#michjo

There’s just something about birthdays which is so divisive. Either people love their birthdays, spend the entire month gearing up and make sure they have some wild plan to celebrate, or they despise them and would rather spend it as another day. Joan thinks that’s too black and white. Yes, birthdays are just another day, but it’s a special day nonetheless. She likes to celebrate. Feeling special for a day can be fun.

Sid’s face appears to her first thing in the morning. His “happy birthday!” is joyful, but his face is sheepish. She inches up in bed, rubbing her eyes as he plops onto the edge of the mattress.

“Happy birthday, what’s with the wake-up call?” She speaks through a yawn, and Sid looks down at his hands.

“So I know we, like, always spend our birthday together...” he looks up, studying her face. She arches an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... but Mike and Paige surprised me with a ticket to Jimmy Eat World... and they could only get one. But if you don’t want me to go I totally get it, dude-”

“No,” Joan smiles, but it feels stiff and pinched. “That’s awesome! You have to go. I’m sure Mich will want to do something, anyways!” Her voice rises just a touch too much at the end of her sentence.

“Awesome! Thanks Jojo, I’ll make it up to you I promise! Tell Mich I owe her one- wait, actually, don’t.” Sid is out the door without another look. She shakes her head, realizing she’s still plastered with her fake grin. Sid won’t have to owe Mich one, because Mich forgot her birthday. Her girlfriend hasn’t mentioned a thing about it lately. Even Josefina hadn’t said anything about it, and she never forgets a birthday. And last night, her back-up plan with Louise fell through, because her only friend other than Sid and Mich is Dungeon Master for the day. She just slides out of bed, feeling more slime than person as she lazily grabs a towel and makes her way to the shower.

The house is shockingly quiet when she pads downstairs, which any other day would be great. Usually, Steve makes chocolate chip pancakes on birthdays, but the kitchen still smells like their grapefruit disinfectant he’d wiped the counters down with last night. A note stuck to the fridge tells Joan that her foster dad and two of the foster kids are at the walk-in clinic to deal with some raging ear infections.

‘Cereal is in the cabinet, I’m sorry you two! Happy Birthday!’ The note ends with a little drawing of a balloon.

“Good morning, Joan.” Deena’s voice and footsteps interrupt the silence in the house.

“Good morning,” she says, standing on her tiptoes to pull a bowl out of the cabinet, turning to face her foster mom.

“Happy birthday. Any plans?” Deena is straightening her tie and flattening her collar in the hallway mirror, and Joan knows she isn’t actually interested in the slightest.

“Uh... nothing really. Just hanging out here, I guess.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t you be doing something with Sidney?”

“He’s, um, he’s busy.”

“What about your other friend?” Joan flinches a little at the condescending edge in Deena’s sharp words

“Louise’s busy too, it’s no big deal, I don’t-”

“Well if you’re going to be around all day, don’t just sit around eating and playing video games. Do something productive.”

“I... will.” Joan stares into the empty bowl in her hands, no longer hungry. Deena grabs her briefcase and is out the door with a militant nod. Joan simply stares out the window, into the street, wishing it was raining. The rain would match her mood just a bit better. But it’s bright, sunny, the sky is cloudless and the air is warm.

And she’s alone. Mich had texted her early in the morning, around 3.

Mich | 3:04 AM

visitn my dad at th penn tmrow, prob ly be done llate

Joan rubs her thumb over the screen of her phone, dark and void of messages, as she continues to stare out the window. With a pit in her stomach she slowly puts the bowl away and trudges up to her room to pull her sneakers on and grab her board.

She skates lazily, without purpose, without any real destination. Even the streets are empty, she realizes, as she pushes her foot softly against the pavement. She’s rolling slowly towards the industrial park near the high school, her eyes cast downwards at the glittering asphalt which flows away under her deck as she glides along. She presses her sneaker against the pavement as the noises of construction, beeps and hums and shouts, emanate from behind the fence. She can’t help but let out a breathy, humorless laugh, because the one place she wanted to actually be alone is flooded with people in reflective vests and hardhats. She stands for a bit, feeling defeated, before her eyes start to burn, and she turns on her heel. She practically tosses her board out in front of her, nearly falling off as she jumps onto it and pushes furiously, her sneaker slamming the ground rhythmically, desperately.

Gritting her teeth as the wind whips her face and blows her hair around she continues picking up speed, wanting to go faster, needing to go faster, frantic to get away. She throws her entire body into pushing her foot quicker, ignoring the way the board begins to waver beneath her foot. The big hill down towards the woods appears over the horizon, and her heart beats with something different than her exhaustion. She still doesn’t stop pushing. The road begins to dip downward, plummeting towards the earth in a slope that’s anything but gradual that makes her stomach rise to her throat. The board stops wavering and starts shaking, almost vibrating under her feet, and her stomach drops. Steadying herself would be futile, so Joan just lets one good wobble toss her off near the base of the hill.

It’s nothing for a moment while she’s airborne, watching the grass and asphalt grow closer to her face, feeling like she’s floating except much more terrified.

It hurts when she hits the pavement, landing right on her side with her hand out reflexively to catch herself. The heel of her palm grates against the street, and her arms starts to sear as it meets pavement. The initial impact is hard, but what hurts worse is the sliding. Her shirt inches up as she slides, her side tearing against the road. She rolls once and stops, on her back, staring at the warm cloudless sky. She sniffles a bit, letting a tear curl down the side of her face into her ear before it tickles and she wipes it away.

That was dramatic and pointless. She squeezes her eyes and sits up, wincing as her side folds, irritating her road rash. She peeks an eye open at her hand, torn skin with beads of red beginning to seep up. She can see blood gathering under her skin, watches the purple beginning to bloom all the way up her arm. It’ll be nasty, dark purples and reds and maroons over most of her skin for a good week. She studies it closer, groaning as she eyes flecks of stray gravel sprinkled along the injury. She stands then, on legs quivering from leftover adrenaline and fear, and limps over to her board before staring down the road towards the ocean.

The last thing Joan is going to do today is sit around that big empty house, she just wants to be at the one place that means anything. The cove without Mich, without Sid, totally alone... might feel incomplete. But she trudges on, slowly, through the trees and down until the air starts to smell salty. Her heart drops when she spots a figure on the beach, but it doesn’t stop her from climbing down anyway. She decides to stay at the far end, away from the stranger, tossing her board against the rocks with a clatter and plopping down in the sand. She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, painfully aware of her stinging skin as the bright sun shines through her eyelids.

“Joanie?”

Her eyes blow open and she scrambles up to a tall figure making it’s way over. Mich’s long strides carry her over in no time, her face colored with shock.

“What’re you doin’ here, I didn’t want you to- oh fuck,” Mitch barks, eyes widening at the arm Joan cradles. She stares at Joan, closing the distance between them to gently unfurl Joan’s fingers away and hissing at the nasty scrape.

“It’s n-nothing,” Joan lies, feeling embarrassed and pathetic, wincing when Mitch turns her arm to examine more of it.

“Nothing? This ain’t nothing, the fuck happened? Did you get hit by a goddamn car? You’re bleedin’ through your shirt,” Mich darts a hand out to catch the hem of her t-shirt and yank it upward, causing her to whimper as the fabric peels away from her raw skin.

“I-I fell, I just fell,” Joan sniffles, still unable to meet the taller girl’s eyes. “I told you it’s nothing, why are you here?”

“Shit, this looks bad. I don’t have any, like, band aids or nothing. Shit. Can you put ocean water on cuts? You can right, it’s like good for them, right? I’m gonna go get some- but what if it isn’t? I don’t know. Alcohol you can put on. I’m gonna call Bite, he can bring us some vodka to pour on it or something-”

Joan snorts at that. Mich looks so confused, frantic, and is ready to give her a vodka bath.

“It’s not that type of alcohol, but I think seawater is okay... I’ll- I don’t need it though. I’ll just go home and take care of it.”

“Go... home?” Mich looks incredulous. “You just got here, you’re tellin’ me you wanna walk all the way home to deal with-”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’d rather go,” Joan speaks quickly, her eyes on the sand.

“O...kay then,” the taller girl’s face shifts from worry to confusion, “I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“No?” Mich doesn’t sound angry, exactly. More incredulous, but Joan’s blood boils. Mich doesn’t get to ignore her for the morning and forget about her birthday then just tag along when she so pleases.

“I came here to be alone. So I’ll just go be alone at home. Aren’t you supposed to be visiting your dad?” Her words have a bite to them, but despite that, Mich’s look softens.

“Joanie, I don’t want you to be alone. It’s your birthday for shit’s sake.”

“What? You- you remembered? You haven’t said a thing lately, and then you’ve been ignoring my texts all morning telling me you’re somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Mich grins, “I was tryin’ to plan a surprise but guess I didn’t do so good.” She raises her arms out and waves her hands weakly. “Surprise.”

Joan’s hands ball up into fists as Mich’s grin becomes apologetic and guilty. Mich had known the whole time and hadn’t said a word. She’d let her believe that the one person she cared about more than anything had forgotten the one day that she mattered. And now she’s here, in their most special and sacred place, offering to take time away from planning her surprise to clean up Joan’s scratches. When Joan starts to cry, Mich jumps, seemingly convinced she needs to start profusely apologizing, but Joan shakes her head.

“No, that’s not- I’m not sad. Thanks,” she sniffles, wiping her eyes with her good hand. “The surprise is great, whatever it is. I love it already.” Mich wraps her into a hug and kisses the top of her head, tugging her down towards the shoreline. She’s still sniffling as they wade ankle-deep into the gentle waves, only pausing when Mitch peels her tank top off to soak it with water. Joan yelps when her skin is blotted, winces when Mich gently wipes away the gravel. She’s bombarded with gentle pecks on the top of her head, on her shoulders, on her fingers as Mich works gingerly, frantically responding “Shit I know shit it’ll be over soon I’m sorry I’m sorry I hope it don’t hurt too bad,” every time she squeaks out a noise.

Mich hums out a noise of contentment as she pulls Joan’s shirt down and back into place, wringing the stained-pink saltwater out of her tank top. Joan inspects her skin, beginning to bloom with bruises, then looks up at her girlfriend.

“You really have a surprise for me?”

“Yeah,” Mich’s lips curl into an enormous grin. “I mean, it’s nothin’ special, but I think you’ll like it.”

Mich leads her to an outcropping of rock, hanging her top on it to dry in the sun and plopping down on a blanket which sits on the sand. There’s an unmistakable smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce which makes Joan’s mouth water, reminding her she hasn’t eaten anything today. Two presents, terribly wrapped with newspaper and duct tape, sit next to a plain white box in the shade.

“Your clone bought a pizza for us, I think he feels bad for leavin’ you. But I’m glad I got you all to myself today,” her girlfriend winks as she opens the pizza box and hands a slice to Joan, who settles on the blanket next to her. Mich strokes her thigh as she eats, bringing out the mystery box.

“Cupcakes or presents first?”

“I get both?” Joan speaks through a mouthful of food, her eyes widening as Mich opens the box. The cupcakes are somehow even uglier than the presents, with cake crumbs all over the crooked, uneven frosting.

“Josi helped me with these so even though they’re ugly as shit, they’ll taste good,” Mich laughs. “Bite helped me pick out your presents. Actually, even Clem helped me with this one.”

“I... I thought you guys had all forgotten...” Joan plucks a cupcake from the box, focusing intently on tearing the wrapper off to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

“You really thought I’d forget?” Mich’s voice is so soft and earnest, and it doesn’t help the her watery eyes. “I couldn’t wait. ‘Cuz I’ve wanted to give you this present forever. C’mon, open it.”

“Jeez, one thing at a time!” She laughs, swallowing the cake and letting Mich shove the box into her lap. The wrapping paper is torn away and discarded quickly, the lid flipped open. Then nothing.

She stares into the box, mouth agape. Then she looks back up to Mich. And back into the box again.

“Are you... are you serious? How...?”

“Clem’s grandma had it in her house, it actually works too!” Mich is practically yelling, inches from her. “Do you like it?” Joan lets out a wobbling breath.

“It works? Mich, it’s- it’s incredible,” she picks up the camera delicately, turning it in her hands. A vintage SX-70 Polaroid instant camera, a little dinged up but in nearly perfect condition. And it’s all hers. Her lower lip begins to quiver, and Mich bursts into laughter, leaning over to pull her face in and smother it with kisses. She tries to rear back, be serious for a moment, but Mich doesn’t let up and soon she’s squealing with laughter too. Her girlfriend leans too far and falls into her lap, resting her head on Joan’s denim-clad thigh.

“Next present,” she demands, waving it in one of her big hands.

“I don’t want anymore presents, the camera’s too hard to follow,” Joan teases, grabbing the present. Mich smiles up at her softly, bringing a hand up to stroke at her knee as she tears the package open. Joan’s smile falls and she looks down with an eyebrow cocked, unimpressed.

“Michelle. Mueller.”

Mich starts laughing so hard she’s choking, curled into herself with her hands around her abdomen, burying her face into Joan’s leg as she shakes with each bark. Joan fishes the outfit from the box, holding it up with one finger. It’s lacy and red with more straps than she even knows what to do with. It looks like the world’s flimsiest, sexiest torture device/rock-climbing harness. Mich is wiping tears away from her eyes.

“I couldn’t help myself, you’re gonna look so sexy in it-”

“I’d look like a tied-up holiday ham!” she yelps, her voice going shrill, and Mich breaks into more loud laughter. “I am never putting this on.”

“Joanie, baby, please,” Mich whines, bolting upright and grinning maniacally just inches from her face.

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?” She leans in and kisses at Joan’s ear, winding long arms around her shoulders.

“... Maybe.” Joan hisses, leaning her head to the side to expose her neck to her girlfriend. She feels Mich’s smile widen even more against her skin as big teeth make their way to her neck.