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Stanley lies in his bed wide awake, staring into the darkness. It’s nearly 5 a.m., although he has been up for a while. Like he’s done for the past 35 years, he reaches over and shuts off the alarm clock before it makes a sound. He turns and looks at the slumbering pile of blankets beside him and sighs. He rises quietly, careful not to wake his wife, and enters the bathroom. As the shower water warms, he glances in the mirror at his sallow eyes and lined face. He sucks in his gut and stands erect, but it only looks more ridiculous. Where have the years gone?
He laid his clothes out the previous night as he always did so as not to disturb his wife, who typically sleeps in. He lets the dog out, makes himself an egg and toast, and fills his thermos with coffee as he always does. As he screws the cap on, he realizes he doesn’t need the thermos today. He’ll only be in for a few hours--enough time to pretend he’s surprised when everyone brings the cake down to his office, sings the “Jolly Good Fellow” song, and wishes him good luck in his retirement. They’ll send him home early after that. That will be it. Decades of hard work and dedication, wrapped up in 20 minutes.
He goes to the side of the bed and lightly kisses his wife. His mind suddenly sees a flash of her 35 years ago in a yellow sundress, driving him to the office in the only car they owned at the time, her face beaming with pride as he nervously got out and straightened his new suit. “I’ll be here waiting at five, Mr. Handsome. Knock ‘em dead, honey.” The blankets on the bed begin to stir, and he snaps out of his trance.
