When I pushed open the door from Babka’s and stepped onto Broadway, I held the open bag with the black-and-white cookies close to my nose. The cookies were just out of the oven, and the delicious smells coming out of that bag were more than any normal nose could ever want. The minute the door closed, I reached into the bag and took out the top cookie, lifting it very carefully so I wouldn’t squish the second cookie’s icing.
I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into that cookie, so I leaned up against the building to get my balance and peeled the wax paper off the top of the cookie very carefully so I wouldn’t pull any of the icing off with it. There it was in my hands, the king of cookies, the emperor of all desserts. For sure, there was no better way to kick off a birthday party.
Then I had to decide whether to break the cookie in half so that one side was all chocolate and the other was all vanilla. Or, I could split it in two the other way so that each half had some chocolate and some vanilla. This is a decision I go through every time I get a black-and-white. This time, I decided to split it right down the middle, half chocolate, half vanilla. I had made up my mind that I’d take a bite of one side, then the other, and let the two flavors mix in my mouth like a blender.
Just as I was putting the chocolate half up to my mouth for the first bite, a shadow crossed in front of me and the cookie was snatched out of my hand.
“Here, let me help you with that,” a familiar thick-tongued voice said.
Oh, no. There was a cookie monster loose in New York, and his name was Nick McKelty.
“Hey, give that back to me, McKelty. It’s mine.”
McKelty opened his mouth to show the ground-up cookie crumbs and chocolate icing creating brown saliva that was drooling through the gap in his front teeth.
“Here it is,” he said. “Still want some?”
“Why don’t you do us both a favor and close your mouth?”
“I love these, don’t you?” McKelty said. I could hardly understand him. His words were getting lost in his overstuffed mouth. Fortunately, I knew enough to duck when the crumbs from my cookie came flying out of his mouth like mini missiles.
“Yeah, I love them, which is why I bought them. For me to eat, not you, you gorilla.”
He reached out to grab the vanilla half, but I was too quick for him. I jumped back and held the cookie up over my head, just out of his reach. He swiped at it like a dancing bear in the circus.
“Gimme,” he repeated.
“No way.”
The door to the bakery flung open, and Trudi stepped outside. She had her jacket on and her scarf wrapped around her neck.
“You still here, Hank?” she said. “I thought you’d be off celebrating your birthday by now.”
I winced as Trudi said that. I didn’t want McKelty to know that I was giving myself a birthday party. I think you’ll agree it’s not the kind of thing you want to share with the class bully.
“See you later, Trudi,” I said, hoping she’d leave before revealing any more private information. Luckily, she left without saying another word, turning left and heading toward the coffee shop on the opposite corner.
“This your birthday, Zipperbutt?” Big Ears McKelty said. I knew he wouldn’t miss a gem like that. “And you’re all alone? Figures. You’re such a loser.”
“I’m definitely not alone.”
“I don’t see any friends here, except that stupid bug.”
“This is Rosa, and she’s a tarantula, not a bug. And for your information, she’s the guest of honor at my party.”
“Well, I can’t come, because my dad rented out the entire ice-skating rink at Rockefeller Center for just him and me to have a little hockey game.”
There it was, the McKelty factor at work—truth times a hundred. There was no way McKelty’s dad rented out the ice-skating rink. The only ice-skating McKelty was probably doing that day was on a video hockey arcade game at his dad’s bowling alley. And he probably skates on his ankles, if he can skate at all.
“That works out perfectly for me, because you’re not invited, anyway,” I said.
“See you, birthday loser,” McKelty said, swiping the vanilla half of the cookie as he lumbered off. “And thanks for the birthday cake.”
Even though I was down to one black-and-white, I was trying really hard to keep a positive attitude about the day. I mean, the whole point of giving yourself a birthday party is to have a good time, isn’t it? One cookie is plenty, I told myself, and it will taste even better after I’ve had my piping hot slice of pepperoni.
“Rosa, don’t ever forget what I’m about to tell you,” I said to her, giving her tank a little shake to make sure she was paying attention. “Always keep a positive attitude.”
I thought I saw her listen for half a second before she turned her backside to me and crawled on top of her rock. I actually had more to say on the subject of keeping a positive attitude, but turning her backside to me was a definite sign that she had heard enough. That was okay with me. A good big brother can give useful advice without launching into a whole parent-style lecture that goes on and on and on…and on.
I felt pretty proud of myself as I headed down the street to Harvey’s.
Was I sulking because my parents were having a new baby?
No, I was not.
Was I kicking up a fuss about my parents ignoring my birthday?
No, I was not.
Was I telling myself this was going to be the worst birthday of my life?
No, I was not.
Was I embarrassed to be carrying a silver balloon that said “Get Well Soon” down one of the busiest streets of New York City?
Yes, I was.
Hey, what do you expect? I’m only human.