A down payment

Chapter 5

Chuck stared at the alarm clock, watching the minutes tick by.  Finally it clicked over to seven thirty and on cue Huey Lewis started blaring through the speaker.  He listened to two lines of “Hip to be Square” before hitting the button and letting the room fall silent.

Happy birthday to me, he thought. 

He sighed and rolled onto his back.  Guilt over not being more excited washed over him.  He’d expected that he would eventually feel a little depressed when a birthday rolled around, but he’d always figured it wouldn’t happen until he was at least in his early forties.  In his mind’s eye his twenty-sixth birthday would be spent on his luxury yacht, toasting champagne and enjoying shrimp as big as a baby’s arm with his family and friends, and his beautiful wife.  He’d take the day off work and not worry about where to invest the next million that was to be yielded from his latest breakthrough in software development.  Ellie and Jill would actually get along, Morgan would’ve met the girl of his dreams and life would be as close to perfect as it could get.  And after all the guests had bid farewell, he and Jill would retire to the master suite below deck and continue celebrating until the wee hours of morning.

He could almost hear the bubble in his head pop. 

Here he was: single, sharing a two bedroom apartment with his sister and her boyfriend, and counting how many minutes he had left before he had to crawl out of bed to get ready for his dead-end job that only paid eleven dollars an hour.  The only thing different about work today would be the “party” his coworkers were going to throw him in the break room during lunch, and even that would be the same as it had been for the last four years.  He’d get the current week’s comic books from Morgan—the bearded one had already borrowed ten dollars from him three days ago.  Jeff would proudly present him with half a bottle of whatever he had in the van—that would “mysteriously” disappear from his desk drawer an hour later.  Lester would try to entice him to take a bite from the special birthday fish curry he’d cooked, which Chuck would slip into the mystery crisper when no one was looking.  At least Anna varied from year to year—his collection of multi-colored condoms and incense, which he stashed in a shoebox at the back of his closet, was coming along nicely, but he suspected that some of the edible underwear was way past its sell by date.     

Chuck sighed again.  With every year that came and went his dream seemed to drift further away, become less obtainable.  He knew he was young enough to start over, but his peers were light-years ahead of him and that alone made him feel like he’d always be Chuck Bartowski, the Loser.

His ringtone derailed his train of thought.  A quick glance at the alarm clock confirmed that he still had seven minutes to spare before he had to get ready for work and still be on time.  He pushed the sheets aside and half-rolled out of bed.  He picked up the phone from the middle of the gaping hole on his desk where his PC used to be and unplugged the charger while checking the screen.  His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he slid his thumb along the answer scroll.  

“Good morning, Chuck,” Sarah said as soon as the call connected.  “Happy birthday.”  Her perkiness brought an instant smile to his face.

“Good morning,” he greeted back, “and thank you.” 

“Did I wake you?” she asked, apparently picking up on the fact that his voice was still rusty from sleep.  He cursed himself for not taking a swallow of water first.

“No, no, no,” he assured her and cleared his throat, “I was up—awake, I mean—just lying in bed, thinking.”  He winced; there was no reason to tell her that.

“Try not to hurt yourself,” Sarah teased, eliciting a chuckle from him.  Then she sobered.  “Birthday blues?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “how did you know?”

“Oh, I have psychic powers,” she told him playfully. 

“Pity they didn’t kick in before you got shot,” he joked back, but the instant the words left his mouth, he palm-smacked himself on the forehead.  “God, sorry, that was an awful thing to say.  I didn’t mean to—”

“I thought it was funny,” she interjected.  He couldn’t tell if she meant it or was lying to make him feel better, but common sense told him it would probably be wise to just let it go.  The problem, however, was that it left him with nothing to say.  The line was silent for a few seconds before Sarah spoke up again.  “Listen, Chuck, about tonight—” his gut tightened, “—something’s come up—” she was calling to cancel, he should’ve expected that, “—so I’ll just meet you at your place after.  I won’t be late, I promise, but the logistics are just easier.” 

He was sure she’d skipped a part somewhere in the middle, but he had enough clues to go on.  Nonetheless, he asked “You’re still coming?”

“That’s what I said,” Sarah confirmed.  “You just don’t need to pick me up.  I’ll be there with bells on.”

“In that case, you’ll be hard to miss,” he quipped.  Like anyone could miss her in a crowd, he thought.  “I’ll text you the address and directions,” he offered.

“That’ll be great,” she told him.  His heart skipped a beat at the smile in her voice.  “Could you do me another favor though?” she asked.

Chuck nodded, belatedly realizing that she couldn’t see him.  “Sure.” 

“Turn off your brain and enjoy your special day.  You can worry about the future tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow is the future,” he countered.

“Exactly.”

“Well thanks, Yoda.”

The line went silent and for a second Chuck thought the call had disconnected.  Then Sarah asked, “What does the woman who broke up the Beatles got to do with it?”