What the fuuuuuck!?"), but there's a plus side to being so hyper-emotionally intuitive: exceptional memory recall (when it works), and as the train pulled itself into Manhattan, I went on a little trip of my own into birthdays past, both good and bad.

"Don't you think this is hard for me?" I pleaded with earnest from the passenger seat of her 1994 blue Nissan Sentra parked in a distant corner of the parking lot at the neighborhood park "I haven't felt like this for someone in a long time."
"We're friends," She emphasized, "I don't want to kinda, jeopardize that."
"But," I turned in my seat towards her. She was reclining back, her long slender legs propped up with her feet on the top of the dashboard, "I love you."
"Derrick..." She pushed her long wavy black hair back behind her ear, "It's your birthday! Don't you want to talk about some happy stuff!?"
"I didn't think this would work out. It never works out." I sighed, slumping back into my seat.
"Oh, come on!" She laughed, "Get off your cross, man!"
"What? What cross?" I looked behind me and around the rear of the car. "What?"
"It's an expression. It means you keep victimizing yourself."
"I do not!" I shot back, "just because I said this sucks!?"
"Yeah." She smiled, trying to both change the subject and cheer me up, "Oh, poor you."
"That's terrible! Don't you understand the fragile state I'm in!? I'm damaged, here!"
"You're doing it again."
"That's not fair. Everything sucks!"
"Still doing it."
"Everybody's always picking on me!"
"Yeah, so lower yourself from the cross one leg at a time."
"Ok, why are you so picking on me?" I laughed, giving in to her.
"Victim."
"Dammit!"
"Look, it's your birthday. How about we go to McDonald's? My treat. You can order a few value meals."
"Oh, so now I'm a fat pig? Is that why you don't want me?" I teased, taking the joke for my own.
"Oh my God." She smiled back, righting herself and starting the car. "I've created a monster."
"Oh, so not only am I a fat pig, I'm a friggin' monster now too? Some friend you are."
"I am your friend," her tone was suddenly serious, "Happy 17th birthday, Derrick."
"Thanks."
Our eyes met for a minute and she pulled out of the parking lot.

"Dude, where are you going?" My roomate Dave asked as I pulled on my spring jacket.
"Um, I'm going to go meet a friend." Of course I was lying. I had met a guy online and he said he wanted to hang out. Which I foolishly believed was true, despite it having been 8:30pm on a Saturday and him having a screen name something like "UncutLatin4Fun."
"Well, don't be late coming back!" He responded in that stoner-cum-fratboy tone of voice he had perfected, "We're totally throwing a party for your birthday tonight!"
"Really?" I stopped in my tracks at the foot of the door into our dorm room.
"Yeah. Dude, you're like my mulatto little brother or some shit." There he flashed that shit eating grin he was famous for, "I'm totally throwing you a party. 19 is a big year! I got so fucked up on my 19th."
I almost didn't wanna go but I had told Jon from Astoria that I'd meet him already.
"I'll be back by 11," I think I was more trying to assure myself than him, but I walked out the door burning 11pm into my brain.
Jon was only the fourth guy I met offline. In my naivate I wasn't aware of the protocol. When he, instead of his online offer to go play pool, instead coerced me into "seeing his room," I genuinely thought he wanted me to see his place. Even when I was obviously in over my head, I still maintained my glass-half-full mentality.
"Do you mind if I take my shirt off?" Jon asked, his blonde hair lit up under the light and his blue eyes sparkling before he lifted his shirt off over his head. "It's hot in here, don't you think?"
"I guess. It's your house though. You can take off whatever you want." I shrugged, turning away from him as he undressed.
"Really?" He asked, mistaking my words for invitation, "What about you?"
"I'm not that hot, thanks." I replied graciously, "Hey, can we watch TV?"
"Sure. You like Latino porn?"
"I've never seen any kind of porn before." I turned back towards him, puzzled at his choice of porn over 'The Golden Girls.'
"How about you let me fuck you."
It was like someone had just thrown a knife at my head. The words hit my face like six large bricks. I was shocked, appalled and frightened at the same time. "Actually," I started, "I have to go soon. It's my birthday."
"More reason to let me fuck you." He pulled in closer to me, wrapping his arms around my torso, "It's the gift that keeps on giving."
"Um, I've never done that before...."
"You'll love it. I'll be gentle. I promise."
"No."
"How about a birthday blow job?"
"What?"
"Dude, you came all the way out to Queens just to watch TV?"
"I thought I was making a new friend for my birthday..."
"Well, your new friend has a fucking raging hardon."
"I'm actually really new to this stuff," I pulled from his grip and moved to the opposite end of his bed, "I don't know what's going on."
"Fine, will you atleast make out and jerk off with me?"
I stared at him, suddenly feeling like an ant caught underneath an upside down drinking glass.
"C'mon, it's your birthday. Don't you want to get off?"
And so I did. He actually did the jerking off. First me, then him. Then we showered. I liked the showering part. He ran his loofah all over my body. It almost felt like it was more than just a hookup. Almost.
"I'm really tired." This he says nearly immediately after I'd dressed. I was still putting my shoes on. "You should probably head out." He feigned sleepiness, dropping his eyelids unconvincingly over his blue eyes.
"Um, ok..." I had a party to get to anyways.
"IM me tomorrow."
He actually didn't mean this because he blocked me the next day, but whatever. I had a party to get to.
Except I never got to it. Somehow, I got lost on the NYC subway system.
"Excuse me sir, " I asked a fellow straphanger on an unfamiliar platform also awaiting the next train at my transfer station, "Is The Bronx a part of Queens? Wait, why are you laughing? Sir, wait, where are you going?!"
I slumped down on a waiting chair. "It's my birthday..." I sighed, knowing full well it was definately past 11pm and I had no idea how far away from lower Manhattan that I was.
"Dude! Where the hell have you been?!" My roomate exclaimed upon his and a group of about 15 friends catching me coming down the block towards the dorm finally, at about 3am, "You totally missed your party. Was kinda pointless to keep it going without you."
"I-I got lost on the subway." I fought the urge to cry.
"We kicked the keg and then went bar hopping."
"Sounds awesome."
"We sang 'Happy Birthday' for you in absentia." He laughed drunkenly and, putting his arm around me, "but you still owe me a drink." He added, lifting his arm and displaying a six-pack of Rolling Rock.
"I went from Astoria to some place called Jamaica. I didn't even know there was a Jamaice in NY! Then I ended up in The Bronx!"
"Shit man you took a tour of the city."
I looked away, embarrassed.
"Just think of how funny that story will be by about your 25th birthday."
I smiled.
"Happy birthday, bro."

"I didn't know what to get you," my exboyfriend Dan admitted, "I spent literally all week looking everywhere."
I sat down slowly on his bed. My excitement barely contained. He handed me a card. His eyes were warm, his touch was endearing and his smile assuring. I took the card and opened it with a slow hand.
"What do you get for the guy who has everything?" That was the opening line. He had written about a paragraph in this card, which I loved. Because anyone who's ever received a card from me knows, I tend to fill up both sides of the card with words. it means alot to me to do so and to receive a card filled up the same, well it means alot to me as well. I smiled at him, then continued reading. "I wanted to impress you for your birthday. To give you something you would cherish forever. Because you deserve the best. For your birthday I want you to feel what I feel with you, because everyday is a present since I have met you. I hope that this gift makes you as happy as you have made me. I love you always."
The voices of his family on the other side of the door served as backdrop to a moment I'd never thought I'd ever have. I closed my eyes for what felt to me was a millennium. I wanted to take it all in.
"Are you alright?" He asked, breaking into me.
"Y-Y-Yeah. That was beautiful. Thank you." I leaned in and kissed him. He handed me the gift. I tore into the small wrapped box without restraint, stopping to behold its contents when exposed.
"It's an antique rosary." He offered, "I saw it in the window of this antique shop and immediately I felt like it was the one thing I could give you for your birthday."
I loved it, but I knew I wasn't going to let him know. Not how I would want to. I felt ashamed by this because, knowing full well I did not know how to receive love, how could I show him my true graciousness?
"Do you like it?" He asked, his demeanor suddenly remeniscent of a child seeking the loving approval of his mother.
"I love it. Thank you so much." I leaned in and wrapped him a long, tight hug. "It's beautiful. I love you."
"Happy 23rd birthday, baby."
He got up and started making plans for dinner as he picked out his outfit. I suddenly felt a sinking feeling, as if being swallowed slowly by his bed. I excused myself and, after locking the door behind me in the bathroom, proceeded to cry. It was one of the first moments of my life where I was given the opportunity to differentiate between happy and sad tears.

The room was dark. Thunder crackled outside the walls and I was occasionally interrupted by the flash of relentless lightning from across the parking lot outside the glass balcony doors. My head in my hands, collapsed on the floor of my living room. I was crying, hard. Alone.

My 20th birthday was a rough one.

Mrs. Rosenauer was interrupted from her spelling lesson by a loud knocking on the window. As the entire 1st grade classed re-focused their attention to those side windows looking out onto the main driveway to the elementary school, I suddenly became paralyzed with fear at discovering the source of the interruption: it was my mother.
"Hi," My mother cheerily rushed, "I'm Derrick's mom. It's his birthday today and, well I've gotta get to work, but I wanted to drop some things off."
Mrs. Rosenauer tried hard not to let her facial expression read the bewilderment she felt. "Oh, um sure." She then cranked open the window after my mother signaled to her to do so by raising up a gallon bottle of whole milk.
"He loves milk." My mother assured, passing two more gallons to Mrs. Rosenauer through the window.
"Oh, well alright." Mrs. Rosenauer obliged, still masking her true emotions.
"And here's some Hi-C."
I sunk into my chair a bit when a few classmates turned to gawk at me with "what the hell is your mom doing?" facial expressions.
"And he loves watermelon..."
I sunk all the way down in my chair at that point as Mrs. Rosenauer braced herself and was handed a whole watermelon through the window. The class laughed, on cue.
"Oh, and of course," mother finished, "the cupcakes."
"Well, uh, you do know we only have about 20 students in class?" Mrs. Rosenauer had to say something to stifle the laughter barrelling up her esophagus. "This will most likely be too much food."
"Oh, honey my Derrick loves to eat! You won't have any leftovers!"
Mrs. Rosenauer shrugged politely and I was so low in my chair at this point that my head hit its lower back support.
"Oh!" Mother said frightening Mrs. Rosenauer as she laid 4 boxes of 45 cupcakes slowly on her desk, "Do you need a knife?" She held up a sharp steakknife straight out of Norman Bates' hand.
To this, the class gasped and burst into tiny pockets of laughter. And I officially sunk so low in my chair that I completely fell off of it.
"How old are you today, Derrick?" Mrs. Rosenauer asked after declining the knife and bidding my mother good day.
"Eight." I replied, deadpan, from the floor.
"Well, class what do we say?"
"Happy Birthday, Derrick!" They replied in unison.
"Thaaaanks."
That floor was cold.

"Do you know what today is!!!?" I could barely contain my excitement as I jumped up onto the sofa, interrupting my brothers during their TV time.
"Um, yeah, it's Saturday and if you think I can see 'Pro Stars' through you, you're sadly mistaken."
"No!" I protested, "I mean, yes! But it's not just Saturday."
"No kidding," my brother hushed, "they're giving three 'Saved By The Bell' episodes back-to-back and then two 'California Dreams.'"
Defeated I dragged my excitement behind me off of the sofa and into my mom's bedroom.
"Mommy! Guess what today is!"
"What is it, Derrick?"
"You mean, you don't know?"
"It's Saturday. Are you quizzing me, baby?"
"No..."
"Well..."
"You don't know what today is?"
"Did I promise you something to do for today?" She turned to me, concerned, "Because mommy has to go into work."
"No...nevermind."
I couldn't believe they had forgotten. My 11th birthday. I went up to my room, pulled out my Bible and started to meditate on scripture. I was told in church study to do this whenever I felt stressed. It didn't help. "Dear God: Jesus fucking Christ how the fuck did those motherfuckers forget my goddamned birthday! Oh, and in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen"
I waited the rest of the day before finally just telling them it was my birthday at some point in the afternoon. Then, I revelled in their self-punishing guilt.
"It's Derrick's birthday and we all forgot." My mother said after work, "So he doesn't have to do any of his chores today."
"What!?" My brothers protested.
"You boys split his."
"Double what!?"
"It's his birthday." She cooed, pulling me into her waist with a warm hug. "Happy birthday, Derrick."

I wonder what will happen tomorrow. I stepped off the subway, my smile fading. Yep, I've had alot of birthdays. Both good and bad. My 29th, probably not gonna be so bad. And I promise, I will go the whole day without griping once about getting old. Ok, fine no more than 3 times. 4 at the most. Happy Birthday, me.