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They were "I love you too" And if there was any day out of the 365, I needed to hear it, it was my birthday. Always needed to but never did...

I Wonder How Old I AM

My darkest days, ever since I was old enough to define what dark meant, have always been my birthdays. Not sure why that was. I mean for most people, it is a day of celebration, of partying, presents and cake. Not for me. My birthday was the one day out of the year, when I couldn't escape being me. And at times I hated being me.

Most of the time, I would spend it asleep, hoping that no one would bother coming to get me for dinner. Hoping that no one would call to lure me out of the house. But then, when that would happen, when my wishes would come true and I would find myself sitting all alone in my room, only my thoughts to keep me company, I would become sad.

I haven't truly figured it out yet. I don't know if I ever will. It's just a sad day. The one day that by all accounts should be mine. So it was no big surprise to wake up with a sense of dread at 6am on my 18th birthday. Luckily it was a Saturday. That was good. At least I wouldn't have to get through an entire day of school. A day that people would idly brush me by without a second thought and then seconds later wish me a happy birthday because one of my more popular friends made the announcement at lunch.

I sat up and sighed. Thanking God it only happened once a year. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't appear any older than I had when I went to bed the night before. The morning would usually be the worst. Getting myself out of bed for the first time. My first contact with humans, would pretty much be the tone for the day. If I was greeted with open friendly arms, maybe It wouldn't be so bad. That was never the case though.

My birthday was always a day of dilemma at the Carter household. I think pretty much everything I have ever loved has died on or around my birthday. With the exception of my sister. The only dog we ever had was hit by a car on my birthday. My grandfather died the day before my birthday and my grandmother died the day after my birthday. Mom died a week before my birthday which led to dad going into the mental hospital ON my birthday. Since then he has made it his own private goal I think to ruin every single one I had. Gee I wonder why I have a problem with January 28th?

I forced myself to go downstairs and get a bowl of cereal. Dad was still sitting there on the couch where I had left him the night before. The Television was on mute. I walked past him wondering if he would even remember that this day had a special significance. He seldom remembered. In fact no one really remembered. I mean I don't blame anybody. I know they have their own lives which I know doesn't really involve me anymore. But even when they lived at home, my brothers would often forget that it was the baby's birthday. Mostly because Dad or Mom were in crisis.

"Have you been up all night?" I asked him. He looked like he had just sat there staring at the damn TV all night long. His eyes red, and his clothes never changed.

"Huh?" He asked, sounding lost and confused. I knew it was coming then. I knew by the end of the day we would be visiting the emergency room. He was hearing voices again. I could tell by how distracted he was. He heard so much more than the words I was speaking.

"I said did you sleep here in this chair all night long?"

"Yeah I did. Why is it morning already?" I nodded. "Yeah you want some breakfast dad?" He didn't answer only went back to staring. And there was my answer. This birthday would suck! I poured myself some cereal and went back upstairs. I seldom ate in the kitchen anymore. What was the point? I mean that room was for families to gather and eat. If there's no family, then what's the fun of eating all alone?

I tried to fall back to sleep. With no luck. The cereal I ate made my stomach upset. It seemed like any little thing I put in my mouth effected my stomach these days. I went over to my window and stared out into the street below. Thoughts of past birthdays flooded my mind. They always did.

I remember my first officially sucky birthday was when I was five. I was in Kindergarten and my Mom who had promised to make cupcakes for the class, never bothered to show up. The teacher and I had hyped it up, the kids were all excited and then she was a no show. When I got home eyes swollen from tears, she was sitting on the couch, the same one my dad was occupying now, and she was watching her soap opera. She said she couldn't leave, she was afraid she would miss something.

Probably one of the worst things about my birthday is that Brent's was two days before mine. The only time I would actually get to eat birthday cake was when his party would fall on my birthday. I would have to sit back and watch him open his presents, while his parents looked on and snapped pictures. He would then travel to his cake. The one his mother had spent all day baking for him, and on my birthday, we would be singing to Brent. No mention of me at all. But why would I be mentioned? It wasn't for me. It never was for me.

The only time I ever got a cake was when I tried to bake one for myself. Howie tried a few times. I give him credit for that. One time we were at the Hope House waiting to admit my dad for a stay when out of the blue he said, "When we get home Nicky, let's make you a birthday cake" That was fun. We used wheat flour instead of white. Neither of us knew what the hell we were doing. It was the worst thing I had ever tasted but the best birthday I ever had. I wonder if Howie will call me today?

My thoughts briefly travelled to my brother. It was really bizarre the way he just left. Maybe today would be the day I would hear from him. But probably not.

The phone rang bringing me out of my thoughts, "Hello?"

"Hey man" It was Brent.

"Hi"

"Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks, you're up early"

"Kaos, what are you talking about it's noon man" I looked over at the clock and was astonished to see he was right. I was so sucked up in my memories that the time just flew by. Maybe the whole day would be like that. "Oh. What's up?" I moved onto the floor.

"Not much just wanted to say happy bday. What time are we going out tonight? I can't stay out too late. My parents are taking me out to dinner. They said you are welcome to join us" I rolled my eyes. There was no way I could handle that. Not today. "Aw,thanks but I think Dad and I might be doing something later" I lied.

"Okay cool, well let's say around 7 then big guy?"

"Sure 7 sounds great" And then we hung up. This was also another bad thing about my birthday, the phone. One year I actually unplugged it. This way when it didn't ring, I would know it was my fault. Whenever the phone rang on my birthday, I always hoped it would be someone wishing me a happy birthday. Vain maybe, but still, expected. I'm not sure who I wanted that to be. Brian maybe, Kelly possibly. Howie definitely.

The phone rang again, I picked it up in anticipation, "Hello?"

"Is this Nick?"

"Yes"

"Nick, Hi this is Sharon, I'm your Dad's social worker. Look he just called me a while ago and threatened to hurt himself"

"He did?"

"Yes, it appears that the voices are telling him to hurt himself today" I rolled my eyes. Did I care what my father's voices were telling him to do?

"Oh" There was a silence on the other line and then a sigh. It sounded like she was annoyed by my reaction.

"I was wondering if maybe you could bring him over to the Hope House. I called them and they said there is a room available" I don't know why I said the next thing I did.

"It's my birthday"

"That is nice" She said forced, like she couldn't care less, "Well do you think you could do that for your father?"

"I kind of have plans" I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth. Then she summed up what I had been told my whole life. "Sometimes you have to put aside your feelings for your family. Your dad needs help. Let's not be selfish about this"

I hated this woman almost as much as I hated my father.

"Funny he never put aside anything for me" I had to add. She wasn't paid to hear what I had to say, so she kind of brushed off the comment. "I will bring him there"

"Thank you Nick. You are making the right choice. We have to do what is best for your father"

"Nicky" My father's voice sounding shaky called to me from the bottom of the steps. I walked out devoid of any emotion and knew what was coming next. "Yeah dad?"

"Can you bring down a bag for me? I am going to the Hope house"

"I have to pack for you?"

"Nick, I'm sick, please? Don't give me attitude" So I went and packed his stupid bag and we went to the Hope House.

The Hope House is a step above the mental hospital. It's basically a place where you are monitored and have 24 hour support but no white rubber walls. Think of it as a hotel for crazy people. And at 7pm that is where I found myself sitting, instead of being with my friends.

The check in procedure took forever which it always does. Dad had stayed here so many times, that all the staff know him by name. And they all know me too, they look at me with contempt. You know, as the son who doesn't care about his dad. The son who isn't willing to give up his life for his father. Like his poor daughter did. I could see him acting me out in his therapy sessions. It made me nauseous.

I ran to the restroom and threw up. Even surprised myself a little. My stomach was acting up again. It really hurt. I was doubled over taking in huge deep breaths. I really couldn't afford to be sick again. The teachers wouldn't buy it. When I finally felt the nausea pass, I came back out into the main room. There I tracked down one of the staff members. "Excuse me, can you tell me how much longer this is going to take?" She looked at me with disgust, at least that is what I read on her face and she went into the office where Dad, Sharon and the head of the house were. She finally came out after a few more minutes. "Shouldn't be too much longer. They would like to meet with you in a little bit. Can you stick around?" I nodded. I had already canceled my plans with Brent. Now I just wanted to go home and go to bed.

I found my mind traveling into my dark place again. I decided to use the phone and check messages at home. Of course no one had called. I wasn't sure if I should call the guys and tell them about dad or not. I remember once finding my dad lying on the floor on my 16th birthday, he had taken a bottle of pills then. I remember almost wanting to ignore him and walk out the door. Then I remembered. I remembered when he did that to my mother when I was so young. And for just a moment I understood.

How easy it would be for me to walk out the door and never look back. No more Carters ever. A fresh start, somewhere else as someone else. I wonder how many times you are allowed to start over? Maybe I could change my birthday so no one would know what day it was. That way there would be no disappointment.

"Mr. Carter?" I turned to see Sharon waving me into the room. I turned on my heel and walked in. My dad sat off to the side, with Sharon in the middle I was to sit next to her and the lady in charge, who was ironically named Sharon as well sat behind her big cherry wood desk. I think all people in mental health are named Sharon.

"Mr. Carter, your dad feels like you hate him. We were trying to explain to him that you love him and care about him very much?" Why God on my birthday? But I do hate him! He is right about something for the first time in his life!

"Come on dad, you know I don't hate you"

"No, I don't. You never talk to me, or tell me about your life or anything. You hate me"

"John, that is not true. Your son loves you, he wouldn't be here otherwise"

I don't know why but I suddenly felt compelled to let my dad know I loved him. If nothing else so I could go home. "Dad of course I love you. Okay?"

"I feel like one day you are going to leave and then I will have nobody"

"Dad, you have five sons not just me"

"But Howie just left, without saying a thing" Then I realized that's why we were there. Because of Howie. It had nothing to do with me at all. He couldn't give a rats ass if I was here or not.

"So how can we work on making you feel better than?" She asked my father. My feelings weren't important. They never have been.

"I don't know"

"Yes you do" My dad looked at the wall, trying to find words to tell me what I could do to make HIS life better. It was always about making HIS life better. Never mine.

"Maybe he can be nicer to me" Sharon looked over at me, "Would you be willing to do that Nick. Be nice to your father from time to time?"

I let my mind wander, ironically to a song I heard in our school play this year. The musical was Gypsy and the song was called Little Lamb. It was a birthday song. One of the lines of the song was I wonder how old I am. It dawned on me just then, while I was hearing how I needed to be nice to my father and how I was expected to understand his illness. That if birthdays only counted everytime they were celebrated with even the slightest thing like a cake or a hug or a card, even. I would only be about three years old.

The rest of my session with Dad and the therapists just became routine, them explaining the program and the medicine and his illness for the thousandth time. Finally at 9pm I left. I entered my empty house at 9:30 checked to see if there were any messages, when there were none, I walked up the steps and laid in my bed.

I wanted so desperately for someone to call. Maybe jump out of the closet and yell surprise. I thought 18 would be different. Special in some way. It was supposed to be important. But it wasn't. Just another day. I laid in the dark aching. Not only in my stomach, which could very well have been because of hunger, but also in my heart. I figured it out really just then, as the clock struck midnight, That the reason my birthday was so horrible for me was because I was not supposed to be happy. I didn't deserve happiness. People who meant nothing to anyone didn't deserve their own special day. And clearly, laying in my bed in the dark, all by myself, I was one of those insignificant people.

I rolled over to go to sleep when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Happy Birthday Nicky" It was AJ. I sat up in my bed.

"Hi J"

"I'm glad you were home I thought for sure you'd be out partying" He joked. I wiped my tears away. "Nah, I'm home"

"Cool! Did you have a good birthday?" God how do I answer that one? I wanted to ball, I wanted to scream but I also remember ruining HIS birthday because of my selfishness so I lied. "Yeah, it was great"

"Did you and that hottie do anything?" He meant Kelly, he didn't even know we had broken up. "Yeah we did dinner and a movie"

"Excellent, well remember little bro. If you have sex wear a condom!"

"AJ!" I heard Sarah yell in the background. "What? The kid needs to know these things!" I laughed. The first smile since I woke up this morning. Although it wasn't even technically my birthday anymore. That alone made me feel better.

"Well, listen kiddo. Just wanted to check in. You probably have lot's of people there"

I looked around my bare, dark room, "Yeah the guys and Kelly and I are just about to watch a movie"

"Awesome, I'll let you go then. Take care"

"Bye. I love you J"

"Same to you" He said and then he hung up.

I laid back down and sang happy birthday to myself before dosing off. Maybe 19 would be better...