The day you turned sixteen, you woke up and pulled a brown package out from underneath your pillow. A padded envelope addressed to you, postmarked two days ago, received the day before, but still unopened because it wasn't your birthday until that morning.
You pulled out a copy of They Might Be Giants' album Flood, 19 songs of quirky dork rock. My favorite band, my favorite album at the time. Six weeks earlier, on New Year's actually, I'd given you a mix tape of their songs, which you had liked. How many romances begin with mix tapes? Only the best ones.
Happy Birthday, honey.
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