Classic Rock One-Shots

Birthday (~ Mix)

Here I am, home alone, sitting before my birthday cake. Dad is working, and so is Dami, his girlfriend; Mum is working too, and her new husband is driving his truck I don't know where. There are eighteen candles planted in the chocolate cake I'm supposed to taste right now; I lit them all with a match, and now, they're burning for nothing. There's nobody to sing Happy Birthday to me, there's nobody to photograph me while I'm blowing out those goddamn candles, there's nobody to remind me to make a wish... There's nobody I can celebrate it with.

I'm eighteen and all alone.

I take the cake and carefully carry it to the table that faces one of the windows. It's not exactly sunny outside, but at least the rain's away. I sit down behind the cake and let the sun shyly shine upon my face. I'm staring at the candle that I know won't be blown out – at least not now. I sigh and rest my chin in the palm of my hand.

Suddenly, I feel a presence behind me, and somebody is kissing my hair. I stiffen: nobody's supposed to be home, and I share my life with nobody. The voice of a man sounds behind me. “Happy birthday, dear. You won't celebrate it alone, will ya?” I slowly spin round just to see a smiling George Harrison. His dark brown hair is falling on his forehead, and they're messy, as usual; he's wearing a lovely grey turtleneck with dark jeans.

“George?” I whisper. “I thought you were... gone!”

“Yeah, but I couldn't miss yer birthday! I called a few other friends if you don't mind! We can have a good laugh all together!”

“What other friends?”

The door behind me opens, and a tall man with long brown hair, wearing a black t-shirt under a dark blue blazer appears, walking up to George and me. It doesn't take much time for me to recognise him. As he is wearing sunglasses inside, he removes them and smiles a goofy smile.

“Hey John!” George says. “It's nice that you came! I was telling her that we couldn't miss her birthday.”

“Of course not!” John goddamn Lennon replies in a high-pitched voice. He takes my hand and kisses it lightly, before crossing his eyes and pushing his bottom lip with his tongue. I laugh quietly, not believing what is happening. John Lennon and George Harrison are there, for my eighteenth birthday. I can't believe it!

“So, princess” John begins, “did you invite some other friends to come and celebrate with us all?”

“Well, actually, no. Most of them couldn't come, so I simply cancelled.”

“Aw, bad idea.”

A loud, unexpected knock on the door makes us jump; I turn my head, only to see Brian Jones, standing at the door frame, his golden bowl cut framing his face so well; he's wearing his black turtleneck with his red jeans and his Chelsea boots. Nice, I always loved this outfit!

“Am I late?” Brian panted lightly. “I hope I didn't miss anything!”

“Nah, don't worry!” George reassures him with a smile. “We've only arrived!”

“Nice, then.” Brian walks in and with the brightest smile I've ever seen, he runs up to me and holds me tightly in his arms. A flowery scent of violets and daisies tickles my nostrils, as I snuggle against him and rest my nose on his collar bone. Just like I always expected it, he wasn't much taller than me. Only four centimeters or so. He pulls away lightly and stares into my eye; with his fingertips, he brushes my hair out of my face, wedging a lock behind my ear. “Happy birthday, love! You've been waiting for this moment for so long, I guess!”

“What moment?”

“Turning eighteen.”

“Oh, perhaps. I don't know. I'm scared.”