Tuesday, January 17, 1995
“It’s not fair.” Bobby Belden’s blue eyes welled with tears, a sulky pout fixed on his face.
“I know, lamb,” Trixie soothed, a hint of tears in her own eyes. “But these things happen. It isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. Besides,” she pulled the coverlet up snugly around his shoulders. “It isn’t like it’s been canceled, just postponed.”
“But it was the first real party I was gonna have,” Bobby whined, his voice coming off more tired than irritated. “I invited all my friends and everything, and now I’m sick, just like last year. Maybe I’ve gotta curse or sumpthin’.
“You aren’t cursed. All of your friends understand, and they’ll all still come,” Trixie assured him. “It will just be in a couple of weeks.”
“But it won’t be my birthday. My birthday is Saturday .” His eyelids drooped as his weariness, coupled with his compromised immune system and emotional overload, conspired to drive him into sleep.
Trixie sat beside him, stroking his hand until his even breathing assured her that he was well and truly asleep. She tucked a curl of his damp hair away from his flushed and tear-streaked face. Bobby was right, it wasn’t fair that he’d been struck down with chicken pox only days before his long planned and anticipated “friend party”, and it definitely wasn’t fair that he was going to spend his seventh birthday feverish and itchy instead of laughing and playing with the seven friends he had invited.
Trixie blinked hard and smoothed the quilt. “I’ll think of something, Bobby,” she vowed softly. “Leave it to me.”
Wednesday, January 18, 1995
“That’s really sad, Trixie,” Diana Lynch sympathized, looking over the lunch table at her friend. “I know that Terry and Larry were looking forward to the party. Is there anything I can do to help make Bobby feel better?”
“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Dan Mangan stated. “I mean, it’s just a birthday party. Once Bobby gets over the chicken pox, he’ll have the party.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “No problem, right?”
“Actually, it’s bigger than that,” Mart Belden corrected his friend. “See, it’s a tradition in our family that we don’t have birthday parties with friends and such until after we start school. Last year Bobby was in kindergarten. Since he was turning six, Moms let him invite six friends over for a sledding party.”
Trixie groaned and covered her face. “Yeah, that worked out so well.”
“What went wrong?” Dan asked.
“We had the coldest January in the history of Sleepyside,” Jim Frayne volunteered. “It hit minus fifteen, and everything shut down -- that was just before you got here.”
“No one was able to come,” Trixie continued the story. “It was just too cold and too dangerous to travel. Moms intended to reschedule the party, but Bobby had pneumonia, and we had the ice carnival, and then we went to Iowa, and before we knew it, it was summer.”
Honey Wheeler frowned. “Bobby didn’t get to have his party?”
Brian, the oldest Belden and Bob-White shrugged. "We had a family party, with cake and ice cream, but he didn’t get to have a day with his friends. I feel bad for the little guy, but I didn’t give him the chicken pox, Trix.”
“I know,” his sister said, “but he’s so disappointed Brian. He practically cried himself to sleep last night.”
“Poor little guy,” Honey whispered, her hazel eyes a little teary. “First having the chicken pox, and then having to put off something he was looking forward to. It breaks my heart.”
“I remember having the chicken pox,” Dan mused. “Itchy, hot and miserable--and before video games.”
“Me, too,” Jim grinned. “I think I was about Bobby’s age when I had them. Dad made me wear gloves so I couldn’t scratch in my sleep.”
“I had them at boarding school.” Honey shuddered at the memory. “It was awful.”
“Trixie gave them to me,” Mart complained with a laugh. “She brought them home from kindergarten.”
“Hey!” Trixie protested, “Diana gave them to me--and the rest of the class.”
“And they both passed them on to me,” Brian added wryly. “I got a double dose, too--I had them inside my throat. All I could eat was gelatin and ice cream.”
“Wait.” Trixie’s round blue eyes widened with enthusiasm. “You’ve all had chicken pox, right?” Six heads nodded their assent. Trixie leaned forward, “I think I’ve got the perfect solution.”
Saturday, January 21, 1995
Bobby Belden woke slowly, absently scratching at an itch on his left eyebrow.
“Don’t scratch, Sweetie.”
His blue eyes blinked groggily at his mother, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Moms?” he rasped, struggling to sit up.
Immediately his mother offered him a cup of apple juice--with a lavender and an orange straw. As the cool liquid soothed his dry throat, Moms called out, “He’s awake.”
Bobby looked up to see his brothers, father and sister standing in his doorway. In unison, they began to sing,
"Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday dear Bobby,
Happy Birthday to you!"
They burst into the room, laughing and wishing him, in Mart’s words, “Natal felicitations”. Bobby couldn’t help but laugh along, especially when he saw the tray his father carried, well laden with his favorites: bacon, waffles, strawberries and whipped cream. Topping the stack of waffles was a candle in the shape of a seven. Brian carefully lit the candle with a match, and the whole family urged the birthday boy to make a wish.
Bobby screwed his face up, concentrating. With a mighty whoosh, he blew out the candle to the applause of his family. With a grand flourish, Mart presented him with a fork, and Bobby dug into his birthday brunch.
After breakfast, Trixie and Mart disappeared with the dirty dishes, followed shortly by their parents, leaving Brian to entertain the invalid. Seven stories and one unusually soothing rendition of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt later, Bobby had fallen asleep, and Brian closed the bedroom door on the dreamer.
When Bobby next opened his eyes, the sun was lower in the sky, and the small red clock on his dresser flashed a digital 2:15. With a grumpy sigh, he started to scratch at a welt on the back of his neck, pulling his hand back as he heard a strange noise outside his door. Rolling out of bed, he crept toward the door, opening it a crack and peeking into the hall. What he saw made him rub his eyes.
He peeked again, then pinched himself, sure he was still dreaming. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were standing in his hallway. Abe was tugging on George’s white hair, while George straightened Abe’s tall, black hat. Bobby leaned further into the hall, trying to figure out what was going on. He leaned and leaned, until he lost his balance and fell flat on his face--drawing the attention of the two dead presidents.
“Ho, Abe! Methinks someone is awake.” Bobby pulled himself up to his knees, wondering why the father of America sounded so much like his brother Mart.
President Washington reached down for one arm, while President Lincoln grabbed the other and they gently pulled the boy to his feet. Bobby looked from one to the other, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Mart? Brian?” he asked.
“I am President George Washington,” the shorter of the two told him, “And this is my esteemed colleague, President Abraham Lincoln. You, Master Robert, may call us George and Abe.”
“Okeedokee,” Bobby agreed, not knowing exactly what his brothers were up to, but willing to play along. “You can call me Bobby. No one calls me Master anything, and Robert is my in-trouble name.”
Abe choked a little. “Bobby it is, then,” he intoned in a deep and solemn voice. “If you would please put on your robe and accompany us downstairs?”
“I’m not ‘lowed to have company, Bri...Abe. I’m still ‘tageous.” Bobby’s lower lip trembled slightly.
“Trust me. Get your robe.”
Bobby shrugged and did as instructed, following his president-brothers down the stairs and into the den.
As “Abe” opened the door to the den, Bobby saw balloons and streamers and two brightly wrapped packages. He stepped inside the room and heard a chorus of “Surprise!” as the remaining five Bob-Whites jumped from their hiding places.
Bobby felt his jaw drop open as he took it all in. Jim, Dan, Trixie, Honey and Diana surrounded him, offering hugs and “happy birthdays”. “But...but...” he stammered. “But Mummy says I’m ‘tagious.”
“You’re only contagious for people who haven’t had chicken pox,” Jim explained, kneeling in front of the little boy. “We,” he gestured to the Bob-Whites, “all have had them.”
“All of you?” Bobby asked.
“All of us,” Dan assured him. “I was six.”
“So was I,” Trixie jumped in, “And since Diana, Mart and Brian had them at the same time, they would have been six, seven and nine. Jim?”
“Seven,” the redhead said. “How about you, Honey?”
“I was in fourth grade,” Honey mused, “So I would have been nine, like Brian.”
“Wow!” Bobby wrinkled his brow. “Does everyone get chicken pox?”
Dan laughed. “Most people, but not everyone. Regan hasn’t had them--that’s why he’s not here.”
“Oh. I like Regan.” Bobby frowned.
“He likes you, too, Bobby, which is why he has a surprise for you.” Dan pointed to Mart and Brian, still in their presidential get-up.
“I like s’prises,” Bobby exclaimed, “but turning my brothers into presidents isn’t the kind I like.”
The Bob-Whites all laughed at that. “No,” Trixie told him, grabbing his hand and leading him to the sofa. “That’s not Regan’s surprise, exactly. Honest Abe and good ole George here are going to tell you about your party.”
“Huh?” Bobby sat down, interested but confused.
“Remember when I told you you could have your party later?” Trixie asked. Bobby nodded, and Trixie continued. “Well, Moms wanted to make sure that this year you get to have your party, so we’ve already set the date.”
“Really? When?”
“We,” Mart stated in his most presidential tone, “Abe and I, that is, have decided to give you our birthdays this year.”
“Both of them?” Bobby asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Brian assured him, lowering his own voice. “Moms is going to let two of your friends spend Sunday with you ice skating and sledding--if there is snow--and spend the night. Then, the rest of your friends will come on Monday for that surprise Dan mentioned. Two birthdays.”
“But I have school on Mondays.”
“Not on February twentieth,” Mart/George corrected. “School is closed to celebrate our birthdays. Since Abe and I are giving them to you...”
“I get to have my birthday on a school day? Yay!” Bobby leaped from the couch and hugged both boys. Looking up at them, he asked, “Do you think Brian and Mart could come back now?”
“Definitely, short stuff,” Brian told him, doffing his hat and pulling off his fake beard. “That beard was starting to itch.”
“Tell me about it!” Mart yanked his gray wig from his head with a quick jerk. “Not to mention it’s all crooked.”
“Are you sure it was the wig and not your head?” Jim teased, ducking when Mart threw the offending object at him.
“Stop it!” Honey told them, picking up the wig. “We still have the rest of the surprise, remember?” She tapped her watch.
“There’s more?” Bobby asked, his eyes wide.
“There is,” Honey said. “Open the big package on the table.”
Bobby did as asked, tearing the bright paper off with reckless abandon. He looked at the object before him. “Is it a television?”
“No,” Jim explained. “It’s our father’s computer. The present is inside of it.”
Bobby looked over the computer. Shaking his head, he stated, “Moms won’t like it if I break the glass. I need a screwdriver.”
“No!” Jim looked helplessly at Mart.
Brian rescued him. “What Jim means is that the present will be on the computer. We just need to set it up. Mart?”
“Indubitably, old sport.” Mart quickly hooked up the computer to a video camera and inserted a disc. “We should have contact in five...four...three...two...one...now!”
The screen flickered and came into focus. Bobby pointed. “That’s Larry and Terry and Paul and Connor and Dean and Jake and Frankie. And Regan!” The group on the other side of the computer waved. Their lips moved, and after a delay of a few seconds, voices could be heard wishing Bobby a very happy birthday.
“How’d they get in there?” Bobby asked.
“They aren’t in the computer, Bobby,” Diana explained. “They’re at my house. My daddy has this thing called a CU-See-Me, and so does Mr. Wheeler. We borrowed it so we could have a party here with us, and one there with them. Regan is going to be you.”
“Me?” Bobby asked. “Who am I going to be?”
They all laughed, and Trixie took over the explaining. “You’re going to be you here. Regan is going to pretend to be you over there. But first, you need to open your other present, and Regan is going to open your present over at the Lynches.”
“Okay.” Bobby reached for the package. “How do I tell Regan to open it?”
“Look into the camera and tell him,” Mart instructed.
Bobby did so, giggling as Regan picked up an identical package on his side. This time, Bobby took his time opening the present, tearing the wrapping paper off in slow strips, laughing as Regan mimicked him. When the last strip hit the floor, Bobby squealed with delight. There, in front of both him and Regan, was a brand new board game: Cluedo Junior.
“I love this game!” he shouted. “Are we going to play?”
“We are,” Trixie told him. “And since your friends are there, and we are here, we’re going to be your friends. Who do I get to be?”
Understanding dawned. “You mean like Regan is me?” Bobby asked. At his sister’s nod, he began pairing up his first grade buddies with his Bob-White idols. “Trixie, you be Terry, ‘cause your names start the same. Jim, you be Jake, and Di can be Dean.” his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Frankie starts with F... G...H... Honey, you be Frankie. Dan can be Connor, and Mart is Larry ‘cause Terry and Larry are twins and Mart and Trixie are almost twins. Brian, you be Paul. He’s the oldest in his family, like you.” With the teams settled, the players retreated to the far end of their respective rooms, allowing Harrison and Mr. Belden to set up the game boards to be identical. Then they got down to the business of playing, making sure to speak directly into the camera.
After an hour of ghost hunting, avoiding squeaky floorboards and biting spiders, the unlikely trio of Connor/Dan/Samantha Scarlett had managed to slip past the Terry/Trixie/Mustard the Dog team and capture the three ghosts in the kitchen.
As they cleaned up on either side of the conference call, it was time for cake. At the Lynch home, Harrison entered with a tray of chocolate frosted cupcakes with lavender and orange sprinkles. At Crabapple Farm, Mrs. Belden did the same. From both sides, voices joined in singing the birthday song.
When the party was over, Trixie took a tired but happy Bobby back upstairs to his room. After she had dabbed and dotted his spots with calamine lotion, he threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. “Thanks, Trixie,” he said. “Thanks for my party. That was my wish! You’re the bestest sister, ever!”
As his eyes drooped shut, Trixie tucked a curl of his damp hair away from his flushed, but happy face and whispered, “You’re not so bad yourself, little brother. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Author Notes
This is completely self edited. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. This is my submission for the 2009 VTC Challenge.
They did have video teleconferencing in 1995. In fact, CU-See-Me was developed at Cornell, and the audio component was added to MacIntosh computers in 1994. In August of 1995 it was available for Windows. This story takes place in January of 1995, but since I did not specify the computer brand, I'll let you use your own artistic license. ;p
Of course, it would have taken a little work to make it available at Crabapple Farm -- even with a borrowed computer. However, with two millionaires in the neighborhood, I ask you to suspend your image of reality.
Cluedo Junior was released in 1993. It certainly sounds like fun.
All of the major characters belong to Random House, and are used without permission nor profit.
