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At about seven p.m. Eastern Time situated in an apartment in Brooklyn twelve hours into his birth date, Luigi was not a participant in the aftermath of his birthday party where he got to open presents and have cake with his family. He only made it so far as opening up one present before everything came crashing down and he locked himself into the bathroom to have a cry about his newfound responsibilities.
As far as ranking birthdays went, Luigi locking himself in the bathroom and crying about how his childhood was over as he knew it could be solidly placed at the bottom. There were extra points for the fact that he didn’t turn on the light and it was gloomy and dark and since he was sitting against the locked door he was starting to get pins and needles. At first his family tried knocking on the door and coaxing for him to come out and talk about everything, but eventually left him there to wait for him to come out or if someone needed to use the facilities: whichever came first.
Muffled ambience behind the locked bathroom door indicated his family members talking or laughing with each other as they probably waited for him to come out of the bathroom so they could have some cake. Very rarely it got silent enough for Luigi to faintly hear the television’s sounds. It kind of sounded like Columbo, the only detective show that didn’t frighten Luigi into night terrors. He tried to swallow down his fear of other detective shows – he wasn’t a little kid anymore – but couldn’t manage that. The fear taste sour.
And the idea that he wasn’t little anymore and had many new responsibilities now was at the forefront of his mind again. His arms were around his knees and gripped them tighter, as he thought over the debacle that lead to him ending up because of anxious thoughts that ate at him like a pack of monsters.
The first present that Luigi had opened up was one that he’d asked and begged and pleaded to have, an incredible toy helicopter that boasted it could fly up to a hundred-fifty feet in the air and had little action figures that’d attached to the toy. At first his papa has said that he was getting a little old for toys like that but evidently indulgence had won out. Those words had echoed in his mind and everything set in.
One day Luigi wouldn’t get toys as presents. One day and the next and the next he’d have to say good-bye to his friends at middle school and jump into the gaping maws of high school and college and work that he saw make his relatives tired and grumpy and joke about how and his brother didn’t know how good they had it: those good days were finite.
What made Luigi’s stomach twist and ache the most was the subject of Mario. They worked together in sync so well, never had a moment like in cartoons where Mario would ditch him for cooler friends or anything like that. But the days of childhood were finite. They could drift apart when they became adults. Mario always protected him but maybe one day he’d get sick of that, maybe someday their relationship would be reduced to Christmas cards and nothing more.
It was why Luigi had to be stronger, to prove that he could keep up with his big bro. Nothing could make him shake in fear if Mario was there.
The bathroom door suddenly shook and made a loud sound as a body collided with it, making Luigi yelp. He heard his mother’s muffled voice and then Mario called, “Sorry, mama! I was gonna check on Luigi and I slipped.”
Suddenly aware that someone was going to speak to Luigi, the gloom of the bathroom and his thoughts seemed to scatter like those soot creatures in that animated film from Japan that he and Mario watched at the movie theaters about a week ago. The door was alive with sound again as Mario knocked rhythmically like they were playing a game of spies together.
“Lu? You doing okay in there? Can I come in?”
Luigi weighed his options. He knew from experience that Mario was the closest candidate that would actually listen to what he had to say, instead of laughing indulgently that he had “big thoughts,” or teasingly that he didn’t know how good he actually had things in comparison to looming adulthood. He stood up on legs that shook a little from pins and needles, unlocked the door and only opened it up enough for Mario to slip inside. Then Luigi locked it again and sat back down on the floor, keeping quiet.
Mario was in sync with him, sitting down beside him and exclaiming with brisk shock as his body hit the floor, “Ah! It’s freezing an’ it’s dark... You sure you wanna stay in here?”
“Yep.”
“Is the responsibilities thing ‘cause we got tricked by great-uncle Romano with the hand buzzer?” Mario asked, metaphorically jumping into the deep end and clearly throwing out ideas as to why Luigi had been so upset. “Mama made him give it to cousin Rose so he won’t get us again.”
“Not that,” Luigi replied, though he rubbed his palms together. The shock still lingered in his mind.
“So it is just responsibilities?” Mario asked again. “I can tell you as your older bro – “
“Not that much older,” Luigi interrupted.
“Aww, let me have this, little bro,” Mario lightly teased him, a little shake at his shoulder that there was no malice involved. “I was gonna say that kids like us still get cake, and there’s a whole cake for ya just outside.”
“Not gonna be kids for much longer,” Luigi muttered, acutely aware that certain joys didn’t last forever.
“Yeah, but I bet it’s not gonna be as scary as long as we – “
Luigi let out a frustrated cry. “You don’t get it, big bro! This is it! The halcyon years of my life are over! All that’s left is the cold chill of diverging paths. Which one am I gonna choose?! What if I make the wrong choice?! I could ruin my life forever and – “
“Okay, okay. C’mon, follow my lead,” Mario said, gently putting his hands on Luigi’s shoulders. He started a breathing exercise that their second grade teacher taught them, and they both breathed together until Luigi felt the panic and frustration ebb away like drained water. Mario let go of his shoulders and continued, “That was a lotta vocab words, Luigi. Did you read too many of those sad chapter books with the silver medal on the cover again?”
“Yeah…” Yesterday Luigi got about halfway through one that was about red ferns and two loyal dogs while his legs were parked on the couch and his back was to the floor, the book in his hands and hovering above him like a UFO made out of paper and ink. Mario had been nearby, lying out on the carpet and finishing up his multiplication tables.
“Did the dog die?” Mario asked sympathetically.
“No… the last one I finished, it was a nice spider,” Luigi replied a little miserably. After finishing that chapter he’d stuck the book under his bed and refused to look at it again for at least a week.
“Is that all that made ya feel like this?”
He didn’t give the entire reason, as if it’d materialize right into their lives. “I dunno. Just think knowing that my age is gonna be in the double digits forever kinda freaked me out…”
“I think you’re make it to the triple digits,” Mario said, nudging at his shoulder.
“Why?” Luigi asked, genuinely surprised.
“’Cause you spend every other weekend deep cleaning our room and you tell mama when the milk is gonna expire a week in advance. That’s the healthiest living I’ve ever heard of, Lu!”
“Even better than the ladies on the home ec channels mama likes to watch?”
“Yeah, probably. I bet you could knock their socks off.”
Luigi laughed. All his fears seemed to float away like balloons. Even more when Mario gave him a one-sided hug. It tipped the scales within him to speak about what had been whirling around in his mind like a tornado constructed out of sheer anxiousness.
“Um… big bro, I think I was also worried that, um…” Luigi mumbled, “When we grow up at some point we’d have a big fight and hate each other or somethin’ like that…”
Mario made a surprised noise like Luigi had said something utterly absurd and saying it out loud, he could agree with that. “Really? Aw, I don’t think you gotta worry about that, little bro. I know the maddest I’ve been at you is when it was a thousand degrees outside and I found out you ate the last popsicle.”
“We had a system,” Luigi cheekily rebutted, “I got the last one, no take-backs.”
“It was rigged in your favor,” Mario joked right back. “That means that based on that system I get the last piece of your leftover birthday cake.”
“Unless papa gets to it first,” Luigi replied solemnly.
“Oh, yeah… I wonder if we’ll eat like papa when we grow up?”
“I guess we’re gonna find out,” Luigi said, though it didn’t sound as scary as it did thirty minutes earlier. It was quiet.
“Still feel like you gotta lot of new responsibilities?” Mario asked, breaking the silence.
“Kinda.”
“Well, don’t worry ‘cause I’m gonna grow up right next to you,” Mario said. “If we ever make any dumb mistakes we’re gonna help each other, always. We’re in this together.”
Luigi nodded, smiling. At last he felt ready to get back out there and stood up. Mario followed his lead and got up to unlock the bathroom door, opening up for the aftermath of Luigi’s birthday party and for whatever would come next in their lives. It was going to be new and it could bring anxiousness to his mind again.
But as far as Luigi was concerned, nothing was scary when Mario was around.