I pick up M from work and we drive home through gale winds that threaten to overturn our little car. We pass by several snow-plow trucks idling at the side of the road, ready to spring into action. Before we're home, flurries crumble from the grey clouds overhead and slide down on the wind. The white tempest whirls around, mocking our wistful calls for Spring. It's too late to be snowing, we tell each other. And yet, snow pelts the windshield of our car spitefully, as if the winter has only started. M says she hates Canada. Then she corrects herself - she hates winter in Canada. In such a weather so late in March, all I can do is nod in agreement. We haven't had even a hint of Spring yet. There were clear sunny days in the last few weeks, true, but you could enjoy those only indoors. Outside, the wind was relentless, freezing the joy right on your face. Naturally, I thought of Croatia of my youth, where Spring seems to arrive on time, where snow is a rare and unusual thing in March. Then, to prove me wrong, my memories take me to my 15th birthday, on April 19, 1980.
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That was supposed to be a big day and a big birthday for me. I never was a social animal, or a popular kid in the class. I was a shy, lanky one. I had a few close friends, I wasn't a loner. But for the 15th birthday I stepped out of my shell of shyness and invited about two dozen friends. The party was going to be prepared by my grandparents who lived an hour by train away from Zagreb, my hometown. The day started grey and rainy, but that couldn't dampen my mood. In the morning a couple of kids from school called to say they wouldn't come, but I expected a few cancellations, what with the train travel and all. The number was still over twenty. It would be fun, I knew.
Around noon, as I rode the streetcar to the train station, the rain turned into snow. The wind picked up, just like today, and whipped the wet, heavy flakes in my face, stinging my eyes and dripping down my nose as I stood next to the newspaper kiosk at the station where we agreed to meet. Soon, the gang started arriving - a judo teammate, a friend from school, a neighbor. All was well. Two more came soon after. And - no one else. We waited. I went to make a few phone calls. Friends were apologetic - it's snowing outside, they assumed the party was off. It wasn't planned to be outside, I protest. They know, but now it's too late to make it to the train station. They are sorry. They all sounded false, snug in their warm homes. And just like that, what was supposed to be the grandest birthday party of my life, became a sad little procession of a few friends.
The others tried to cheer me up. I laughed half-heartedly at their jokes, but I couldn't get the betrayal out of my head. We arrived to my grandparents' place. They worked and lived at a gym, so they "commissioned" a large meeting room, dragged in two long desks and benches, then loaded it with treats. They worked on my birthday party the whole day, preparing the place and food. There was roasted piglet, roasted chickens, several kind of salads, potatoes, pasta, home baked bread and other pastries. There was so much food, it was literally spilling from the plates. On a square table in the corner were sweets, waiting for the main course to be dispatched of by the horde of hungry teenagers. Grandma made sure all my favorites were there: rum-pie, apple strudel, walnut and poppy-seed rolls, chocolate balls, and many more. Amidst that feast stood the six of us, lost and not quite hungry.
Grandma, seeing what happened, disappeared downstairs to their apartment. We goofed around, ate a little and played records. Then grandma reappeared with kids from the neighborhood. I used to play with them when I was younger, spending Summer holidays at grandparents', but we've fallen out of touch. I'm not sure what grandma told them, but here they were, four girls and two boys, clutching hastily wrapped gifts which they had no time to buy, so they must have been their own, previously used things. I didn't really care for the gifts. The surprising appearance of those six, whom I neglected to invite at the first place, yet here they were, leaving whatever they were doing and showing up to reinforce our numbers - it touched me deeply, and made me ashamed in equal measure. Suddenly the room wasn't so big and empty any longer. It took a while to get into the party mood, with us being from the "big town", and the newcomers feeling inferior, but the gap, if there ever was one, was soon bridged with a few mean jokes that made us all laugh equally.
Hours later, fed to bursting, we sang around a friend who played guitar - grandpa graciously let us use his - laughed and enjoyed our time. We even snuck into the gym after, to play some sort of a ball game in the dark. We were shadows in the night, the only light a faint moonlight through the windows. We played dodge the ball, and the hilarity of the ball's thud as it connected with the flesh, followed by inevitable grunt of the targeted, sent us sprawling on the floor in fits of laughter.
Riding the train back home on now clear night, snow all but melted away, I realized who my true friends were. They were sitting next to me on the train, or sleeping exhausted at home after such an impromptu party. The others…well, they actually didn't matter.
I never held a birthday party again. Oh, I celebrated birthdays, always in a small circle of close friends I cared about. Lately, those are few and far between, but M and I manage to make even the most mundane birthday feel like a celebration of life! It never snowed on my birthday again.
Although, the way the winter isn't letting up, maybe this year I'll have a white birthday.
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