Midlife Crisis

I’m sending emails to everyone I know in the business. Anyone who owes me a favor. It’s a message from a once corporate zombie. I gave up myself for the sake of a secure future. And now the illusion has been stripped away. My security was unceremoniously cracked last week when the company dropped a third of its workforce. Ten years bought me one-month severance. And now I have to face the person inside me.

I can’t type these emails anymore; these coward’s requests for a lifeboat that I don’t deserve. It makes me sick to see myself. I can’t imagine what my wife thinks. But I guess she gave up wanting years ago. Sacrificed just like I did.

God, I feel like I’m staring into a black hole. It’s just waiting for me.

I turn at the sound of the door creaking open. My wife is home with the groceries. I pretend I don’t notice and shuffle over to the refrigerator to grab a distraction. I begin to pour a glass of orange juice as she arrives in the room.

She doesn’t know yet. I can’t face her with it.

“Hi honey,” she says.

I respond satisfactorily. She unpacks dry goods. I continue pouring the juice. The skin on my arms changes to a reddish color with the heat of the truth that is weighing on me. The monster is pushing through my façade. The room begins to blur and I can feel the cold orange juice spilling from the glass over my fingers. I can’t hold this up. I brace myself against the counter and breathe to regain composure. But I fall apart instead in a fit of coughs and gasps for air.

I wake up to the sterile white of hospital walls. Everywhere I look is still a blur. Sickness jerks in my stomach like half-alive road kill fighting for a way to die. Sara grabs my right hand and kisses it with teary lips. I feel like a corpse.

She says, “Jim, I know about the layoffs. I’m so sorry.”

And I cry myself to sleep because I can’t speak or do anything of substance.

Hours later, I wake again. She is still here. My life has been like a slow poisoned wine, keeping me drugged and blinded to truth. Until now I’ve kept it all in.

“What am I Sara?”

“You’re my husband. That’s all I need.”

“But it’s not enough for me Sara.”

Having this truth finally exposed is causing me to feel more than I have in years. She needs to know.

“I’m not going back to work.”

“Okay. I think that is just what you need Jim. To take some time and enjoy your family before looking for another job.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting another job. I’m going to take flight lessons. Fly- that’s what I am going to do. I need to find out what there is in me before I die. And I need you to understand.”

“Do whatever you feel is right Jim. I just want you.”

Well alright. That was easy. I remain silent as Sara wheels me out of the hospital to the car. This pause has gone on a bit too long.

“Did they happen to say what’s wrong with me?”

“You had a minor stroke. You’ll be fine but you won’t be able to leave the bed for a day or so. Can your new life wait a few days while your body catches up?”

“So, I’ll just sleep. Then I’ll fly.”

She smiles at me in a new way.

“Thank you,” I say. Because she deserves better than me.