THE BIRTHDAY

A Tale of the Hatchback Woman by Dan Jire

It was better that Jonathon didn’t smile back. His wife was certain to be watching him—analyzing every possible why he might be gazing at the skinny blonde woman standing across from him at the gas pump. Still, he tried to compare the young woman’s body to what he had to come home to. Though he concluded nothing was a standout. Her frame was almost skeletal, but still healthy. Her hair was flat and ratty and either she didn’t care about her appearance on a Friday night or she had fallen on hard times. But there was something else too. She had the look of a door that had been closed that last time one looked, but now it hung slightly ajar.

He thought she caught him looking.

Jonathon darted his eyes away and pretended to look for the squeegee to wash his windows. When he found it, he saw the woman’s red hatchback. It must’ve been loaded with everything she owned. This time when he looked at her, he saw sadness in the way she stared across the gas station, both their pumps chugging along.

Her pump clicked first.

Jonathon gasped at his as it continued to rack up the gallons. They had been close to empty when they had pulled off the interstate. He never liked letting it get that way.

When he looked back, the red hatchback drove off. He watched it while his wife’s eyes burned the back of his neck. Jonathon couldn’t help, but wonder about the woman. He envisioned a desperate story—an abusive husband and kids that were stolen away from her.

As his pump stopped and he returned the nozzle, he noticed something lying on the ground where the woman had been fueling.

A birthday card.

Jonathon stepped over to the other side of the pump and picked it up. He almost laughed at the sentimentality that now boiled up in him and wanted him to cry. The poor woman, she lost something that used to cheer her up. He wondered if he could find her and give it back to her. A whirlwind romance burst into his head and he had to shake it off. He reminded himself he was married and that the young woman was not that beautiful. Still, when he glanced back at his mini-van and caught his wife snapping her attention away from him, he wished he’d had better options.

He opened the card.

There was no clever saying, no signature, not even a personal note.

Jonathon supposed that it was a card she never used. Perhaps, it was the very definition of the never-to-be relationship.

He stepped back to the mini-van in synch with his wife yelling, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he glanced at the blank card again. Only now it said something.

It read: Hurry up, Dipshit.

He looked at his wife. He could see she was irritated.

He closed the card up and got in.

“What’s that?”

Jonathon shrugged. “Blank card.”

“It’s trash throw it out.”

“I thought it was important. Did you see that woman’s car? Looks like she was on the run or something.”

“Is that why you were staring her down?”

“Dammit, Jessie,” Jonathon said and behind them their newborn wailed.

His wife Jessie cursed him under her breath and reached behind them to jam a pacifier into the baby’s mouth.

Jonathon floored the mini-van all the way through the on ramp and then gunned it over into the far left lane. He wanted nothing more than to get home and go to sleep. Hurry up, Dipshit, he told himself. Only the words sounded as if they had come from Jessie.

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Jonathon sat bored at the dinner table. He should’ve clapped with his wife as their son cried happily, “Muamuam.”

“That’s right, say it, Mom-mom.”

Jonathon examined the birthday card, wondering why it was blank—again. Wondering if he had only imagined the words he had read. Only now it wasn’t blank. It simply read: Feed me.

Jonathon laughed. That’s all his son wanted and now Jessie was tormenting him as he demanded food.

“Say it, Say Mom-mom.” Jessie beamed. “Isn’t that great? He said my name.”

The card had changed to: He said my name first. He loves me more.

It seemed silly, but Jonathon knew the card was doing something. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was stress or depression or something else, but somehow the card must’ve been saying what people really meant.

“Would you ever cheat on me?” Jonathon asked. It was a dagger of a question he wanted her to be shocked.

“Honey, of course not.” She shook her head and pulled in the side of her mouth like it had been a silly thing to ask. “Why are you jealous of your son here?”

Jonathon looked at the card, it told him the truth: I have and I will again.

Jonathon got up from the table. He didn’t say another word even as she asked him what was wrong.

Alone in the bathroom the card was blank again.

He couldn’t believe it.

Jonathon took the card elsewhere, trying his hand at proving it wasn’t just his imagination. It seemed to work every time. He had to find out more about the card, he had to find the woman in the red hatchback.

He drove back down the interstate. He’d spent a few hours at the gas station. His questioning of the attendant provided truthful statements, but no progress in his search for the woman in the red hatchback.

“Why you asking?” the attendant asked.

“She dropped something last time I saw her, I wanted to make sure she got it back.”

“You can leave it here and if she comes looking for it, I can give it to her.”

Jonathon consulted the card: I hope it is cash.

“That’s alright.”

Jonathon asked total strangers throughout the city; eventually he met someone who simply smiled when Jonathon asked. He looked lazy, but successful. He didn’t wear glasses but the marks on the side of his noses looked like he wore them more times than not. He had a mustache that needed trimming but otherwise looked rather put together.

“You know her?”

“Eh?” The mustached man shrugged. The card told Jonathon differently: I’ve heard of her.

“What’ve you heard about her?”

“Blonde chick in a red hatchback, filled with junk?” The man laughed, “Did she give you something? Cause if she did then you best get rid of it.”

The card was blank.

“It’s an urban legend around here. She gives people things and they usually ruin their lives with them. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Is that all you know?”

The man shrugged. The card told Jonathon: Ask the right question, Buddy.

The mustached man asked, “She give you that card?”

“It fell out of her car.” Jonathon held it out to the man. But he protested.

“Not for me. You should get rid of it. Give it back. I don’t know much, but all I’ve ever heard is bad things.”

Jonathon brought the card back to his side. He couldn’t help but notice the text in the card: Poor Abby.

“Who’s Abby?”

The man refused to help Jonathon anymore. He just persisted that whatever the woman gave him should be given back.

Jonathon spent the rest of the day trying to track her down. He did finally. She was parked outside of a library, her muffler providing a nice hum and soft cloud of exhaust as the car idled.

She looked like she was just trying to stay warm by running the heat. Jonathon tapped on her passenger side window.

“Excuse me.”

She rolled down the window.

“You found me after all. Not many are so persistent.” She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and tapped her steering wheel.

Jonathon asked, “What is this all about? This card.”

She smiled. “It’s what you always wanted.”

Jonathon had to know her real meaning. He flipped the card open to read: You wished to understand people’s thoughts on your fourteenth birthday, sorry for the delay.

“See.”

By the time Jonathon looked up the car had already squealed forward.

He charged after the woman as she sped off.

“But don’t you want this back?”

“Keep it, it’s yours,” she yelled just before she wound up her window.

Jonathon looked at the card, inside was a new message: Happy Birthday.

><><

Jonathon returned home to a screaming son and Jessie looked exhausted. It wasn’t anything out of the routine.

“Please, just do something. Turn on the oven and put the chicken in.”

Jonathon looked spitefully at the card, but all it said was: I’m tired.

“Okay.” He did as she asked and then joined her with his son. He lifted his son out of the high chair and rocked him a little. Hoping he’d calm down a little. Hoping somehow his love could transfer just from touch and their child would know everything was okay.

“You still have that silly card you found?” she noticed. Jonathon looked at the card and shrugged. He didn’t want to let her know his secret ability to read her mind from now on. “Thank you.” Jessie said before collapsing into the chair behind her.

The card agreed.

Jonathon smiled.

Jessie’s voice popped, as if it hadn’t spoken in hours. “Do you love me?”

Jonathon saw the card before he answered: I wish you still loved me. I’m sorry I got fat.

“I love you,” Jonathon said.

Jessie sighed. “You haven’t told me that since before he was born.”

Jonathon apologized.

“You haven’t made it easy,” he admitted and set the calm infant back into the high chair. For so long, they had put off this conversation, the one that had been waiting to dissolve their marriage.

“I just never know what you’re thinking.”

It surprised Jonathon.

He looked at the card: I wish I knew you loved me and appreciated what I do for us.

Jonathon handed Jessie the card.

“Ask me anything.”

“Do you really love me?”

The card didn’t lie.

“You remembered.” Jessie smiled. “You forgot last year.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The card read: Happy Birthday, Jessie.

There was still hope. If they could understand each other then it wouldn’t end. He told her everything.

THE END.