Life Happens Next by Terry Trueman Read Free Book Online

the presents and mumbles, “I like McDonnos.”
    Dad asks, “What?”
    Everyone else just ignores it.
    â€œHappy birf-day, S-S-S-Swan,” Debi says, breaking the awkward silence.
    I think, “Tanks a million Deb-o-reeno!”
    When Debi spots the cake, chocolate this time, and the tub of French vanilla ice cream, her spirits seem to rise dramatically.
    Everybody sings “Happy Birthday” to me and Mom cuts the cake, scoops on the ice cream, and serves each of us.
    She feeds me a bite at a time, while everyone else eats too. My eyes drift to the faces around the table, everyone smiles and visits with one another, even Debi seems happy. I understand that birthdays are the one day out of a year when a person should get to feel special just for being alive.
    On my birthdays I have always wondered why I was born. My parents divorced because of me. My Mom lugs me around like an overgrown baby all day. And nobody thinks that I’m anything more than a guy with the mental abilities of large zucchini squash and a broken drool switch stuck on high. But I look at these faces again, my family and Debi, and they all look so happy, truly happy to be here celebrating me.
    Why can’t I just be happy too? Seriously, what the hell’s gotten into me lately? Okay, Shawn, that’s it! I mean it! Be honest. This year doesn’t feel as much like a farce. Dad showed up. I’m still alive. I’ve had two cakes in one day. My family cares about me enough to be happy that I was born, glad that I’m here with them. Plus I have new socks. I really like new socks!
    Is this your life, Shawn?
    Yer damned straight it is!
    Cheer up!
    Get a flippin’ clue, dude!
    Some things never change … then again some things do!

14
    Y es, things are changing. Debi and Rusty have been living here for three weeks. Rusty hasn’t eaten me, and life with them has started to feel … normal?
    â€œNormal” isn’t right, because I don’t think it’s possible to have a “normal” life with me in the house. At least not like the homes of families I see on TV. But weird as we might be, Debi and Rusty coming here has juiced up our lives. They have changed us, and we’re living a new definition of “normal.”
    Debi has a routine: She gets up every morning, Monday through Friday, makes her bed, and makes her own lunch for school. Debi is a stickler for putting her laundry away. Mom says that Debi’s bedroom is by far the tidiest spot in the house.
    Each morning Debi unloads the dishwasher without being asked. Unfortunately, a couple days ago, Mom hadn’t run the dishwasher the night before, so the dishes were still dirty; Debi put them away anyway. After her chores, she sits on the little bench in the entryway and waits for her white, square paratransit bus to take her to “schoo.” The same bus brings her back home at around four. To be honest, I’m glad I don’t have to take that bus. It doesn’t look to me anything like a high-end limo service.
    On weekends Debi hangs out in the basement and plays her favorite movie over and over and over again. She calls this movie The Sound of the Music and she’s watched it, and this is not an exaggeration, two times each Saturday and two more times each Sunday every weekend since she moved in. And she plays it LOUD! My main sitting spot upstairs is right above a heat vent that carries the sound. So I’ve heard “Doe, a deer, a female deer; ray, a drop of golden sun” and every other line from every other song twelve times over the last three weeks. I have no reason to believe I won’t hear it another four times every weekend for the rest of our lives together. One word: torture.
    Yesterday when Debi returned from school, Mom noticed something odd in her appearance. “Debi,” Mom asked, “are you hiding something under your coat?”
    Debi said, “No hiding … it