Nothing much about nothing

When Sam had turned fourteen he'd awoken on the morning of his birthday to find no-one else in the house. There were no lights, no family and no presents. He slowly wandered around the house, which took him all of two minutes, and all he found was a small note written on the message board in chalk which read 'Gone out for coffee. Be back soon. Happy Birthday!'.
This feeling of complete and utter alone-ness was nothing compared to what he now felt on this, the morning of his twenty first. Now he really was alone, having moved out of the family house five months beforehand into a small flat in the hub of Aberdeen. He wandered around the flat which took him all of thirty seconds, and sat down on his red leather settee, a moving in gift from his parents, which at this point in time seemed almost ironic to him. He looked down at the glass coffee table where his eyes stumbled upon the opened envelopes and handful of cards. They'd arrived over the previous couple of days and Sam's impatience had got the better of him, something he was now deeply regretting. He picked up the card closest to him and forced himself to read it for lack of anything else to do.: 'Dear Sam' Generic 'Happy Birthday' phrase and/or punchline 'Lots of Love, Aunt Sal and Uncle Jim'...no money...no gift vouchers...not even a lousy cheque. He placed the card face down on the table and picked up the slimy T.V remote. It's viscosity wasn't so much intreguing as it was disturbing and he opted to quickly press the standby button and leave the remote for another day. As he sat back wiping his hands on his rather faded, yet still admirable dressing gown a small white dot appeared on the T.V crackling with static. There was a quietl whiny noise that seemed to work it's way into decible levels that were beyond Sam's range and the dot expanded into a moving image. A news broadcaster stood proudly at the scene of a crime smugly reporting how:
"Two teens had broken into Mr. Loncaster's fish shop attempting to steal the contents of the till after a busy Friday night. Unfortunately for them the till had been emptied by Mr. Loncaster himself that evening. Enraged the two teens began to tear up the shop. This midless act of vandalism cost them dearly, as police had been alerted to the break in and promptly showed up to arrest the youths."
Sam allowed himself a small chuckle. He'd had a Loncaster's fish supper the night before. The news report soon gave way to the weather report, and the weather report changed to children's T.V shows and eventually, growing weary of puppets and canned laughter Sam braved the sticky remote and silence filled the flat once more.
After around thirty seconds or so of this bleak silence the phone startled into life, seeming almost more shocked that it was ringing than Sam was. He casually reached for the reciever knowing it could only be one of three people: His mother, who Sam would have put money on, seeing as it was his birthday and she'd no doubt been waiting since about half past eight to call him at a suibtable time; His old college friend Tully, who called every now and again, simply to prove his own personal statement that he'd 'Keep in touch with everyone!'; or his boss, a rather plump man who would no doubt be calling to ask if Sam could cover a shift, probably so that the afore mentioned plump Albert Sturrock could race over to his mistress' house as fast as his small little red legs could go. Sam had once caught the two of them at it in the stockroom. He walked in to see his primary one teacher quickly hoist up her skirt and wipe her mouth, a small wisp of hair falling from her usually pristine bun that sat at an almost perfect forty five degree angle atop her head. Mr. Sturrock yelled at Sam to get out as he struggled to button up his trousers. Sam turned and did so, stifling a laugh. Here was his first mentor of the education system engaging in acts that would put even the most liberal of adult stars to shame. 'So that's how you get better marks' he said to himself as he wandered off.
Around fifteen minutes or so after Sam's own personal porno his boss shuffled over to him and asked to speak to him in his office. There Sam sat next to an obviously embarressed Mrs. Crenshaw and looked his boss in the eye.
"Now look you", Mr. Sturrock spat. "There's obviously no point in pussyfooting around so I'll be blunt. If you tell anyone about what you saw, you're fired."
Sam sat still and didn't say a word. He hadn't intended on telling anyone in the first place, for the simple reason that no-one would care. As he sat and looked at Sturrock he could tell that he was merely saying this as a formality, and to put on a show for the distraught teacher. He obviously didn't care, and was probably enjoying the thrill of his little piggy heart beating profusely. sam sinply nodded and left, cursing the ground that the fat fuck of his boss staggered on.

Sam answered the phone. "Hello?" he asked, only out of politeness.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..." came the muffled singing down the phone line. Sam smiled. He could almost see his parents standing with the reciever clutched in his mother's hands, waiting for him to answer. He'd seen it so many times before, he'd almost be upset ifd the scenario had changed at all. He waitied for the seranade to finish, as always with a harmony from his mother, and then thanked them.
"So, how are you?", came his mother's voice
"Yeah, I'm alright. A bit tired like, but alright", Sam said, knowing full well the response he would get from such an answer.
"Why are you tired? Are you sleeping okay?", His mother said with a concerened twinge to her voice....'Bingo!' he thought.
'Yeah, I'm sleeping fine. I'm just tired." He feigned, stifling a laugh.
"Have you got any cards?" His mother asked, knowing full well if he had or hadn't, considering she was probably the one who reminded his relatives about the joyous occasion.
"A few", Sam replied. "I'd already opened them though"
"Well, your presents are waiting for you here so you can come round and open them whenever", she said over enthusiastically. In her mind he was still eight years old, and no amount of hidden porn or much needed independace was going to change that.
"I still need a shower so I'll be in at about two" he mumbled, trying to work out some kind of estimation in his head and failing miserably.
"Okay. Well, we'll see you then. Happy Birthday!", his mum smiled.
"Happy Birthday!" came the distant yell of his Dad.
"Thanks. See you later" He hung up the phone and laughed. In all of the years his parents enthusiam for birthday's ahdn't changed at all.
He had a shower and quickly got dressed. He was secretly more excited about his presents than he'd let on on the phone, and so actually did want to make it in for two. As he made for the door, grabbing his car keys he looked back at the cards on the table.
"Happy Birthday to me" he murmered.