Shorty’s Birthday
Copyright © 2014 Matt Cairone
All Rights Reserved
This is fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
August 8, 1963
That boy’s going places, she would say at night to old Mr. Hamilton.
Mrs. Hamilton asked John about his family, his life at home, and so it was that she came to know about Shorty’s birthday. She wasn’t able to do anything for Shorty on the 5th, because she was in New York. But she returned to the Harbor on the 7th, and asked John to bring his little brother to the farm for cake and ice cream.
John worked from daybreak until noon every day except Sunday, picking blueberries into an old Maxwell House coffee can that hung on a shoestring around his neck. When the can was full, he poured the berries into twelve, pint containers that were arranged in a wooden box they called a flat. When a flat was full, John took it to the pay station and exchanged it for a coupon worth 10 cents and another empty flat. It was hard, hot work, especially for a young boy. But John came every day when there was picking at the farm, and he brought money home every Friday and turned it over to his mom.
John didn’t tell Shorty why he wanted him to come to Mrs. Hamilton’s farm. He just brought him. Shorty was too young to work, so he sat in the row between the bushes, in the shade when he could find it, and watched his brother pick. Every now and again John would reach down and give Shorty a handful of the plump, bluish purple berries. Shorty wolfed down the sweet berries almost before John could stand up from offering them to him.
The sun arced higher, and the noon whistle blew. Pickers were allowed to finish the flat they were working on when the whistle blew, and John did. When it was full, he retrieved his coupon and hung his Maxwell House can on the nail in the little wooden hut they called the can shed.
John walked to the well next to the stone walkway that led to the house. He pumped the old iron handle until cool, clear water poured hard from the spout. He craned down to drink. When he was sated, he washed his hands, rubbing away the stains from the berries, and he patted some cool water on his hot cheeks. Shorty watched.
“Come on now, Shorty.”
“Where we goin', John?”
“Up to the big house. Mrs. Hamilton has a surprise for ya.”
Shorty beamed.
“A surprise for me?”
“Sure does, Shorty.”
Shorty skipped the rest of the way up the path.
John knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
John recognized Mrs. Hamilton’s voice right away.
As John and Shorty walked in, Mrs. Hamilton came around the corner to greet them.
“Hello, boys. Come right on in.”
Shorty walked behind John, in his shadow, under his protection.
The house was twenty times as big as their house. Shorty had never seen anything like it.
Mrs. Hamilton motioned them into a small sitting room. When they entered, Shorty’s eyes popped open wide. On a wooden table, covered with a crocheted doily, sat a sheet cake with five blazing candles. “Happy 5th Birthday Eloy” was written on top in blue icing.
Next to the cake was a ceramic bowl heaped up high with vanilla ice cream.
Shorty was speechless.
“Say something, Shorty.”
John was embarrassed.
“Is this for me, ma’am?”
“Why, of course it is Shorty. Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.”
Shorty felt like he’d died and gone to heaven.
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