my birthday wish

My birthday is extremely inconvenient. It is on the most boring day of the year. Everything is closed, even Indigo. What more, most people are either with family or nursing a hang over — as I might be. My birthday is January first, which is, apart from Christmas day, the worst day to have a birthday.

This year I have decided not to expect anything from anybody on my birthday. No phone calls. No emails. No cards. Instead, my birthday is to be celebrated next weekend. Indeed, for my 30th I have decided to organize a weekend get-away with a few friends in the Mont-Tremblant area. I’ve rented two chalets. It’s a huge thing to organize, but I’m finally starting to be quite excited. Last night was the evening I had planned to organize the suppers: Friday evening a quick but hardy meal, Saturday night the whole kit and kaboodle birthday bash. Of course, I have helpers. I called Pedro during the day to confirm our meeting. Pedro is our sexy Portuguese jack-of-all-trades friend; he can fix your car and make a three-course meal for 20 guests. I called him at around two in the afternoon.

“Uh, Julie… didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Oh. Didn’t you hear about Maxime?”

Maxime. A friend of theirs. A guy I met at their Christmas evening supper (for all their loser friends who have no place else to go, like Ben & I). He was extremely friendly. We talked about his deceased father’s love of Japan, the Japanese girlfriend his dad had and his long lost Japanese half-brother. He had offered to Ben and me his father’s old Japanese books and dictionaries, seeing that he didn’t use them. He invited me to his buddies’ annual tourtière party, which was last Thursday and to which I didn’t go. Ben wasn’t in the mood and though I really wanted to go I decided not to without him; I’ve had a petty fight with a girl who was to be there and didn’t feel like putting myself in a vulnerable position, what with her possibly being disagreeable and my not knowing very well the other invitees. I stayed home and wrote about solitude instead. I left a message on Maxime’s voice mail excusing our absence. I was thinking of calling him on the 30th. I found him quite nice and didn’t want to be impolite or inconsiderate. But I didn’t.

“What? What happened?”

“Maxime killed himself the evening of the 31st. He hung himself. His mother found him. Didn’t anybody tell you? … Are you still there?”

I chocked a “yes,” and then a “no, nobody told me.” I wasn’t close enough to him or his close friends. The only person who would have told me is Mumu, I thought, and she must be too devastated to talk.

“Look Julie, I won’t be able to help with the supper. It’s a bit rough around here. And we don’t know when the funeral will be, so we might not be able to make your party next week-end, if his funeral is next week-end.”

“Yes, yes. I understand. Don’t worry about it. Charly and Anik also offered to help. We’ll take care of everything. And, Pedro…”

“Yes.”

“Could you please keep me informed?”

“I will. Bye Julie”

“Bye.”

Of course, I’ve heard nothing since then. I’ve checked the city’s obituaries and found nothing on Maxime. It feels so unreal. His being feels like a memory that never actually happened. Like a ghost. To think that while he was preparing his death scene, I was having a five-course meal with Maïté, her sister and a friend, Fred, Johnny, Liane and Ben. I was at a supper to which Maïté had told me to invite anybody who might have no other place to go. The friends I had invited had other places to go. Not having spoken to Maxime, I hadn’t invited him.

I do not fool myself with the thought that I could have saved him. I didn’t know him well. He might have been depressive, or suffered from some other mental illness. He might have been planning his death for a while. He might have been planning it the evening I met him. His generous offer of his father’s Japanese books might have been a way for him to ride himself of his possessions, an elaboration of his will. He left notes. Of course, I know nothing of them. I just feel I met a really nice guy, and missed something.

When Ben came home from work last night he gave me a big hug. The only thing we can do is love each other well, and do our best to love well those we care for. Which is what my birthday week-end will be: an occasion to share quality time with my closest friends. That’s all I want for my birthday.



Farewell Maxime.