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On the ninth of May, the weather was overcast and cloudy. A gloomy, gray haze seemed to loom over the entire town, distinct from the typical nuclear smog.
Normally, Lisa liked this sort of weather. It provided good ambiance when she was able to stay in bed and spend the whole morning immersed in a good book. But, alas – it was the middle of the week, she had to go to school, and she was in a bad mood – ergo, she was mildly resentful of the clouds today.
As she stepped off the bus, Sherri (or was it Terri?) bumped her shoulder as she pushed past her, the other twin following close behind. The two of them ran towards the door, giggling about something-or-other. She doubted it was relevant to her current woes.
Lisa gritted her teeth and wrapped her fingers around the straps of her backpack. Nine years old. She’d hit double digits soon, and what did she have to show for it? A fat load of nothing.
Well, Bart had poked his head in her room that morning, spitting out a rushed “Happy birthday, Lis!” before running downstairs with his skateboard and leaving the house. He might have some semblance of a gift for her later on, but she wasn’t counting on it.
And Maggie nuzzled her cheek and grabbed her nose when Lisa had carried her to the kitchen that morning. But she was going through the long, grueling process of teething, and put up quite a fight at breakfast. She was a smart cookie, but she wasn’t quite old enough yet to give Lisa much birthday attention.
But that was the extent of the celebration she’d received thus far. Mom had been too focused on Maggie, and Dad was still asleep when the bus arrived.
So she’d stepped onto the vehicle without fanfare, and, aside from her daily nod to Otto, kept to herself for the entire ten minute ride.
It was better this way. If she announced what day it was, she’d look like a total attention hog. Better to just let these twenty four hours pass as quickly as possible.
Lisa kept her head down as she approached the school building, intending to make a beeline for class and get the walk of shame overwith, but she was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Morning, Lisa!”
She looked towards its source, and saw Nelson waving at her from across the grass. His other hand was absentmindedly pulling at the flagpole’s halyard. A pair of boxer shorts was clipped to the rope, and was currently being hoisted up into the air, replacing Old Glory at the top. There was no telling who they belonged to; the victim must have already fled the scene.
Feeling too apathetic to scold the bully, she waved back and began to approach him. The deed was already done. What use was it now to tell him that theft was wrong?
“Hi, Nelson.” Her eyes drifted further upward as she got closer. “Getting a head start on the brutality this morning?”
“Simple intimidation tactics, my friend.” His face turned smug, and he looked thoroughly proud of himself as he elaborated. “They’re mine. I was feeling lazy today, and nobody knows the difference. It enforces my dominion, makes me look tough, and I still get to sleep in.”
“Ah, I see. Work smarter, not harder.”
“That’s the idea.”
Lisa tilted her head. “How… innovative.”
“Thanks.” Nelson wiped his hands on his vest once the underwear was fully aloft. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look down.”
“Huh?” She blinked. “Oh, nothing.”
“You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen how you act when you get an A minus.” His forehead wrinkled in mild concern. “Did you get an A minus?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Didn’t think so. Then what's on your mind?”
The girl sighed heavily. She supposed she could explain what was going on to Nelson. He had no reason to know when her birthday was; he wasn’t in her class, and she highly doubted that Bart ever mentioned the date. You can’t forget something that you never knew in the first place.
Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath in preparation. “Well, it’s my birthday today, and–”
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know that.” He curled his knuckles into a fist and brushed her shoulder with a soft play punch. “Happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Nelson.” The corners of her mouth turned up for the first time since she woke up, but the smile didn’t meet her eyes. “I’m just kind of underwhelmed with it this year, that’s all. Rough start.”
She didn’t mention that she was almost always underwhelmed, and her birthdays always had rough starts, rough middles, and rough ends. She was used to it. No need for a pity party.
“Well, that sucks. But your family's cool. They've probably got a big surprise party planned or something.”
“That would be a big surprise, wouldn't it?” she replied dryly.
The bell rang, interrupting their conversation. Nelson might have been willing to play hooky, but Lisa wasn’t; she had to get going. Her perfect attendance couldn’t be sullied, birthday depression be damned.
As if reading her mind, he waved at her again, knowing that they’d have to say goodbye for the moment. “If you need me to beat anyone up, come find me and let me know. I’ll do it free of charge.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said as she returned the gesture and began walking towards the front doors. “Smell ya later.”
Lisa never took Nelson up on his violence-for-hire, but she'd thought about it multiple times.
Her day at school ended up being aggravatingly mediocre. No one remembered her birthday, of course, but she'd also faced numerous other, mundane annoyances.
She hadn't been able to successfully sharpen her favorite pencil; it kept leaving those obnoxious little wood shavings, and the point kept snapping, leaving the lead more and more irregular each time she tried to fix it.
Her quiz paper was creased asymmetrically after it drifted to the floor, and Ralph, in a genuine attempt to be polite, picked it up for her. The smooth, white sheet then fell victim to hands that didn't worry about things like neatness.
A fire drill had interrupted music class, cutting off her saxophone solo that she was about to be reprimanded for by Mr. Largo and forcing everyone outside for ten minutes. A light drizzle had misted the students just enough to make their hair frizzy and their clothes damp, but not enough to make much of a difference otherwise.
Amidst countless other minor events that I'm sure the reader doesn't give a damn about, Lisa begrudgingly accepted her fate. It wasn't a good day. It wasn't even a bad one. It was simply the same as any other day of the year, and that was what dampened her mood.
But even if her day was mind-numbingly disappointing, she could still save her evening if she went straight home. There wouldn't be any cake waiting, but if she could shut herself up in her room and finish the Zora Neale Hurston novel she'd started the night before (after sneaking a donut or two, if there were any left), she'd consider that a win.
She pondered the likelihood of leftover donuts at her house as she shut her locker and prepared to head for the bus home. It did happen on occasion, when her father was distracted by something else just as delectable or amusing, but it was rare.
Her shoes squeaked on a freshly-mopped tile. Maybe she'd be lucky and there'd be a glazed raspberry, or maybe even a powdered strawberry –
“Lisa! Hey, Lisa!”
Nelson’s voice cut above the idle chatter, and background characters stepped out of the bully’s way as he approached her.
She stopped in her tracks and waited for him. He must have sought her out; her locker was close to the school bus station, and he never took the bus home.
She hadn't expected to see him a second time that day, but she was grateful that none of his friends were nearby. They'd just hug their own torsos and make fake kissy noises at the two of them. Normally, it didn't phase her, but she wasn't in the mood to deal with such uninventive, juvenile teasing. She was liable to snap.
Nelson was hiding something behind his back, which gave her brief pause. Lisa's gut reaction was to think that he'd found a lizard, or a worm, or something else he believed might gross her out. That's what boys his age were usually hiding behind their backs. (She wasn't afraid of any creatures they could dig up, and they couldn't drop the abstract concept of dehumanization into her hands. Until they could bottle that up, they couldn't scare her.)
Then she remembered who he was, and no, he wouldn't do that. Not to her, anyway. And especially not if he'd found out it was her birthday that morning. He wasn't that much of a brute.
“I got you somethin’,” he boasted with a puffed chest.
Lisa blinked in genuine surprise. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. “...Wait, really?”
“Yeah.” He rolled back on his heels. “Well, I made you somethin’. I didn't get anything. But I would have if I had known, I swear.”
“Aw, Nelson, you didn't have to do all that!” The smile was back again.
He just shrugged. “Well, y’know. We used to date.”
He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she'd obviously been expecting a gift from him. It was kind of sweet in a roundabout way.
“Yeah, we did, didn't we?” she affirmed with an eye roll and a smirk. “Well, don't keep me waiting, then.”
He extended his hand and offered her a piece of white printer paper that had been folded in half. On the front were the words 'HAPY BIRTH DAY LISA' written with a black marker that was running low on ink.
She took the makeshift card and opened it. Inside, there was a crude drawing of a stick figure that she had to assume was a depiction of her; it was holding a slug-like object in the vague shape of a saxophone, and it was wearing her pearls. Shiny star stickers in various colors surrounded the drawing in an attempt to give it some pizzazz, and black marks dotted the page from where the cover’s text had bled through.
Lisa stared at the card for a few silent moments. It was sloppy, low-effort, and likely made with stolen supplies from Mrs. Krabappel's classroom. It wasn't sturdy enough to stand up on a shelf, or thick enough to prevent it from getting wrinkled if she stuck it in her backpack.
But it was still a birthday card, and someone had still taken time out of his day to make it from scratch, and she was still the intended recipient. She'd never seen all three factors at play before.
She clenched her jaw. She was not going to cry in front of Nelson Muntz.
"Uh, Lisa?"
Snapped out of her daze, she looked up at her friend, and saw him nervously wringing his hands.
"You hate it, don't you?" He looked down. "That's fine. It's not that good. I just didn't have time to go buy you one. Turns out you can't leave school grounds during the day without getting suspended."
"No, no, it's great." She held the flimsy piece of paper over her heart and grinned at him. "It's the best card I've ever gotten."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
“You mean that?”
“I do mean that.”
"That's depressing."
“It's the thought that counts, not the quality of the gift.”
“I was thinking about sharks when I made it.”
"Well, I’ll take what I can get." She shook her head. “I really do love it. Thank you, Nelson.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets as they began to walk together. “So, what kind of sad life are you living where that's the best birthday card you've ever gotten?”
Lisa pushed down the peeling point of a star sticker with her thumb. “No one ever remembers my birthday. Not even my own family.”
“Not even your mom?” he said, a bit taken aback.
“I guess she's just busy raising my baby sister, my brother, and my dad all at once.” She sighed. “I might forget my daughter's birthday, too, if I were in her position.”
“That's a lousy excuse,” he said, his face slowly settling back to its normal, off-putting expression. “My mom tries to do stuff for me on my birthday when she can. She usually has to work.”
“I'm sorry,” she sympathized.
“Last year, though, we got some White Castle once her shift was over at midnight. That was pretty cool, I guess, even though it wasn't technically my birthday anymore.”
“Yeah.” She carefully rolled the card up and pulled her pencil case out of her backpack to store the gift without crushing it. “I guess I lied a little earlier. Bart and Maggie did remember. But no one has done anything for me besides you.”
“Well, since you don't have any plans, you wanna hang out?” Nelson perked up a little. “I'll take you to get some ice cream. My treat.”
“You don't have to do that, either.”
“But I want to. Everyone should get to eat something sugar-loaded on their birthday that permanently contributes to their future heart problems.”
Lisa looked through the glass at the end of the hallway, and saw her neighborhood's bus open its doors in the distance. If she didn't head that way right this second, she would miss her guaranteed ride home.
On the other hand, she didn't like her odds with the donuts, and the ice cream seemed like a much safer bet.
They rode Nelson’s bike into town. The misty rain had stopped, but the sky looked exactly the same as it had eight hours ago.
Lisa sat on the handlebars for the journey, since he only had one seat, and her own bike was at home. The act felt twee and faux-idyllic – like those Norman Rockwell paintings that people hung up without understanding their original context and intention, mistakenly hearkening back to a wholesome, small-town coziness that had never truly existed in the first place. A pastiche of Americana with a twist. It was kind of fun, if she didn't focus on unpacking the societal implications.
…She was thinking way too hard about this.
The ride took less than ten minutes. Neither of them spoke very much on the way over, but that was fine. She was enjoying the wind in her curls, and he was humming Enter Sandman under his breath to occupy himself.
Once they arrived at Phineas Q. Butterfat's 5600 Flavors Ice Cream Parlor, Nelson chained the bike to a nearby telephone pole before they went inside. He didn't have a normal bike chain; he used a heavy, steel link chain, with a comically oversized padlock. She didn't want to ask where he got either of those things.
Inside, the man at the counter, who was wearing an embarrassing uniform, paid them no mind at first. He was chatting with a young patron sitting at the bar, washing a root beer mug with a rag.
Said patron was Martin, who was finishing off a float of his own as they entered. He slammed the glass on the counter and haggardly wiped his mouth with his arm. “Hit me again.”
“You got it, kid.” The employee rinsed the mug and absentmindedly began to greet them. “Welome to Phineas Q. Butt–”
He made eye contact with Nelson, and his entire demeanor changed. His spine straightened. His eyes widened. His complexion became paler.
“Oh, hello, Nelson!” He laughed nervously. “What can I get for you today–”
“Two cones. Chocolate.” The boy deftly procured two crumpled dollar bills from his pocket and slammed them on the counter. Both of the restaurant’s previous occupants jumped at the noise.
“It’s the lady’s birthday,” Nelson continued. “So she’ll be expecting a little something extra on hers. A little freebie. Capiche?”
Lisa shook her head. “No, that’s okay–”
“Of course, Nelson!” The man quickly set to work preparing their orders. “Whatever you say! The customer is always right, after all!”
His voice was trembling with poorly-masked fear. She glared at Nelson disapprovingly, but his watchful eyes stayed locked on the worker. She wondered what the story was here. What did Nelson know about this guy that held so much power over him? It had to be blackmail, right?
She’d have to give him a lecture about this later. Blackmailing people wasn’t nice, but getting her ice cream was, so maybe they were making progress.
Martin gave her a shaky wave. “So, it’s your birthday, huh, Lisa? Happ–”
Nelson cut him off. “Save it, loser. Try again next year.”
“Thanks, Martin,” she said as a softening addition to Nelson’s jab. She didn’t really want Martin Prince’s birthday wishes – they meant virtually nothing to her – but accepting them was the civil thing to do.
She also wanted to divert her attention from the giddy rush she got when Nelson basically called Martin out for not telling her ‘happy birthday’ before. He was trying to stick up for her, after all. Nelson was a very loyal person at his core, and she admired that about him. He just had to learn not to act like an agitated guard dog when he was righting a wrong.
Lisa snuck another glimpse at Nelson, and he caught her eye this time, shooting her a short smile before resuming his assessment of the man. Old, familiar butterflies swarmed for a second. Just for a second.
“Here you go, kids.” The employee offered Nelson his cone, and held Lisa’s in his other hand. “Any special requests, young lady?”
“Just some sprinkles is fine–”
“Another scoop,” the bully interjected.
“Nelson, I said I wanted sprinkles.”
“Yeah, give her some sprinkles, too. And a candle.”
“I–”
“Not a problem!” With no hesitation, the ice cream man placed another generous scoop on top of the first one, and coated the top with rainbow jimmies. “Whatever you say, Nelson!”
Okay, now she had to bring it up. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t approve of extortion.”
“Who’s extorting?” He took a lick of his ice cream. “I’m just threatening him to get free stuff.”
“That’s what extortion is.”
“Ah, don’t worry, we have an agreement. Me and Paulie go way back. Don’t we, Paulie?”
Paulie nodded and smiled like he was being held at gunpoint.
“I don’t approve of lying, either, in case you forgot,” said Lisa flatly, her eyes narrowing.
Nelson opened his mouth to reply, paused for a moment, then sighed in defeat, apparently lacking any sort of retort. “Fine, I’ll be nice to the ice cream guy.”
“Thank you, Nelson.”
Watching the two of them like a hawk, Paulie handed Lisa her cone, now adorned with a single candle in addition to the sprinkles. He must have lit it while they were arguing.
“And, for the birthday girl, a double scoop deluxe!”
“Thank you, Paulie.” She stared at the tiny flame in glee, her focus rapidly shifting. “Oh, and sorry, by the way.”
Nelson asked, “You want him to sing for you, Lis? He can sing if you want him to.”
“What? No!”
“You hate it when waiters sing to you at restaurants, huh? Me, too.” He pointed a stern finger at Paulie, who flinched. “She doesn’t want you to sing, so you better not sing, got it?”
“Nelson!”
“Right, right, sorry. I'll be nice.” His shoulders slumped a little. “That one wasn't on purpose, I swear. I just get so worked up about people singing to me at restaurants.”
They ate their treats right outside the ice cream parlor, sitting at one of the charming, little tables with multicolored umbrellas attached.
Downtown Springfield was pretty quiet this time of day. Hardly anyone was sitting in the town square due to the lack of sunshine, and most folks were just getting home from work or school. It was oddly peaceful, and a welcome change of pace.
A loud crunch came from her right as Nelson finished off his ice cream cone. Hers wasn't even halfway gone yet – she was dragging it out for as long as she possibly could, to properly savor it, to commit its chilly sweetness to memory. She’d even cleaned off the candle after blowing it out and stuck it in her pocket to take home as a memento. But the dessert was starting to melt, so maybe it was time to get a move on.
She admired the nearly-perfect sphere of chocolate ice cream she'd shaped over the past couple minutes, and then took a small bite out of it. “Is this what it's like having a birthday cake?”
Nelson grunted. “How is your life sadder than mine?”
“My dad's birthday is in three days. That makes us both Tauruses.” She grimaced. “That should be more than enough to convince you that astrology is a farce.”
“One time, my mom told me that I'm a Scorpio. What's that mean?”
“It means you were born some time between late October and early November.”
“Well, that's lame.”
“Exactly.”
He peeled the wrapper off of the straw he’d grabbed when they were inside and idly began to prepare strips of napkin for spitballs. She watched him in silence and worked at finishing her food before the rest of it escaped from the cone to the concrete below.
Nelson treated the task with all the gravity of a decorated general on the eve of war. The concentration on his face almost made Lisa take spitballs seriously. Almost.
He loaded one into the straw and smirked. “Check this out. I'm the best shot in town.”
He took a moment to study the sign over the entryway, presumably analyzing the trajectory and angle, and took aim.
A sharp blast of air was expelled from his lungs, and it propelled the wad through the air in a weirdly graceful arc. It landed squarely on the face of the cartoon man riding the penny farthing (presumably Phineas Q. Butterfat).
Lisa shifted the cone in her hands so she could clap. “Bravo.”
“That's nothing. I can do better.” He nudged her shoe with his. “Tell me what to shoot next. Give me a challenge.”
“Hmm…”
She looked around.
“What about the middle of the letter Q on the sign?”
Scoffing, he reloaded and, with no hesitation, hit the exact spot with ease. “I told you to give me a challenge.”
“Okay, then, Mr. Wise Guy.” She pointed to a distant trash bin. “Make it land in that can over there.”
Before taking his next shot, Nelson shut one eye and made a right angle with his thumb and pointer finger as he sized up the distance. But in the end, he hit his target just as easily as he had before.
“Now do that flowerpot across the street,” she said, now invested in his unconventional talent. “But don't knock it over.”
“Gotcha.”
It might have been another perfect landing, but fate had other plans.
Moments after he’d pulled the metaphorical trigger, Milhouse came speeding by on his bicycle, taking both of them by surprise and riding straight into the crossfire. The spitball hit him squarely on the forehead, and he shrieked in shock.
Lisa’s hand clamped over her mouth as she watched him veer and swerve down the road away from them. Despite his ghostly wailing, he never once fell off, nor did he see his unintentional assailant.
He was gone before she or Nelson could even process what happened. All was quiet again in an instant.
“Well, damn,” said the bully. He looked just as surprised as Milhouse had been.
Despite herself, Lisa snickered.
Nelson, caught off guard by her reaction, stared at her in pleasant disbelief. She snorted from the effort of keeping more laughter from escaping, which, of course, made it worse.
Before long, the two of them were laughing like a couple of idiots. The moment of impact kept replaying itself in her mind, like one of those mindless, home video clip shows her father liked so much.
“Did you–” She chortled. “Did you see his face?”
“I told you I was good at this,” he said with a grin.
“You really are, though! Color me impressed.”
Whether his cheeks were red from laughing, or from something else, she couldn’t tell, nor did she linger on it. He didn’t say anything in reply, just shook his head dismissively.
She sighed to replenish her lungs with oxygen as she came down from her giggling high. “I’m serious. You'd probably be pretty good at…”
Several options flashed through her mind, all of which could result in some degree of harm or lethality: sharpshooting, archery, darts. Perhaps it was best not to plant those ideas in her peer's young, impressionable mind.
“...shot putting.”
Oh, geez, that might not be much better.
“You think so?” He looked thoughtful. “I do like throwing things.”
“You can do anything you put your mind to, Nelson.” She blinked. “Within moral reason.”
“I guess you’re right. You usually are.”
Lisa finished the last of her ice cream, and set the empty cone on the table.
She felt content and at ease. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but so far, this had been one of the best birthdays she’d ever experienced. She didn’t want to leave the ice cream parlor, didn’t want Nelson to take her home yet, but they’d have to do that eventually.
Not right this second, though.
He eyed her leftovers with a raised brow. “You don’t want the rest?”
“It’s just the cone. I don’t really like to eat those.” She pushed it toward him with her pointer finger. “You can have it if you want.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. I was just gonna throw it away, anyway.”
“Okay, then.” He picked it up and took a bite. “Your loss.”
“Enjoy your tasteless wafer.”
“It’s like eating the pizza crust. You gotta do it.”
“I don’t like eating the crust, either.”
“More for me.”
Lisa propped her elbow up on the table and rested her hand on her palm. “By the way, thanks, Nelson. For everything. I think I really needed this.”
“Yeah, no dip you needed it.” Crunch. “You’re welcome for picking up everyone else’s slack, I guess.”
“You were doing a nice thing for me because I’m your friend.” Another smile crept up on her. “And I really appreciate it. It was sweet of you.”
They made eye contact for a split second, and he looked away almost immediately, but she held her gaze.
“Don’t mention it.” He returned her smile, but didn’t look back at her. “What are friends for, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Same time next year?”
“Next year?”
“Your next birthday. Duh.”
Now her cheeks were warming up. “You really wanna do something just for me again? For a second time?”
“I mean, why not? I probably won’t have plans.”
“...Okay, then. It’s a date.”
She now knew that her friend hated being sung to at restaurants, but she wondered if maybe, this October, he would enjoy a personal saxophone concert. She could definitely memorize a couple Black Sabbath songs by then, and she already knew “Happy Birthday”.
A small peek at the sun appeared in the clouds, and Lisa angled her leg slightly to the right, just slightly, which resulted in her knee touching Nelson’s.
It wasn’t on purpose, of course – she was just re-adjusting her leg, as one does – but he didn’t move after she did it, either. So maybe it was okay. They were friends, after all.