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February 30th is my favorite day. There’s another day I like too. But I think I enjoy February 30th a bit more.
Up until a few days ago, I didn’t even know there was a February 30th. Not until a friend of mine, Martino, suggested we get together. Martino owns a small bookstore that nobody goes to. Maybe because it’s located in a part of town that’s called “hip” by the people who live there, but “terrifying” by everybody else. Or maybe because he tends to care for the books as others might care for a dog, and often refuses to sell them to people he believes won’t properly feed and nourish them.
“Getting together sounds good,” I said. “When?”
“How about February 30th?”
“There’s no February 30th,” I said.
“Sure, there is. I just said it. So there must be one.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s not. I mean, there’s a February 28th. And every four years, we get a February 29th… I think we get one this year. But I’ve never heard of a February 30th before.”
“Then we shall have one! And you shall experience your first February 30th this very year!”
“Have you been drinking?” I inquired.
“Of course, I have. I own a bookstore that nobody comes to, it’s past 10 am and I adore rum. But my sobriety has no bearing on whether there’s a February 30th or not. I have been inebriated and spoken of Christmas Day many a time. And we can both agree there is indeed a Christmas Day, can we not? So clearly I’ve proven that the existence of a day holds no correlation to one person’s elevated blood-alcohol level.”
I studied my friend closer, looking to see if there was a hole in his head where good sense may have dripped out. “That might be technically true, but…”
“Fantastic! Then we shall usher in the most spectacular February 30th ever. Together.”
“Okay then. What do we do on February 30th?”
“Why, February 30th things, of course! Now, come to my shop on the eve of February 29th. The Leap Year!” He turned to leave. Before he completed a single stride, he whirled around, in typical theatrical Martino style. “Oh. I nearly forgot. Bring a butter knife and a reliable rain slicker. And donut holes. The powdered ones, if convenient.” Then, he continued on his way.
His favored way was, of course, skipping.
###
In the days that followed, I thought, “what a peculiar thing.” I found myself intrigued, but mostly skeptical. February 30th…how ludicrous. How idiotic. How asinine. How…potentially wonderful, a voice in my head interjected. I would have interjected back, but I did not know where that voice came from nor if it was still taking up residence within my head and had more contrarian things to say.
And so, I arrived at the bookstore that no one ever visits late on the eve of February 29th. Hesitation accompanied me. Still, I dutifully wore the rain slicker even though it wasn’t raining, and I made certain to bring a butter knife along with the requested powdered donut holes. The door was locked, but I could see Martino behind the counter, in jolly hysterics as he peered at himself in a mirror that was affixed to the wall behind the register. Laughing with himself was one of his hobbies. I knocked.
“Yes? Why are you here?” Martino asked, peeking his head out the door.
“It’s February 29th. We made plans to spend February 30th together. Remember?”
“No. Not in the least.”
“Oh…” I’m sure I looked confused and possibly hurt by his answer. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, it’s the perfect time actually. It’s nearly February 30th. Did you know that?”
“I did know that. It’s actually why I’m here.”
“Well, splendid! Serendipitous timing on your part!” Martino shouted. He opened the door and welcomed me in before locking the door behind me and pulling the shade.
“We must toast this moment with tobacco and pinot noir, as is the customary pre-February 30th ritual.” Martino handed me a goblet, a pipe and a small sack of shredded tobacco. I waited for him to light his own before I continued any further. I certainly did not wish to upset any critical traditions.
We puffed and sipped, until we had puffed our pipes ashen and sipped our glasses dry. Then we performed the ritual again, puffing and sipping some more.
“So, tell me a bit more about February 30th,” I prodded as we replicated the ritual for a third and perhaps fourth time, causing me to become fascinated by the ceiling for a lengthy spell.
“As you know, many people use this day, Leap Day, to leap into the month of March. But if you are precise, you can leap a tad bit less and find yourself in February 30th. It’s a day that’s hard to find, but not impossible to find, you know.”
“Martino, I believe ‘Leap Day’ is just an expression. You are not required to do any physical leaping on this day.”
“Oh, ye of little leaping…that is exactly why you have never seen the glorious light of a February 30th before!” Martino raced behind the counter and retrieved his sunglasses. “Speaking of glorious light, you may want to put on some sunscreen. I presume you brought some.”
“Ummm….” I stammered.
“It’s okay if you didn’t. I’m sure you’ll be mostly fine.”
Martino stood next to me, and we watched as the final seconds ticked away on February 29th. And at precisely 11:59:59, we leaped, albeit a tad bit less, and came down in a day that never was.
###
Now, the one thing you must understand about visiting a day that never was is that you get to see things that never were.
We saw Rhinophants and Saber-Toothed Shih Tzus.
We picked and ate ripened hamdoodles that grew on tall, handsome hamdoodle trees.
We chased feral staplers.
Yes, February 30th could only be described as a spectacle of Seussian wonder. Or a display of Willy Wonkan delight. It was mind-boggling, and I found myself pondering how the world had managed to miss such a fantastical day. So full of joy. So full of the unusual. So full of hallucinogenic-quality sights!
Yet, despite the euphoria of experiencing the never-before-seen, I must note that our time was not all roses and rainbows.
A rather imposing Carrot Stick Figure seemed to be stalking us. We spotted its large, orange, pointy ears popping up as it followed us through the pastel fields of native plastic Easter grass. It turned out the curious creature was in pursuit of the hamdoodles we carried in our satchels. As it approached, though, Martino scolded him, informing him that these were, in fact, our hamdoodles, and he would simply have to get his own. At first, the Carrot Stick Figure skulked off. But in short order, he returned, more agitated, and began barraging us with jelly grenades. I was surprised how accurate he was, and the purple and red orbs exploded close enough to shower us from head to toe. Let me tell you, I was more than grateful for my rainslicker! Even with the mess, Martino and I laughed while the jelly dripped from our heads and into our mouths. But things turned sour when we realized the jellyvarks had been alerted to our presence. The airborne menaces hovered down from above like angry, long-snouted paratroopers and began shooting their sticky tongues at us. The most unsettling part of the experience was that the jellyvarks could speak, albeit in Bulgarian and hardly ever in complete sentences. We were forced to flee into the Forest of Giant Tims. Thankfully, the jellyvarks did not give chase, because, as everybody knows, jellyvarks are frightened by Giant Tims, what with their short khaki pants, black nylon socks, bowl haircuts and musical belches. We, however, found the Giant Tims rather amusing, despite the windy conditions.
Following our harrowing escape, we strolled deeper into the forest. We noted some lovers had carved their initials into the hairy leg of one of the Giant Tims. We paused to examine the intricate scroll work. That’s when we noticed we must have inadvertently stepped right in a patch of cotton candy plants. I’m not sure the pink will ever come off the bottom of our shoes, even after all the scraping with our butter knives.
We reached the edge of the forest. The suns began to lower all around us in every different direction, informing us that the moments of February 30th were waning. I took one last look around and inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet floral scent of the Wild Knuckleberries. And then, sadly, we leaped into March.
###
Back at the bookstore, Martino noticed the downtrodden look that was freshly plastered across my face.
“What is the matter? Did you not enjoy your February 30th?” he asked.
“Just the opposite. I enjoyed it so much that I miss it already. And I fear I shall never see such a thing again.”
Martino took off his galoshes, placed them in a corner behind his collection of antique pushpins and then turned to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It does not matter what we saw today. Perhaps you will see those things again, and perhaps you will not. But what is truly important is that you always, always believe there is more out there to be seen. More wonders to behold. And mostly, you absolutely must trust that if you are brave enough to take even a little leap, there might be something more unimaginably fantastic awaiting you.”
Despite the encouraging words, I still felt an enormous let-down filling my soul. And I did not wish to return to the mundane and expected. So I inquired if I could have some more pinot noir and tobacco.
“No, you must leave now,” Martino said. “It is time for my moonlight bath, you see. And I insist on privacy for such an endeavor.”
“Very well,” I conceded. “By the way, why did you request donut holes? What was their purpose?”
“I like to eat them. What else would one do with powdered donut holes?”
I shook Martino’s hand, and he escorted me to the door. I thanked him for sharing the day with me, and I headed off, quietly and normally, into the midnight darkness.
As I neared my apartment, I heard a rustling behind the dumpster of my building. Upon investigation, I caught a glimpse of two large, orange pointy ears popping up. I laughed, then pulled out my last bit of pocketed hamdoodle. I tossed it high in the air and marveled as the the figure sprang up and snatched it out of the air, running off with a barbaric giggle. It was then I realized that Martino had done me one last favor: we had indeed leaped a little bit less on our way back.
It was going to be a great March 0.
FINDING FEBRUARY 30th
A short story by Tom Witkowski
9 Circles Fiction
Photo Credit: Mark Neal
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