The Problem with the World Ending is No One Remembers Your Birthday

by Mario Aliberto III

Bridjett Renae

This specific disappointment stews in Todd’s head as he slumps on an Adirondack chair on Marcy’s boat dock. There are four such chairs, painted hellfire red, evenly spaced in a semi-circle affording those gathered an equal view of the Withlacoochee River. Todd finishes his beer and tosses the can into the sun-dappled languish of the current. So, although it’s his birthday, it’s no different than any other Sunday he pulls up a front row seat awaiting humanity’s grand finale.

Twenty-four-years-old today and not a single Happy Birthday, Todd! He’s pretty sure he mentioned his birthday a few times over the past six months of The End of the World Club’s existence. He definitely told Frank last Sunday, because he remembers Frank saying in his chain-smoking gritty voice, “Probably your last one. You should celebrate.” And Todd said, “I don’t want to miss a meeting if it’s the end. Maybe we can have some cupcakes or something.” To which Javier, who rarely speaks, nodded his head in agreement. Marcy, eyes wide as if in a constant state of epiphany, whispered, “Cupcakes at the end of everything. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”

Well, Todd didn’t bring any cupcakes. That’s some grade school shit, providing your own birthday cupcakes, like the time he helped his mother bake thirty-two chocolate cupcakes to share with his third-grade class. He’d felt so proud carrying the trays into school that morning, showered by his classmates’ ooohs and ahhhs. It was the most attention he’d ever had, and the closest he’d come to an actual birthday party. Everyone wished him a happy birthday, except those jackass twins, Johnny and James Villanois, who at some point during recess snuck back into the classroom and stuck the cupcakes to the whiteboard by their frosting in the shape of a dick. Balls and all. They even snapped the single birthday candle Todd’s mother provided into tiny pieces. They’d not only stolen Todd’s birthday from him, they’d stolen his wish.

Now, almost sixteen birthdays since then, and what does Todd have? Nothing but Sundays of lukewarm beer, daydrinking with acquaintances he met online, who through different means have determined the world is closing up shop on a Sunday afternoon. Marcy claims God commanded her to prepare for a flood; Frank has vivid, reoccurring dreams of aliens; and Javier once mimed something that could be a meteor or a giant chicken, no one is sure. The only thing they agree on is the world will end on a Sunday, sooner rather than later, so they meet every Sunday around three o’clock and wait until dusk to see if that Sunday will be the Sunday.

“Anything on the news?” Marcy asks, sipping her beer. An Egret alights upon a beached aluminum John Boat with a massive hole in its hull Marcy is no closer to repairing than the first time Todd saw it.

“News ain’t worth spit,” Frank says, lighting a cigarette. “Twitter’s quiet though.”

Javier nods his head.

“What’s God saying?” Frank says, in a way that indicates he thinks Marcy’s full of shit, but also hopes she has something to share.

“Nothin’. Anyone want?” Marcy shakes her empty beer, rising to fetch another from the house.

Javier holds up a finger.

Todd stumbled onto the group one day scrolling Twitter between delivering Uber Eats. His mom had recently passed and he didn’t want to be alone and chatting about the apocalypse provided some comfort and Marcy DM’d him to come by and watch the world end with like-minded folk and that was that. He told the others he had a vision during a mescaline trip that revealed the world ended in fire, which was a total lie. Well, the mescaline part was true, but if he had a vision, he doesn’t recall it, other than staring at a glowing Taco Bell sign for hours as a delivery order of chalupas grew cold.

And although Todd doesn’t believe the end is coming, if he could get his stolen wish back from the Villanois twins, he’d wish for the fiery end he lied about, because if this is all there is, this life without one person remembering his birthday, well, maybe it’s time to turn off the lights and lock the door.

Eyes closed, listening to the river, Todd begins to drift off, when he hears someone clear their throat. He opens his eyes. Marcy stands in front of him, her back to the river, balancing a plate of four cupcakes with pink frosting and festive sprinkles. A warbly off-pitch duet of Happy Birthday breaks out between Marcy and Frank. Javier claps along. As they finish, Todd blinks away tears.

“Sorry I don’t have any candles. Hope that’s oookaaaiiiii — ” Suddenly, Marcy begins to shake and shimmy, and she shoves the plate of cupcakes at Todd. There is a nightmare sound of something breaking, and Todd realizes it’s not only Marcy shaking, but the earth shuddering in the cataclysmic throes of a crust-cracking earthquake.

Magma spews high into the air and the Withlacoochee River boils. The mangroves catch fire, the reflection of which flames in The End of the World Club’s eyes. Inside a screen of smoke and embers, Frank lights a fresh cigarette off the burning wood dock and mumbles something about no spaceships being bullshit. Marcy makes the sign of the cross, repeating, “Sweet Jesus, that boat’s not gonna cut it.” Javier nods his head.

Todd leans over the tray of cupcakes, inhales their sugary sweetness, purses his lips and blows away a drifting ember, knowing his wish has already come true.

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Mario Aliberto III’s work has appeared in The Sonora Review, Atticus Review, and Fractured Lit, and others. He lives in Tampa Bay with his wife and daughters, and yet the dog still runs the house. Twitter: @marioaliberto3