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Photo by Xiang Gao on Unsplash

Today is Eddie’s birthday, and I’m baking him a cake. Well, my mum is, but I’m putting the eight candles on it. And Mum’s letting me lick the bowl.

Eddie is Eddie Mollow, my best friend in the world. When he started at my school at the beginning of last year, the parents weren’t happy about him being in our class as he has special needs. They said he’d be a distraction and hold the class back. Sometimes I think adults suffer a little altitude sickness with their heads stuck so high and mighty in the sky. They didn’t even bother to look at the situation from Eddie’s perspective. Someone even started a petition to have Eddie transferred to a special school. Well, I tell you, us kids were having none of that. We staged a protest, hanging upside down on the monkey bars until the parents and the principal saw things Eddie’s way.

Some people say Eddie’s a funny-looking dude. I half-agree with them as Eddie’s the funniest guy I know. But funny-looking? Nah, not from where I’m standing. Sure, he’s flushed in the face and his eyes bulge, but once you look beyond that, you’ll find him as footsome as any regular guy. And he’s so laid-back, with no hang-ups apart from his hair. No matter what Eddie tries, whether it be gel or pomade or wax or mousse or grease from his dad’s garage, his hair won’t lie flat.

What I’m trying to tell you is Eddie’s this great guy, the humblest person I know and the best friend you’d ever want. There’s only one Eddie Mollow; yep, he’s one of a kind. And you want to know why? Because he was born upside down.

I invited Eddie to my birthday party last year, and he had the bestest time despite us becoming entangled when we raced in the three-legged race together. After—just before we sang “Happy Birthday” and I cut my cake—Dad filled everyone’s plastic cups and made a toast. Then he said, ‘Bottoms up.’ Mum kicked him in the shin and looked at Eddie, and Dad looked at Eddie and blushed.

I hang out at Eddie’s place on most weekends. In his bedroom, he has this cool Batman bat-rack on which he likes to hang downside up. He says it makes him feel like a normal guy. Sometimes we swap, and I hang out and see the world—well, Eddie’s bedroom, at least—from a different angle. But not for long, mind you. Five minutes, I get a headache. Ten minutes, I black out.

I was hanging one day when I said to Eddie, ‘If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?’

Eddie looked me down and up and said, ‘Nuffin. The way I see it, I am what I am. I’ll always be a Mollow, whether I’m upside down, right way up or downside up.’

Every Tuesday, Mum lets me stay for dinner at Eddie’s place. I sit under the table so Eddie and I can eat and talk and laugh together. The Mollows are this real close nuclear family, all six of them. They don’t get many visitors, mind you, and they’re grateful Eddie has a friend. I told them I’m the lucky one.

Eddie’s parents are like Eddie: funny but different. My mum says Mister and Missus Mollow are a match made in heaven. My dad calls them the perfect couple, born for each other. Mind you, they’re not perfect all the time. Often, they don’t see eye to eye, and Eddie’s mum tells Eddie’s dad that he’s talking out the back of his head. That’s no surprise; they were both born back to front.

I met Eddie’s grandpa once. He lives at a hospital on the other side of town. Eddie said his grandpa came from some place that used to be called the Soviet Union, where he worked as a nuclear scientist until there was this enormous explosion in the late 1980s. A couple of years later, Eddie’s grandpa moved to Australia and bought the house where Eddie now lives. I once visited Eddie’s grandpa with Eddie and his family. Eddie’s dad is a real back-seat driver; I’d never travelled so far in a car going in reverse. When we arrived, Eddie’s mum said we had to be really quiet and really well-behaved because Eddie’s grandpa was really old and really frail and really sleepy. I remember walking into his room, and the curtains were closed and the lights were out and the room was dark. I couldn’t see anything or anyone. Except for Eddie’s grandpa, that is. There he was, propped up in bed, glowing green in the dark.

One afternoon, I said to Eddie, ‘What happened to your grandpa’s wife?’

‘Which one?’ he said.

‘There’s two?’

‘Yeah. My dad’s mum and my mum’s mum. My dad’s mum died on the boat coming to Australia. The big sea got her. Just after my dad was born.’

‘Couldn’t she swim?’

‘Suppose not.’

‘And the other one?’

‘My mum’s mum? The big sea got her, too. Dead.’

‘Drowned?’

‘Yep. Drowndead.’

Eddie has these little twin brothers. I’ll admit I can’t tell the difference between the two of them except that one’s left-handed and the other’s right-handed. They’re thick as thieves, those two, always hanging out together and getting into mischief together. They’re inseparable, as if joined at the hip. That’s because they are. They were born side by side.

Every once in a while, Eddie does or says the weirdest stuff. Last month, when Eddie had dinner at our place, he told Dad that the way he saw the world, it’d be a happier place if everyone frowned a little more. Dad chuckled and said, ‘Thanks for the heads-up, Eddie.’ Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at Dad, and he said, ‘What?’ Mum pinched him on his arm and nodded towards Eddie. Dad said, ‘Ouch!’ Then he looked over at Eddie and blushed.

I’ll admit sometimes I can be a little jealous of Eddie, especially at school. He’s the teacher’s pet, sitting up the front on this special-purpose bean bag. Mrs Wallace asks him if he’s OK or if he needs more time, and she makes sure Eddie’s included in all the classroom activities. And I have to tell you, Eddie’s smart. Real smart. He’s always the first—having raised his foot—to answer a question, and when he gets the answer right, which is every time, Mrs Wallace gives him a low five. Even my parents think Eddie’s a genius. Dad once told Eddie that his head looked like it was bursting with facts and figures. Mum stood on Dad’s foot and looked at Eddie, and Dad stopped talking and looked at Eddie and blushed.

I got Eddie a present to go with his cake, and I hope he likes it. My dad guessed Eddie’s size and, casually over dinner, asked Eddie to nominate his favourite colour. Dad then contacted Nike and arranged with them to do a custom-build for Eddie. I’m sure Dad won’t mind me telling you—that’s if you can keep a secret—that we got Eddie red running gloves. There’ll be no stopping Eddie now. Hands down, he’ll be the fastest kid at school.

Eddie said that when he grows down, he’s going to be an Olympian. And I reckon he’ll do it, especially if they have an Olympic sport for finding stuff that’s gone missing. Eddie’s always finding coins and car keys and other knick-knacks, particularly from under couches and beds and refrigerators. Mum once called him a godsend. Dad said, ‘Ease up, or the boy will get big-headed.’ Mum punched Dad on the shoulder and glanced at Eddie, and Dad looked at Eddie and blushed.

Well, the cake’s cooled and iced. The candles are in, and Mum’s put the lot on a cake stand. We’re just waiting for Eddie’s parents to arrive with the birthday boy. I can’t wait to see his face.

So, Happy Birthday, Eddie. You’re the greatest friend in the world. It’s a topsy-turvy world out there, and despite all those obstacles life’s put in your way, you still come up frowning every day.

And that’s what I love most about Eddie: his optimism. I once asked him if he ever felt low. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘all the time, but there’s no point in moping about with your head up. You just have to hold your chin low and make the best of what God gave you, and besides, there are plenty of people worse off than me.’

I reckon he’s right about that. Take his big sister, for example. She was born inside out.