1917

October 29, 1917

“My birthday just had to fall during one of the most tumultuous times for the United States. It was frustrating, feeling powerless in the face of all the chaos. I hated being unable to do anything meaningful to change the world. If I could, I’d give world leaders a lecture on why wars are such a dreadful, senseless thing.”

  I doubted they’d listen to me, though. After all, I was just a pipsqueak, a nobody in the grand scheme of things. My voice wouldn’t carry in a world run by people who seemed to have forgotten the value of peace.

  Regardless, I asked for a bicycle for my birthday and, to my surprise, received exactly that. It had a large, gleaming cerulean frame, the kind that looked like it had cost a small fortune.

“How much was this?” I asked, my voice full of shock.

“About ten dollars,” my mother replied calmly as if it were no big deal.

“WHAT?!” I shouted, my dismay impossible to hide. Ten dollars felt like a king’s ransom to me.

“Easy, Jeremy,” my mother said with a soft smile. “You’ve behaved well, and your grades are impressive. You might even get a scholarship someday,” she half-kidded, always filled with high hopes for me.

  Hopes I sometimes felt I could never quite live up to.

  My father encouraged me to take the bike for a spin, so I gave it a shot. Within five seconds, I found myself flat on my tush. Disappointed that I couldn’t even steer it properly, I reminded myself that it was just one of those things you had to learn through trial and error.

“Thank you!” I exclaimed joyfully, unable to contain my excitement.

“Of course,” my mother replied gently, her smile warm and reassuring.

  I hugged her legs, then looked up and asked, “Is anyone going to show up for my birthday party?” The thought of celebrating alone seemed unbearably lonesome.

“Oh, sure! David’s coming for sure,” she reminded me, referring to my wild cousin who couldn’t stop laughing at fart jokes.

“What about my friends?” I grumbled, my worry creeping in.

“They’re coming too, I’m sure,” she reassured me.

“Even Peggy?” I asked nervously, my heart racing. She was the girl I had been crushing on since fourth grade, and I hoped she liked me just as much.

“Even Peggy,” my father chuckled, a knowing grin spreading across his face. He was well aware of my crush on her, always teasing me about how she’d end up being my wife someday. I could feel my cheeks heat up at the thought—yeah, right. That seemed like a far-fetched dream, especially since I could barely manage to talk to her without stumbling over my words.

  Eventually, the guests began to arrive. My uncle Jack strolled in first, followed by David, still riding high off his flatulence joke. Peggy came soon after, and I could feel my heart race when she walked through the door. Then there was Carter, one of my only other friends. Like I said, my circle was small back then—I was way too damn shy to talk to anyone. That shyness had always bitten me in the a*s, keeping me on the sidelines while everyone else seemed to make friends with ease.

“Have a seat, everyone,” my mother gestured toward the large table set up in the pavilion. As everyone gathered, David—predictably—couldn’t resist cracking a joke.

“What do cars run on?” he asked, his grin mischievous. Before anyone could answer, he unleashed a thunderous fart, the kind that made the air tremble. Chaos followed as everyone scrambled to cover their noses, expressions ranging from shock to amusement. David’s farts, notoriously awful, could send even the bravest souls running. If a bear had been nearby, it might’ve gagged on the spot.

“David!” Uncle Jack bellowed, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist it,” David lied with a grin, his mischievous eyes giving him away.

“I know you couldn’t…” Uncle Jack muttered, shaking his head.

“Whatever, Dad,” David fired back with a shrug.

“It’s Father, thank you very much!” Uncle Jack shot back, raising an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

“Um, I have a birthday party, remember?” I interjected, reminding everyone that the day was supposed to be about me, not another one of their father-son showdowns.

“That’s right! What did you wish for, son?” my father asked, his usual cheerfulness lighting up the moment.

“For the war to be over,” I said grimly, my voice heavy with the weight of the world, and just like that, the room went still. Everyone froze in place, their smiles fading.

“Damn, that’s quite a wish!” Uncle Jack exclaimed, breaking the silence, but his tone carried more surprise than amusement.

“Unfortunately, this war is far from over,” my mother reminded me softly, her words sinking into my chest, causing me to second-guess my wish. Maybe it was too much to hope for, but I couldn’t help it—it was all I truly wanted.

“Jeremy, I have faith in you,” Peggy unexpectedly said, her words catching me completely off guard. My cheeks flushed crimson, the sudden attention making me feel both warm and awkward.

“I don’t,” I mumbled, trying to downplay the moment, my usual shyness getting the better of me.

“You should have faith, son,” my father chimed in, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s the strongest thing in the world,” he reminded me, his gaze full of encouragement. His words hung in the air, but I wasn’t sure I could believe them just yet.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I muttered, though my thoughts were elsewhere.

  The cake sat in front of me, nothing extravagant—just a simple strawberry cake with “11” neatly written in icing. Yet, there was something about it that made it feel special, almost too special to cut into. I hesitated, but my father’s glance said it all: You better eat it.

  Peggy, sitting beside me, unexpectedly reached for my hand. Startled, I jerked away slightly, caught off guard by the sudden contact.

“Your hands are sweaty,” she pointed out, a teasing smile playing on her lips. She was right—my hands were slick with nerves, probably sweatier than a boxer’s after a long match. I tried to laugh it off, but inside, I was burning up, more from her presence than from embarrassment.

“Let’s eat the cake already!” David blurted out, his nine-year-old impatience shining through. He was always the first to speak up when it came to food or anything remotely fun.

“Hold on a second,” my father shot him a stern look that could freeze fire. David instantly quieted down, sinking back into his chair like a snowflake gently falling to the ground. Even at his young age, he knew better than to push back when Dad gave that look.

  My father sliced the cake into eight pieces, even though there were only six of us. He gave a nod and said, “Dig in!”

  You should’ve seen David. The moment he grabbed his slice, he stuffed the entire thing into his mouth in one go. Of course, he couldn’t swallow it all, so he sat there, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. My mother sighed and handed him a glass of water, shaking her head. It took him a few gulps, but he finally managed to choke it down, looking more pleased with himself than anyone else. Jack shot David a disappointed look, raising an eyebrow as if to say, Really? It was the kind of look only an uncle could give—half scolding, half amused. David, however, was completely oblivious, wiping cake crumbs off his face with a grin as if nothing had happened.

“Can I make another wish, Papa?” I asked, curious.

“Of course, but don’t tell us what it is this time,” he joked around.

I wish to marry Peggy.

“Done!” I exclaimed.

“Just like that?” my mother asked.

“Yes, just like that,” I confirmed.

“Let’s hope it’ll come true one day!” Father exclaimed as well.

  And one day, it did.