Flying Mr.Miller

Coolest parties were at the most filthy and not safe places in my country. On my birthday night, there I was walking with my best friend, holding the two tickets which would get us through those iron doors ahead into the world of limitless fun and joy. Feeling insecure, I had started to think how the so-called best party ever could be in a such deserted place.
Some shadows were moving around but I was sure that there was no one around. I had had the best-party tickets in my hand and there was nothing that could scare me at that time. I didn’t have any idea how we got those tickets. When your best friend’s father works with the government in very high positions, nothing is too hard to obtain.
A bodyguard was standing tall and heavy. George, showed the tickets to the man and we passed without any problem.
There were some people already drinking and dancing. We found a quiet spot until more people came. There were red, blue green lights around and a thick layer of smoke was moving in the air as the group of people sitting at the far end of the bar blew their cigarette smokes in air. The music was loud. It was suprising how nothing could be heard from the outside of the walls.
A couple of people come in. Some were old familiar faces which after some minutes of hesitation seemed to recognise me.
“Hey George, Henry! Since when do you join parties like this?” a very hot girl whom I didn’t remember her name asked. I felt bad being reminded that I wasn’t the most sociable person in the area.
“It’s his birthday” George explained which I was so angry at. This meant that it was true that we hardly got out. Those people were always here; they didn’t need such nights out for birthday celebrations. I felt such a looser when I was with them.
Until other friends came they decided to join us. I learned what they had been doing lately after graduation. Nothing was going on with them much except drugs and alcohol. For a minute my happiness came back: even though I wasn’t partying every night, I was still more of use than them.
People were gathering. I was fine, happy and comfortable; we weren’t gonna dance. I never felt at ease when somebody else was watching. They didn’t necessarily have to watch but their presence was enough to keep me away from the dance floor. Other girls were dancing already and it was clear that they danced way better than me. I was having enough pleasure watching them.
Around 12, the music stopped and all of the lights shut down regardless of their colour. I panicked, a claustrophobic feeling was around my neck.
A beam of light far far away was flashing and dancing, very fragile. I saw the man, and the georgeous cake. George had a big smile on his face, and it was suprising that he was ablte to do that because I was squeezing his arm as much as I could. I am sure he was starting to feel numb.
A heat filled my heart when everybody started to sing “Happy birthday Harry”, all those people I knew and didn’t know. The cake came closer it was completely white with chocolate writings on it saying e=mc2.
George was a dear friend that for some reason never missed those kind of treats that made people happy. And this was not the end. The man pushing the table which my cake rested on was the man who I had admired and loved the most when I was a child. He was the drawer of my favorite cartoon: Sticks, the Physics Man. (You could easily say that I was a boring kid. And some still think I’m a boring man)
It was very striking to see Mr. Miller walking with a big smile, singing my birthday song. I could have cried at that moment but I was trying to keep my sassy emotions to myself.
So happy that, I could have been flying on the cloud, my feet were not touching the floor, my whole body feeling lighter. I could have done anything I wanted at that time.
Next thing I saw: Mr. Miller was flying on to me. A short, deafening bang was heard, people screamed and ducked down. Mr. Miller who was carrying my cake tripped and with an expression of horror, his arms and legs flying in air, he was coming towards me along with the cake.
I was lying on the floor, in strawberry-chocolate cake from head to toe and my childhood hero was on top of me, standing face to face; he was crying.
“Stop! This is Police! Everybody stay calm. There’s been an denunciation of drug dealing.”
I tried to push him away and get up but he was heavy. I gave up and lied there.
Being the happiest person on earth was one thing, getting on to the police car hand-cuffed with my childhood hero was another. I was desperately looking at George’s face. Maybe he could tell me the whole thing was a set up but we were already on our way to the local presinct.
I never did anything wrong but to go to that party. I knew we would be released by morning as soon as they would look into the case and find that we weren’t the one dealing or using the drugs. I even volunteered to give a blood test.
You imagine everything to go well don’t you? Well it didn’t. I was postive on drug-test even though I never took something.
While locked-up, that night I imagined about staying at home like everytime I did on my birthdays. It could have been my Aunt Helga walking with my cake. I wouldn’t be facing prison and Mr. Miller would still be my hero instead of a crying baby.