The Demanding Birthday

 Heavy voices of merry ladies and men hung hugely over Jamole’s house. Today was the 24^th birth day party of his adorable wife, Stella Pitcher and although she had hinted him about it a few nights ago, yet he was still lost in his gloom due to what she demanded for a birthday gift.

Nights on end Jamole had been nagged by countless nightmares over thought of meeting her demands. He barely could provide a proper square meal for Stella so he wondered what would inspire his elegant wife to demand he buy her an Arabic Coral Gold Ring.

He was yet to know the worth of that gold ring but truth be told, with the few celebrities he had seen donning that ring he knew it wasn’t a piece of cake.

With his oversized shoes which had its sole gaping at the ceiling and his I-was-white T-shirt  over bottom-patched pants, he was all ready for work but without the audacity to go to his wife in the sitting room to demand for ten dollar which was his transport fare to work.

The merriment continued in a very thumping manner and they were about cutting the sizeable cake when Jamole pranced to the sitting room, perched at the door, and cast a worrisome gaze on his wife, who was smiling cheek to cheek and accepting gifts of all sorts from her rich pals and associates.

He swallowed hard, winked nervously and lowered his gaze once shame slapped him on the face for his inability to present at least the cheapest of the gold ring. With arms folded he forced a smile on his face wondering when he would meet the demands of Stella and put her on the scale of an excited wife whose core responsibility wouldn’t stir migraine in him.

All the while he had been initiating their gaze to meet so she could advance to him and help him with the money, saving him the embarrassment of the guests raising a brow at his odd looks; because he knew they would definitely raise a brow if he had stepped an inch further into their midst.

Fortunately their gaze locked and she caught the message in his cloudy eyes. She excused herself and her high heels knocked louder toward him.

“Happy birthday, wife,” Jamole said gratefully since wishes were the only gift he could afford now. A contagious smile decked his face and she didn’t return the compliment, making his smile to disappear within the chin from where it came.

Just like he did, she folded her arms, shot her quarrelsome gaze at him and queried him with her thunderous gaze.

He wanted to speak yet further and she raised her hands at him to shut the hell up.

He winced and snorted with his thick lips tightly pressed.

“Today is my birthday. Am I going to remind you Arabic Coral Gold Ring still remains what I want for a birth day gift, huh?”

 With the corner of his eyes, Jamole could see a few of the guests had settled their gaze on them.

“Could you please keep your voice down, dear? You are creating a scene.” he mumbled, struggled to keep his stare between the guests that were moping at them now and his wife who was mad at him in a menacing manner.

Her wide, pale palms were raised at him once again when he dared to explain himself. “Spare me that Jamole. For three years, three whole years I have been begging my lawfully wedded husband to buy me Arabic Coral Gold Ring and it is already taking you eternity to do so.” She peered at him and stooped. “When are you going to buy me the ring? Is it when lions begin to use clipper?”

He dared to swallow hard this time but his mouth had dried up and he inwardly fought back the grievances impounding in his heart. He became the spectacle of the entire guest now because her voice was already beaming as that of bass in a CD player.

“Please Stella can we discuss this privately, at least out of earshot?” His eyes darted around and she did same to see all eyes were on them now. “Our marriage deserves some respect, and I am still your husband despite my…”

She interposed him, “…Poverty,” she added.

He raised a furrowed brow and she tossed her head in affirmation, “Yes of course!” her voice blared and echoed across the room, “What else could have caused my husband three years to buy me a mere gold ring if not poverty...”

He interrupted her with his arms molded in apologies. “Give me some more time, I promise to buy you the gold ring, just give me one more year…I…” he stuttered, as he could hear few of the guests murmuring words that sounded like ‘good-for-nothing husband.’

“Broke ass husband! Could you please leave our party? We don’t want bad energy here.”

That was the voice of Vivian Thompson; she owned one of the best selling supermarkets in town called Priceless Stores. This was the third time Vivian would call Jamole names and he had been tolerating her with a grin.

Once again Jamole grinned hugely and rolled his eyes at Vivian.

When he thought that was enough another voice among the guests beamed, “Can you imagine his shoes? It gapes like the mouth of a whale!” that was the voice of Kennedy John, a sales person at the Antipolo Central Airport. He was among the closest buddies of Stella.

The entire guests burst into a mocking laugh and Jamole shut his eyes and grinned hard.

Stella chuckled and let a throaty, mocking laugh, while she pointed into his face, “Okay I guess one year won’t be enough, my darling husband. I am going to give you two decades to buy me a birthday gift.” She pointed at the tons of various gifs which piled on the table, “Did you see those gifts over there, they were given to me by friends who know my worth; pals who value Stella Pitcher…”

He sniffed; he didn’t want those tears to trickle down his cheek. He had been fighting it off all this while but this embarrassment was more than an emotional wreck to him.

Through teary voice he intoned, “My dear wife I may not be rich to afford a gold ring today but I promise to work hard just to make sure I buy you the gold ring. Please give me some more time to fix this. I…I” his lips trembled and he sucked a deep breath because he despised reminding himself of his financial status.  “I am going to make it up to you. You know what I do for a living and how much I earn...”

“That is becoming a cliché, Jamole!” she fumed at him and her conical eyes became bull-furious now. “Are you the only janitor in Antipolo?” she pointed into his frail chest with her long nails. “Please take your filthy self out of my party. I don’t want you to ruin it.” She turned to join the guests.

He called her attention on what she had been doing for him in ten years of their marriage, “Please my dear wife, can…can…” he stuttered and his lips curved strenuously in scare.

“What is it, Jamole? You can go to work now. Haven’t I given you two decades to buy me the gold ring? What is it again?” she bit out and hastened words out his lips with her arms on the waist which shook impatiently.

The guests stared with bated breath, trying to hear what he was about saying next.

“Can we talk privately? I need a favor of you.” He pled and wanted to beckon even harder.

But she yelled at him, “What is it? There is nothing hidden under the sun! Say whatever you have to say right here and now!”

All eyes settled on his lips as he swallowed hard, lowered his gaze in shame and managed to mumble, “Please can you help me with ten dollars for my transport fare to work. You have always done this for me?” she raised a thunderous brow at him and he added, “I promise to pay back as soon as I earn my salary…” he nodded emphatically.

She beamed, “All the previous ones I gave you have you paid back, huh? It is high time you owned up to your responsibility as a husband and stop fooling yourself. I should be your responsibility and not the other way round.” Her eyeballs flogged him with disdain. “Take your poverty away if you don’t have any meaningful thing to say.” Her eyes measured him from head to toes.

“The poor are full of excuses. Can you imagine the rubbish? Today is Stella’s birthday and she deserves the gold ring and not you begging her transport fare. What sort of husband are you? I bought Stella two pairs of dresses and pairs of Italian shoes worth half a million dollars so we expect you who claims to be her husband to do more.” another of her friend intruded.

Her name was Zara Wayne, a chubby Caucasian who worked at the Antipolo Central Bank as a desk officer.

Jamole stole a glance at her, swallowed hard and shook his head in self pity.

The rest of the guests murmured among themselves, leaving Jamole gaping and fondling with his shivering fingers. Any moment from now those tears would trickle down his cheeks.