Brian remembered a time when greeting the day was a thing; being bounced awake by young bodies, then soothed with warm coffee and warmer kisses.
Now, only silent bedroom walls watched as he rose from rumpled sheets which gave little sign he’d not slept alone.
At breakfast, he obediently chewed his way through fruit-flavoured cardboard, while his taste-buds mourned the bacon of his youth.
Across the table, a face vaguely reminiscent of the beautiful girl he’d married centuries ago continued it’s self-destructive path under the weight of permanent negativity. Brian thought even the Kardashians wouldn’t believe her endless shite.
He had learned to tilt his head slightly to her monotonous rants, following her with his eyes whilst his brain shut the curtain and went exploring elsewhere.
A teenage princess deigned into view, refusing to meet his hopeful smile. Brian considered the irony of funding her life yet being denied simple connection. He dared not admit he’d rather have a floppy-eared spaniel than this daughter; a puppy eager to love, yet able to be locked in it’s kennel when not required.
Trudging to his workplace office, Brian barely noticed the expectant shoots of spring, or the heavily-reduced must-haves of the big-box store.
A young busker rocked out Seize the day* Brian vaguely remembered the song; Seize the day or die regretting the time you lost. 2005 was a lifetime ago. He’d sung the record-breaker back then with as little comprehension as the busker did now.
At 10am Brian dutifully endorsed his boss’s attempt to fleece yet another gullible client. The office were a team, until a glitch was identified. Brian silently received the fat colleagues allegation that he’d forgotten to analyze the data or check the pie chart.
Sucking his wife-induced smoothie lunch, Brian heard the busker’s second rendition of Seize the day through the open window. Bloody idiotic idea; he wanted to strangle the day, squeezing until it cried ‘pax.’
His colleague puffed into the room, complaining yet again about the distance between the lunch room and the lift. Two richly-odoured pies steamed from paper bags. In a rare flash of the nasties, Brian suggested his colleague should analyze his intake data by studying the pie chart. His colleagues face crumbled. Beautiful star-like endorphins flooded Brian’s brain; in that moment he fell deeply in love with revenge.
With drunken abandon Brian set out on a path from which there would be no return.
He phoned the police, anonymously advising of hostages being held at his boss’s home. As he hung up, common sense began crushing the endorphins into nothingness. Twenty cruel minutes crawled by before a phone call expelled his boss from the office. Considering the lack of direction from the departing boss, Brian felt incumbent to ensure office security was maintained. In attempting to close the boss’s unexpectedly open laptop, Brian accidentally emailed confidential documents to interested parties. Such dare-devilry transported Brian back to the days of youthful experimentation; vodka on top of gin.
Brian wore his boss’s tailored jacket home, thinking to keep it safe. He emptied one pocket into the busker’s money tray. The buskers eyes widened as notes cascaded.
Outwardly, Brian’s evening passed as any other, dining on foreign-sounding mush, then listening to his stomachs complaints while he washed and dried the dishes, before dozing through his wife’s choice of TV programmes. Brian retired alone when it as time for the Kardashians to torment the screen.
Next morning, Brian had just begun lacing his city shoes when his wife pointed out the rubbish truck coming down their street. He couldn’t remember how rubbish had become his responsibility. On the way he grabbed the ashes from by the fire. His wife noticed her mother missing just as Brian picked up his briefcase. Regrettably, he couldn’t stay to help her search; work commitments.
On his way to the office, Brian flicked his wife’s wallet into the local druggies park. He hoped everyone knew many folk use their security code as their pin. His wife had insisted on a pre-nup; her credit card costs would be her own.
Outside the office building, his fat colleague wholly took up the double step, sitting under a ‘closed’ notice pinned on the entrance. Other staff milled about like bees without a hive. Gossip swirled around Brian’s ears. Apparently Police had discovered the bosses wife nursing bruises and fractures, hostage in her showcase home. Brian remembered a perfect hostess, gracious, intelligent and kind. He’d only met her the once, noting her slight tremble under long sleeves when his boss playfully spanked her back into the kitchen for more whisky.
Now, Brian watched the chill of reality sweep around the office entrance. Unemployment would be more devastating than a bully boss.
A sob from his colleague caught Brian’s attention. ‘I have kids, a mortgage; who will employ a fat guy like me?’ the man wailed.
Brian briefly considered walking away; not his problem. But unplanned words sprang into the air, without perusal or care.
‘I will employ you. We’ll approach the clients, tell them the truth, offer our services.’ With growing confidence, he continued. ‘We can do this.’
Relocating to his home, the office team celebrated with pie charts, data analysis, and beer. Brian barely acknowledged his wife’s screaming departure, the rescued urn under her arm. His princess chose his money over the mother’s love, until Brian mentioned chores and work.
Over the next 24 hours, Brian got a spaniel, and a cleaner. He called at the big-box store, purchasing cosy furniture he liked, including a sound system. As the first notes explored his home, Brian joined in, greeting the new era at the top of his lungs ‘Seize the day or die regretting the time you lost.’
* (Songwriters: Brian Jr. Haner / James Sullivan / Matthew Sanders / Zachary Baker
Seize the Day lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)
885 words
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