Happy Birthday

Day 365

 

        The brakes of the subway train screech to a halt as the cars pull up to the platform. I can hear them over my headphones as I stand up to make my way to the sliding doors. The lady who was sitting next to me looks up and tells me to have a good day. I try to ignore her, like I do to everyone else on the subway in the morning, it’s not like I’m going to see any of them again or ever want anything to do with them. 

 

        As I step out onto the platform, I’m surrounded with morning commuters going to their jobs in the high-rise office buildings in the area. Near the escalator, a massive station attendant directs traffic like a shepherd with his flock. I can hear the trademark “baa-aa” of the sheep over my earphones. I turn my iPod up to maximum volume and drown out the flock with “Pioneer to the Falls,” by Interpol. 

        

        Thus is my daily commute to work. I get on the subway, ride it for thirty minutes, get off and walk ten minutes to my office. On the ten minute walk, I always have to stop by at the coffee shop on the way to the office. I’m sure I don’t even need the caffeine, and most of the time, I find myself standing in line before I even realize I went inside. 

 

        It’s always the same order for me. One medium sized coffee, with room for cream and sugar. The coffee always tastes like it has been sitting in the pot since they closed last night, and I need to dull it down with some milk and sugar to make it drinkable. 

 

        Before I drink it, I think about how funny it is that I spend two dollars every day of the week for something that I don’t need, like, or even realize that I’m drinking. I shrug it off and burn my tongue on the first sip, wouldn’t be a complete day without that. As I leave the shop and finally head to my office, I’m encountered by the normal beggar, right outside the door. 

 

        The same guy is always standing there. Next to the newspaper machines and the chained-up, $1,000 bicycles outside the door. I guess it’s a pretty good spot to expect people to have some extra cash on them. I’ve studied him several times while waiting in line to get my coffee. He isn’t extraordinarily tall, and not short either. Pretty average height, as far as I’m concerned. His clothes aren’t terribly dirty or shabby, they actually seem to fit quite nicely, and give the impression of being freshly washed. His face is clean-shaven and he always wears a plain blue baseball cap over his closely trimmed hair. 

 

        “G’mornin! Spare s’m change for somethin’ t’eat?” he shouts out proudly as I bow my head and pretend like I’m adjusting the volume on my iPod. 

 

        “Why should I give you my hard earned spare change,” I think to myself as I walk by trying my best to look the other way. 

        

        He doesn’t really bother me too much any more. After walking by him and trying to ignore him every day for a good year, I’ve become accustomed to not being ashamed when I walk by with my freshly pressed and taylor-fitted shirts, two dollar coffee in hand and iPod blaring in my ears. After all, it isn’t my fault he’s not out looking for a job and making his own living. 

 

        When I finally get to work, I make my way, briskly, to my office. Everyone always wants to chat in the morning. Pointless chatting, about what I did this weekend or if I caught the game last night. I don’t really care how your weekend went, and yes, I watched the game, no, I don’t want to talk to you about it.  

 

        I discovered the trick to avoiding all of this about a month after I started working. If I have my cell-phone in my ear, chatting to nobody on the other line and fumble my way through some old file as I walk to my office, I can get by with just nodding to any oncomers. They will inevitably notice I am busy, smile that “I’ll getcha next time,” smile and quietly walk away. 

 

        I make my way to the sanctuary that is my eight-by-ten foot office and close the door behind me. After this, I spend the day just as I do any other. I check my e-mail about fifty times in the course of the day, finish off the crossword and sudoku I started on the subway, and do about two-hours of actual work. I look up at my calendar and notice that it is October twenty-third, exactly one year to the day I started working here. It’s a good thing they pay me for the hours I am actually in the office, not the hours it takes to actually do my job. 

 

        Thus is my life, every day of the year.

 

Day 373

 

        The alarm pulls my consciousness back from its own little world and brings it back to my daily routine. A small part of my mind is slow to come back, still stuck in the dream world of five minutes ago. I try to remember what I was dreaming about, but the memory flutters on the edge and eventually drops off into nowhere, leaving behind the vision of me eating lunch. My stomach growls to confirm this tail end of my dream.

 

        Looking at the alarm clock once again, I realize it’s the thirty-first, my birthday. “Happy Birthday,” I say aloud to myself. “Just another day to be at work, what a treat.”

 

        I grudgingly get out of bed and begin my day. Same as always, I take a shower, munch on some Frosted Flakes, shave and get dressed in front of the mirror and head off for work. I notice that my body seems a little heavier today than normal, so I step on the scale to see if I’ve gained a few pounds from shear laziness. 

 

        Nope. Same weight as always, 180 pounds, on the nose. Still, my body feels strangely heavy. I check myself in the mirror and nothing seems odd or out of place. I remember the homemade sushi I had last night and figure I must have had some not-so-fresh, fresh salmon. Oh, well, It’ll pass I tell myself as I walk out the door.

 

        Waiting in line for my coffee this morning, I decide to continue my study of the beggar outside the door. I keep trying to nonchalantly glance in his direction, but every time I make my move, I notice that he is staring right at me. Not looking in my direction every now and then, but actually, almost intensely staring directly at my face. I try to not look at him, but I can still feel his gaze, almost burning a hole right through my head.

 

        I could go out the other door and avoid him all-together, but I didn’t want to give in that easy. He’s just a beggar after all, I don’t know what reason he would have for staring at me so intently. I decide to just walk by him as usual, look the other way and listen to my iPod.

 

        As I approach, I can still feel him glaring at me. He gives his usual speech, “G’mornin! Spare s’m change for somethin’ t’eat?”

 

        His voice sounds the same as usual, but it almost sounds like it is coming directly from my earbuds. I take them out and realize that all the noises of the city have disappeared. It’s almost like someone put the entire city on mute. It isn’t even like the eerie silence of midnight, there is no wind blowing, no buzzing or ringing in my ear, just complete and absolute silence. 

 

        I tell myself to just keep going, but I cannot help but look back at the beggar. I had only gone about a step past him, and he was still staring me in the face. He had the biggest smile on his face that I had ever seen. From up close, his face didn’t seem so clean shaven. There were more scars on his face than I could count in the brief seconds we stared at each other, and his teeth were almost green with decay. 

 

        Before I could turn and walk away, his arm, the arm that usually holds his cane, grabbed hold of my fore-arm with surprising strength. At that moment, the most severe pain I had ever experienced in my life, shot through my body. It was like a bolt of lightning went straight from his hand and spread through my flesh. My vision went completely blank. All I could see was a bright light, somewhere right in front of my face. I wanted to close my eyes, but the eyelids were being held open. I tried to scream and nothing came out but dry, hot air. After a few seconds I lost consciousness and all went black. 

 

Day 376

 

        A day like any other, my alarm clock pulls me out of bed. I get on the subway and no one notices I’m there. I go to the coffee shop and no one can hear me to take my order. I go to work and none of my coworkers see me come in, or try to ask me about how my weekend was. The only person who pays me any attention is the beggar outside the coffee shop. I beg him for my life back.