A Birthday in Corona Time
Since I am to be alone on my birthday,
family calls to instruct me on remote cheer.
Priscilla says, “Go to Starbucks.”
“Get a wicked frappuccino.”
I make a half-hearted commitment,
which her sister radar hears long distance.
“Write this down,” she insists.
I grab a scrap of paper and transcribe her instructions,
but the next morning, I can’t decipher the hieroglyphics
of my handwriting. It looks like a quadratic equation.
The barista points to a blue disc on the floor where I must wait.
He is non-plussed by my instructions and sets to work.
A man strides in, adjusting his mask, and swinging his bicycle helmet.
He is handsome and happy.
“Today is my birthday,” he announces.
He has my attention.
Then I see that this is the opening of a transaction.
In seconds he has free coffee and heads outside.
He is two tables away and sips his coffee,
savoring it even more because he didn’t pay.
I want to say, “Happy Birthday!”
I want to say, “It’s my birthday too.”
But I am shy with strangers and keep my captivated attention to myself.
Having sucked down that Frappuccino, the sugar is coursing through me.
It makes me stupid or brave. I take three steps closer to the bicycle man.
“Happy Birthday!,” I say.
But the words wither and die behind my mask.
“Happy Birthday!,” I repeat, louder and uncertain.
He turns and beams. “Well, thank you!”
“It’s my birthday too.” I feel like I’m five.
He steps towards me and has some twinkle of thought in his eyes.
“Next year,” he proclaims, “we will meet right here, right now.
I slip my mask down, and a delighted laugh sneaks out.
“Yes! Yes!” I promise. “Let’s!”
He pauses. “And then,” he embraces the future,
“We will hug.”
