SING ME TO SLEEP

‘I’ve been here before! I’m sure of it. Pointing to the right, I add, ‘We sat over there. You saw Glenda, who used to work in your office. Remember? My neighbor, May, is amazed that I recall 15 years ago dining with her at Le Pompadour. I am more amazed than she is as I forget where I put my car keys when I came in from the grocery, where I put my eye lasses when I stop to wash my face and hands.

My mood is bright, happy tonight. Something is going to be special, I’m sure, but so far nothing is apparent. It doesn’t seem possible that today I am 50 years old and just yesterday I was six. That is the only time I can remember having a birthday party but am not sure if I had it or my parents made it up years later and told it to me so many times it planted in my mind and became reality.

My daddy told me he had rented a moving picture projector and two animated cartoons. One was Felix the Cat and the other Popeye the Sailor Man. He had hung a white sheet over mother’s flowered wallpaper so all the children could see the movie at one time. My little friends sat on the tile floor, laughed and laughed. One of the girls laughed so hard, she peed in her panties. Maybe it really happened, maybe it didn’t. I have nobody to ask anymore. But-in any case, tonight will be either my first or second party.

May & I are directed thru a rapidly filling large dining room, towards a more secluded, smaller one on the right. Several tables of couples are already being served. None of them look familiar to me. As the maitre ‘d seats us, my spirits go blah, slide low. Only two more tables are empty. For sure there will be no party for me tonight. I put on a fake happy face for May, tell her how I had been looking forward to the seclusion of tonight’s tete ‘ a tete. We have school days, old friends, crushes, weddings, divorces, wars, to talk about. There is enough stored in our memories to share many times in the future.

We order cocktails, caesar salads, the house specialty fillet mignons (medium well, a little pink). The other diners speak quietly. They don’t annoy us and we don’t bother them. The tapered candles on each table burn down slowly. The room grows dim. It is pleasant being with May again but deep in my heart and privately I’m somewhat, no- terribly- disappointed that my 50th birthday is almost over and I will be starting into my 51st year well before I wake in the morning.

Bill, my devoted husband, will be taking me to dinner Sunday night. It is going to be elegant. We are going to dress formally and if anyone asks, we tell them we have just left the opening of the Pollacello Art Gallery and after dinner will attend the party at L’Empire Opera House for the cast and producers of La Traviata that opened last night. We’ve done such silly things before and laughingly recall them now and then.

I’m almost content with the quiet that but still can’t shake my disappointment of this evening. May and I talk and eat, sip our drinks and eat, laugh and get teary. The two empty tables remain empty. Several others empty slowly. Our candles still burn as do those at the empty tables. I watch the dishes head to the kitchen, clean cloths spread for tomorrow’s lunch. The light in the room is so low now that we can barely see if our dessert is coming.. I don’t see anyone to request another candle.

Suddenly, I get frightened. Bright lights come on. There is a banging of drums, whistles whistling. In comes a parade, Harry, Larry, Meg, Peg, Jerry, Mary, Glen, Ben, Dolly and Molly. My friends, my husband stop the banging, circle around me and sing like the angels ‘Happy Birthday, Lil. It’s party time!’ A 5 piece band comes in sets up quickly and opens with some sweet, lovely oldies. Hugs, kisses, congrats cover me. I’m overwhelmed but not voiceless. I sing a tough song , ‘Memories’ and Bill kisses me hard and long in front of everybody.

The lights dim. My birthday cake with all the candles ablaze, plus two orders of blueberry short cake, are rolled in. My 50 years have flown as quickly as the last two happy hours. We say our goodnites, not one goodbye.

At home I go to sleep, vividly dream in black and white that Popeye gives Felix a big party with a cake made of spinach. The cake is cut and served to dozens of adorable kittens.

I wake with a smile on my face and Bill’s arms holding me close.