I've known my friend Brooke for three years now and have only just realized that I have his birthday wrong.
Granted, for two of those three years, I haven't actually seen him, but you'd think that after the first two years of making a big deal about it through text messages or Facebook wall posts, he'd correct people. But no, Brooke's one of those people who actually doesn't go on Facebook that often. He's the type to say that we're going to hang out one weekend, then remember that he has a life. Not that I'm bitter. I frankly cut Brooke all of this slack because he genuinely doesn't mean to be flakey or so I hope.
Brooke's the type of guy who is cheesy, like he plays cheesy music when we're at the bar together and he gets juke box choices, or he watches weird movies and reminisces like an old man. This might be because he's a lot older than me and taller, but man does he milk it. He'll have these weary moments when I ask him a question, and he'll allude to his past as if he's a comic book character. One of the good ones.
So despite his hermit, curmudgeon tendencies, I cut him some slack when it comes to actually meeting, because he'll text me something cheesy that sounds like a dad wrote it, so you know it's genuine. He's just the type of person you can't get really mad at.
I saved his life once, or so I tell people. I was walking back to the house, when he pulled along beside me on his bike. It was blustery and super cold, and I made fun of him for his thin windbreaker as he hopped off to walk with me.
"I wanted to get breakfast before they stopped serving it," he argued.
"You're so stupid. You're bald and will get a cold and die," I replied. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
"What are you doing?"
I started to pull my knitted cap off my head and pull my gloves off. "You're going to wear these."
"Those won't fit me."
"Yeah," I said, noting how big his head actually was. "But it's too cold for you not too, and I have a better jacket, and a hood, and pockets."
He took them, laughing, and stretched the skull cap and gloves to their limits. We couldn't talk to each other, that's how cold we were, and by the time we reached the house, I left him to chain up his bike.
"I saved Brooke's life!" I announced to the kitchen at large.
"Really?" Emily asked, sitting at the counter with a cup of tea. "How?"
"I made sure that he didn't freeze to death!"
Emily looked at me skeptically. "How noble of you!"
I punched the air. "Yes!"
Brooke came in after that, looking around, and Emily brought up my boast. He laughed, supporting me in a hollow way that implied sarcasm, and I laughed along, before turning deadly serious and pointing my finger to the tall cabinets.
"Hey Brooke?" I waited till he turned to me, his eyebrows lifted as a question. "Get me that cup on that shelf."
"Why?"
"Why? I just saved your life, why!" I got the cup. I didn't need the cup, but clearly he did it as a reparation for saving him.
When I texted him the other day to tell him happy birthday and see how he was, Brooke texted back a confused reply, asking where I got that idea and that he was perfectly fine. Before I even wrote back, he answered his own question--not the one asking how I was, he seemed still curious at that.
"Darn Facebook!" I read with some askance. I mean, give me some credit. I have a calendar, and I've had your birthday transferred from my Robot calendar from last year. I don't need Facebook to remind me that it's your birthday.
I wrote this in a text by typing superciliously, "Not Facebook, actually. I've had it in my planner like that for a while. Was that wrong?"
Come to think of it, yes. Yes that was wrong, because Brooke's Facebook was actually set up next to me, as I sat in the library trying to write a paper. Molly, the bored perpetrator, typed it all up and found a picture of a kitten to be his profile pic by my suggestion. I completely forgot about that. Stupid me for assuming that Molly had put some proper information in it.
At the same time, Molly didn't really know how to spell Brooke's last name. That should've been my first clue.
But I hadn't thought of that when I was trying to be a good friend, and yes, I guess, we could say that I got all of my friends' birth dates from Facebook and can't act superior for having them in a calendar, year after year.
I honestly don't know why he hadn't said anything until this year though.
You'd think that we'd have been more candid since I saved his life and all.