ReBirthDay Man

This is the story of a man, rebirthday man, who just wished to have one proper birthday.
________________

Define ‘proper’, one might say. So many men imagine many birthdays so differently. Some do prepare and await in hopes and expectations for the day to come, to celebrate another year of their future, to recollect and consider the accomplishments (if any) of their past. Some just ignore, turn off the phones, cut off the lines, crawl deep inside the caverns of inaudible – just to escape the slightest possibility of being congratulated, meaning the same as being defecated on (in their b-day vocabulary) with boomerangs of typical excuses of a wishes for felicity and health towards their lives. Some tend to ask for more and magnet the attention. Some just mumbling incantations: “Leave me alone. Piss off. Just piss off.”
Basically, the whole mankind pertains to one of those two birthday attitude categories. Despite the person of this story, who is more anxious than the first group, whereas more disgruntled than the second.

Not any men, including himself, knew when he was born and how old was he going to be. Moreover, nobody was ever present at the celebration of his birthday, for had never it occurred. At some point, he decided not to make any friends, not to engage in any conversations, not to take part in any social activities; alas, it didn’t make him happier, but easier to cope with his condition – easier to over-live the closeness of the day, he’d never seen.
Through many times (he lost the count of years), his behaviour had been changing rapidly: from fancy dandy to sublime sociopath, from kinky humorist to drunkard of no funs, from lady killer (in a pleasing way) to lady killer, literal. Different, every year. Until the cursed date, the only day he never ever lived – his birthday. Ironically then, he called himself – rebirthday man.

The simplest thing to understand was yet so hard to live with, so confusing. He would appear in different eras, different times, different fashion of clothes and people – but only for a year, and by the day of birth (the very second of its coming) he would expire from the current year, for time being, never would return. Still, he remembered every single life’o’year he went through, had some memories he wanted to return to, met some desirables he’d rather see beside him. Neither immortal, nor the man reborn – rebirthday man was like a ball of jalape;o pepper, you do not expect to find in raspberry cupcake; you’d definitely feel its presence, but with the last bite made the heat would go – in the end, you won’t remember anything but berries. At least, he was quite sure, nobody recalls him, in all those times, for never could he (and he tried to concentrate, thinking, there is a chance to get control over his ‘rebirthday condition’) get back to those times. The most terrible thing was, if one day he succeed and reappear in one of those times he lived a year, there never would be all of his precious acquaintances (throughout all the rebirth-years); the chance of none at all (he had some issues), even.
Rebirthday man wished only for one thing: to celebrate his birthday with those men he met throughout times and live then after, having them all nearby, all together.

Helena, typhoid nurse, who used to brew him herbal tea, in post-war hospital.

Antipius, crooked gladiator, who paired with him against the pack of wolves.

Gred Paver, deranged stone carver, who carved his headstone, as a present, right before the day.

Cornita, blind agave planter, who saw inside his soul and tried to stop his yearly tripping.

Angelica, his final love, with cancer, from the last year of him being emotional and hopeful.

…

The list of guests would be much longer than a sales receipt of standard middle class family at the New Year’s Eve (the same goes for the sick-list). They would go pub-crawling, he imagined, then collect themselves together at his place and smoke high quality cigars, and weed. More alcohol, the next day, they would go parading, wearing make-up, as if it was ‘La Dios de Los Muertos’. They would sing the rituals, all days before and after. They would wash him naked in the evening moon. The whole year would be the year of his birthday. Rebirthday man, he wished for just one year of proper time to celebrate for all those years he never had been recognized as man, who celebrates his birthday. Just one. The only – in his life.

One would be skeptical: “One birthday? Only one? But that would be the actual day of birth…”
Rebirthday man was in few minutes to another birthday, which he’s not to see. Dreaming his proper day, with friends from years, he finally decided – he should end it. At the very second of another day (the rebirthday to be) he threw himself in one of those wormholes, where men, he read, are free to disappear.
Did he reach the end?               
____

Throughout the years, since, different times, same day, the 29th of moon,
they celebrate rebirth of the deadborn. Alive but for one proper birthday second…