Ben's Birthday

 

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    "Happy birthday boss," Ben chirps as I sit down to lunch.

    "Ah, it's no big deal," I mutter.

    As I get older I find the annual event disappointing. Still not a published author, no vocation to look fondly back on or retirement to look forward to, more people dying while dealing with my failing body parts.

    "May I ask how old are you?" Ben's tone is genuinely curious.

    "Sixty four and please no Beatles song reference," I snort.

    I never thought I'd live this long and it occurs to me that I have outlived my paternal grandmother who died at 63. Amazingly my other grandmother lived to be 77 despite a life time of heavy smoking and alcoholism. I don't wish to surpass her record.

    "How are you going to celebrate?" he asks.

    "Maybe get a massage or have dessert by myself."

    "Ahem."

    "Oh with your leafy company of course," I correct. My knowledge of plants is pretty thin so now my curiosity is piqued.

    "How old are you?" I ask.

    "Hmm, maybe twelve or thirteen, if I was out in the forest, I'd live longer and grow ten stories high," he adds with a majestic stretch of branches.  

    "You wouldn't last long here in Oregon," I remind him. He occasionally hints at being outdoors but Gwen has made it clear to keep him inside where it's safer.

    "There are palm trees just down the street," he pleads.

    "How do you know that?" honestly I wonder how he's so aware of the world around him.

    "We trees to talk to each other you know," he informs me with obvious impatience.

    "Through the root system yeah, but you're in a pot."

    "What would be the perfect birthday for you?" he asks. It takes me a second to catch his evasion. I doodle aimlessly on the margin of the newspaper where I have been doing a crossword puzzle and think about this.

    " I guess a fancy dinner and good company," I find myself caught up in the daydream.

    "The main course would be linguini in clam sauce cooked by a Michelin Chef, some wine I could never afford and conversation with Stephen Fry, possibly the most intelligent person around and could converse on any subject. Opera mezzo soprano Marilyn Horne, who I saw at San Francisco Opera forty years ago. I bet she has some tales to tell, and Sigourney Weaver, who is jus plain awesome. Reminiscing about "Galaxy Quest" alone would make this movie geek happy. How about you?"  Ben, as usual, takes time to consider an answer.

    "I'm out in the garden, the morning starts with a delicious dew that tickles my leaves as the sun comes out and dissolves the sparkles. A sparrow lands on a high branch and sings a song just for me. I enjoy the day as a slight warm breeze gently rocks me and I commune with the pine trees nearby." he sighs in such content I'm envious.

    "Can we trade birthday dreams?"

    "No. I don't like seafood."