You guys remember Davey, right? The mute french kid. Yeah, this is something I found not quite finished, so I finished it. Lucy and John talking about their son’s sixth birthday party, told from the POV of his father:
“John,” Lucy said quietly, not looking up from her vegetable chopping “Davey wants to have a birthday party for his seventh. And I was thinking that maybe he could have one this year.”
I looked down at the thing that had somehow birthed from my wife. Davey was playing with a train track my Dad had given him for Christmas a few years ago. You see, normal children his age would make the sounds, the voices of the people. Not the boy on my living room floor.
“A birthday party?” I sniffed, looking over my work again for no reason other than it was an excuse to get out of playing trains “Why would he want something stupid like that?”
“Well his friends are all having them now,” Lucy began.
“Friends … ha,” I muttered “Stupid kid ain’t got no friends,” I looked down at Davey again. He smiled back at me. I grinned “Hey, so what’s this about you wanting a party?”
Davey nodded quickly, putting the train down with an eager smile. I patted my lap, and Davey jumped up to sit with me.
“Now, I know all you’re friends are having party’s and stuff,” I said slowly “But what you really should know is that they only have parties because their mummies and daddies are meanies.”
Davey looked up at me, clearly confused. The poor moron couldn’t understand a window.
“The only reason they have parties is because their mummies and daddies want to look at all the kids. And then they find the best one’s and they snatch them.”
“John, don’t say things like that.” Lucy said.
I groaned “Ok, do you know how much a birthday party costs, Lucy?” I waited for an answer, but she gave me none. “Davey? Do you? How much does a birthday party cost?”
Davey looked up at me. I could tell he didn’t know. He was five. He wasn’t supposed to know how much a birthday party cost. With a weak smile he looked down at his hands, counting on his fingers before showing me ten didgits. I laughed.
“Ten!” I cried “Ten! If you can find a birthday part that costs ten franc you can have one.”
“John, for once it doesn’t matter about the bloody money!” Lucy snapped, “Stop being so tight!”
“Tight!” I yelled “Tight! Tight doesn’t put the money on the table. Tight doesn’t get you nice clothes. Tight doesn’t pay for this, this, this thing to go to private school.”
“Come on, John,” she said, begging almost “You always said you wanted him to be normal. Well, this is normal.”
“Normal!” I cried “He wouldn’t know normal if it walked and talked like you and I. Normal kids have friends. Normal kids play sports. Normal kids speak.”
Davey shifted uneasily on my lap, tried to slide off of my lap. I grabbed him.
“Normal kids sit on their father’s laps.”
Davey didn’t move.
“Please, John,” Lucy said, quietly “It will be good for him.”
I sighed. Maybe she was right. And, and, I was fairly sure the thing on my lap’s birthday was some time in the spring. Perfect timing for any sympathy votes. Eventually, I nodded.
“Go on then,” I said “You’ll have a birthday party. And you will like it.”