The Worst Day

I wanted to take a whack at a short story, so here is a 3,540, or so, word whack at it. Enjoy!

Mike rolls over, looks out the windows of his bedroom, “Oh, gah!” Sitting up on the edge of his bed he looks at his watch, “What the? What happened to my alarm clock?” Looking around his bedroom his clock radio was off. It was still early, but it was getting light outside. “Damn it! Gotta hurry, Mike, don't wanna be late and break your record!” Mike has been working in training and customer service steady for nearly a year now. In that time he has not been late, ever. This would make it 12 months straight, a perfect year to start of with this job. How cool was that?



Mike hurried to the bathroom to shower. “Yup, the power's out.” He stood there flipping the switch up and down as if that act alone would convince electricity to somehow flow again. Swearing lightly, Mike stepped into the shower and turned the hot water on. Nothing but icy cold water spewed out on him, stealing his breath before he could turn the spigot off. “Oh, hell!Really? No hot water?” Mike stepped over to the sink, did a vitals scrub with a washcloth, and shaved. The shaving was, so far the most treacherous thing he had faced in the first few minutes of the morning; Mike had sliced a long bit of skin from the edge of his jaw. Now he swore like the proverbial sailor.



Mike pressed another washcloth to his face as he got dressed. “Alright, food.” Looking into the fridge did him little good on power to cook with and no time to cook. “Damn it!” Grabbing his cell phone, keys, and coat he darted out of the door and ran for his car.



Once in his car he pressed the button to dial work. “Lisa? Hi, this is Mike. I am so sorry, but I lost power out here and may be late. I am on my way in now.” Mike paused to turn the key in the ignition, nothing happened. No lights came on inside the car, no sound came from the starter. “Not now! Lisa, my car is dead … I don't know … it may be that the battery is dead … yeah, I can take the bus …. well, it will be two buses and … yeah, see ya as soon as I can.”



Leaning back against the seat of his car and closing his eyes for a moment Mike considered just calling Lisa back and using a sick day. Still, he had already said that he was on his way in and, if this was just a battery thing, which he was sure it was, it would only take a little time after work to fix. He sighed, stuffed his old ball cap onto his head and got on his way to the nearest bus stop to get to the main depot downtown.



He was still sore from last nights work out and sparring with his friends. His face was sore and a little bruised. Fighting was the best way for Mike to stay in the present. “You're never more in the now than when you're in a fight.” That's what his old First Sargent would say and that is how he felt. Mike was thinking back and going over as much of the training that he could from the sparring matches when the bus suddenly jolted and somebody fell, elbow first, into his eye. That's a hell of a way to be snapped out of a deep thought rut!



The transfer and the rest of the bus ride went without incident. Mike could feel his eye swelling from the elbow he just took. As he got off of the bus and took stock of where he was he also realized that he had to walk another four blocks. As this bit of information sank in something else was happening, a cold, bone chilling rain started to fall heavily. “Really?” Mike rolled his eyes as he started walking. The cell phone came out, he looked at the screen, “What? How the hell did the display get broken?” Shaking his head he called Lisa again, “Hey, it's me … yes, I am in the neighborhood … walking up from the bus stop … no, it gets about four blocks away and that, I am told, is the closest to our office the line runs … yes, “ he sighed, “it's raining, too … I should be there in about 10 minutes.”



“God, Mike, you look like hell!” The look of concern on her face told Mike that Lisa was for real.



“Let me see your mirror,” he grumbled with more curiosity than temper. Looking at his reflection he saw that his eye was swollen nicely and was cut a little and the slice on his chin from shaving needed to be washed up again, too. “I'm, uh, going to get cleaned up before I get some coffee and get to work, alright?”



Lisa didn't say a word she just nodded at Mike with a look that was somewhere between concern and who-the-hell-are-you as she left the lobby. Mike went straight for the men's room. He stood there for a few moments looking at himself in the mirror. He was looking harsh right now. His brow was scrunched together angrily, his eye was bruised, swollen, and a little bloody. He was looking old and rough. He washed his face first with warm water and it felt good. Then he rinsed with cold water, more out of habit than anything else.



Fresh coffee steaming in his cup, his computer fired up and working properly, and a borrowed heater under the desk to warm and dry his feet. “You know, maybe today is going to be alright.” Mike was going over some of the files he had to deal with for the day and making sure that there was nothing too pressing in the queue before he got started. Once everything as as ordered as best it could be, Mike put on his headset and pressed the button to begin the dialing program. Upstairs everyone in the office area could hear the contractors working on redoing the space for the coming office expansions.



The call was going nicely, it was a friendly back and forth. So far all of the specifications had been met. The person on the phone seemed genuinely happy however, there was some misunderstanding on the contract regarding payments if the customer decided to stop the contract at any point. Not that they were going to or were planning on it, they just wanted to understand the payment percentages.



It was during this portion that Mike heard a disturbing noise directly above him. A long, heavy pipe fell and bounced unevenly on the flooring. He had done enough construction and demolition to know the sound of a mistake when he heard it. In fact, he even cringed while imagining the scene up there. Moments passed before he knew how bad it really was.



Just as he was finally about to finish up with the customer he had been talking with for, what felt like hours of unmedicated tooth pulling, a waterfall with fiberglass tiles dropped onto his head and computer. The line, and the computer it was connected through, went dead. He sat there, trying to collect himself and not explode in rage, he looked at his coffee which now had pieces of ceiling tile in it and said loudly, “I give up! That's it! I can't deal with this today!”



He pushed his chair away from his desk, stood up, and turned around. Building security and Albert Andrews, head of HR, were standing there. “Mike, I am so sorry to have to do this.”



Mike leveled his gaze at Albert, deliberately kept his hands from clenching, and said quietly, “You have got to be fucking kidding, Albert.”



Albert looked scared, but also sad and surprised. He honestly had not anticipated this coming down. “Mike, you are a model employee. I swear, I will figure this out, okay? Just, please, go home and take a day or two and I will call you to let you know what is going on because this is not right.”



One of the security guys reached out for Mike's arm. Mike shifted his gaze to the fat guard, “Don't, it ain't worth it, man. I know where the door is.” With that Mike retraced his steps back through the lobb looking arguably worse than when he had come in.



The bus was relatively empty. Mike was calming down, well, getting depressed was a more apt description. “Lost power, lost heat, dead car, lost my job, what next, Murphy? I swear to god I am going to break the next person to get in my face before the day is out.” While he was muttering to himself Mike paid no attention to the guy on the back of the bus. He was alone, wearing an old denim jacket and a sweatshirt with the hood up.



At the depot Mike stood out towards the loading area waiting for the next bus just under the eaves of the depot. He had no desire to be around any of the people inside. He was reading the front page of the newspaper in the news box as he didn't have the change to buy the paper. “More violence in the city, huh? Shocker,” Mike grumbled. He stood up and stared out into the rain after reading the top half of the front page, the cold and wet made him down right miserable and ornery. Something cold and hard pressed against his head just behind his right ear.



“Hello.” The voice said with a sick laugh. “You just gonna give me your wallet and all your money, right. You not gonna turn around or nothing, right. You do that and I don't have to shoot you, you got it?”



Mike repositioned his feet a little. “You know, this day has just gone from bad to worse for meand then you come along.”



“Awwww, did I spoil your little pity party. Man?” he laughed.



The gun wasn't pressed against Mike's ear now, he smiled, he had some breathing room. Enough, he hoped. Mike spun fast to the right, ducking a little at the same time. He grabbed the mugger's right hand and the back of the gun before smashing his own left forearm through the back of the muggers elbow. The mugger's arm broke neatly at the elbow. Mike then threw his would-be mugger into the rain filled gutter, ready to do some stomping as payback for the day, when he heard, “Freeze! Police!”



“You sure you don't want to call a lawyer now?” The sergeant asked Mike for the fourth time since lunch.



Mike was leaning back in the corner of the holding cell with his back in the corner and his eyes closed. For the first time since waking up late this morning he looked and felt like he might be getting some rest. “I told you, this may be the only place I can get some quiet and some down time.”



“I hate to break it to you, but that ain't gonna happen right now, either.”



Mike opened one eye, “No, you don't hate it … “ Mike growled.



The cop smiled big, “Oh, you got that right, Slugger man. The Judge wanna see you and your friend for arraignment now so get up.”



Another sigh as another moment of peace and quiet had been shattered by the real world. The reality of it was that Mike was barely relaxing in there. He was on full alert with his eyes only half closed. Earlier in the afternoon one of the other people in the holding cell had tried to establish himself as top dog by intimidating everyone or beating down anyone who wasn't intimidated. Mike wasn't in the mood to play. Getting pepper sprayed by the guard only added insult to everyone's injury, so Mike chose to stay away from and keep an eye the rest of the tank.



“Sweaty, bruised, a little bloody, tired, and in one hell of a mood I gotta sit in front of a judge … any other day, no sweat, but today, I'm screwed.” with that said Mike eased himself up and walked out of the cell. As he left there was a chorus of threats and promises to his safety.



The court room was unlike any he had seen before or imagined. This one was a long line of seats that were bolted into the terrazzo floor, all with hand cuff and leg shackle fittings on them. In the middle of this wide room was a tall desk which was, clearly, the judges bench. Mike and his mugger, who was now in a cast and rather loopy with pain medications, were led into the center of the room. They were sat down right in front of the awkwardly tall bench.



Mike had just started to get comfortable when the bailiff hollered out, “All Rise for the honorable Judge Long!” The two stood up until they heard the judge mumble something then the bailiff told them both to sit down.



It was silent for several minutes as the judge reviewed the files regarding the two men sitting before him. “Mr. Thompson,”he began, “I don't know you, do I?”
Mike stood at attention, “No, Sir.”



Judge Long looked confused for an instant. The bailiff reached over, placed a strong hand on Mike's shoulder indicating that he needed to sit down, and told him, “Your Honor was asking a rhetorical question.” I am so boned, Mike thought to himself.



The Judge continued, “I don't know you from anyone on the street.” He looked over the edge of the bench at Mike, who now had to resist laughing as the judge looked so ridiculous. All Mike could see was tufts of unkempt wiry black hair, bushy eyebrows that each looked like they had bed-head from different beds, and some very thick glasses over sharp and hard eyes. All in all, the judge struck Mike as the most comical thing he had seen all day. He was having the hardest time not laughing at the man on the bench. “Not knowing you from anyone at all, not knowing you from Adam, Mr. Thompson, I might see you walking along the street,” the judge looked at Mike's face and took in the black eye, the scraped jaw, the stained shirt and ragged looking pants and then back at Mike's face. Judge Long shook his head, “You look like hell, Mr. Thompson. You look like a man on the edge,” he paused to sip from his mug, “you strike me as a desperate man who is willing,” he looked at the other man and his arm in a splint, and read the note about the pending surgery that evening to repair the damage, “and capable of nearly anything.”



Should he speak, say something in his own defense? Mike had no clue how to read the judge. He glanced over to the bailiff for some help. The bailiff shook his head slightly and slightly shushed Mike. The message being stay quiet.



“No, Mr. Thompson, I do not know you at all.” The judge then mumbled to himself unintelligibly as he shuffled papers. When he spoke clearly again it was suddenly and surprisingly. “Mr. Micky Brown! You, however, I do know! I know you very well, sir.” The judge must have stood up as his face could now be clearly seen over the top of the bench. “Mr. Brown you are already on parole from your last sentence. You are going to be held until you are able to stand for your hearing after surgery and recovery. Mr. Thompson,” Judge Long shifted his gaze, “I do not appreciate it when John Q Public takes the law into his own hands!” he paused for a few moments, “you are being released on your own recognizance without further delay. Bailiff, get them the hell out of here.”



It was late afternoon, almost evening, when Mike left the jail. The rain was letting up, but it was still cold. Still closer than the main bus depot, but further than regular walking distance, Mike checked to see how much cash he had in his wallet. “$25.00? I hope that's enough for a cab ride home and a tip.”



When the cab pulled up to his building Mike saw the lights were on again. Not wanting to think that things were getting better to trip and fall on his face again Mike stepped carefully out of the cab. As the car sped away Mike stood there, looking at the growing shadows. He stepped back into those same shadows and waited. His phone was turned off at the police station and he hadn't bothered to turn it back on again. Why he was standing back waiting he couldn't really say. It just seemed like the best thing to do.



After several minutes nothing had moved inside his apartment. Margaret was home. He could see her moving about her place. Outside there were a few stray cats, nothing out of the ordinary. He went inside. There was a note pinned to his door. His gut clenched reflexively. “Oh, God, what now?” he mumbled under his breath.



The note was from his landlord. It read;
So sorry about the hot water problem this morning. Got the boiler replaced today.



Once inside his apartment Mike took note that the clocks were flashing 12:10. The power had only been back on for 10 minutes. Not that he kept much food in the fridge, enough for a few days at a time, but that small amount was likely dead by now. “At least I can get a hot shower tonight.” His voice sounded hollow in the empty living room.



A gentle knock and a woman's voice made Mike spin. “Hello, Michael.” It was Margaret, his neighbor. “Your door was open, so … “ She checked up on him, helped him when he was going through bad times with his PTSD.



“Yeah, no, c'mon in, Maggie,” he grunted, “Margaret.” She preferred to use full names as it was 'just the proper thing to do.' She was young, polite, friendly, but always stood at a safe distance. That distance was safe for not just her, but for Mike, too.



Stepping inside his apartment she began, “Look, my boyfriend had to cancel on our dinner plans tonight. I was going to cook dinner.”



“So, that's not going to work out tonight, huh?”



“No, he has to work late.” Margaret seemed a little uncomfortable. “I don't have everything I need to cook a dinner, but I have some wine and I can order us a pizza or two if you would like to have a friend over?” She paused for a moment. “It looks like you've had a really rough day and … “



“I'd like that, Margaret. If you would, please.” Mike started to walk across his living room, “Oh, my phone is dead for now and I need a shower. You can feel free to let yourself in when the pizza gets here.”



About twenty minutes had passed and Margaret pushed her way back into Mike's apartment balancing two pizzas on one hand and holding a bag with two bottles of red wine in the other.



Hours had passed, the wine bottles lay empty on the floor, empty beer bottles stood in soon to be discarded six packs, and two friends sat against each other on the couch taking comfort in each other. “That was one hell of a day, Michael.”



Mike chuckled. He was chuckling at Margaret's insistence on using proper names, even when she was tipsy. She was a class act, he had decided. “It was certainly a rough one.”



Margaret got up from the couch, stretched, stepped into her slippers, “Mmmm, thank you for movie and opening up about your day, Michael. I have to go to bed now.” Turning to look at Mike she smiled a warm smile and hugged him. “Good night.”



When Margaret's hand was on the door knob Mike spoke from the couch, “You know, as bad of a day as it was, nobody died. I can deal with that.” With a smile he added, “Thank you for coming over, good night, Miss Margaret.”



On his way to bed he noticed that his phone, now charged had a voice message. He played it, “Mike, this is Albert, from HR. listen, like I said, this whole thing today was a mistake. You were not on the list of lay-offs. As it turns out, the water pipe damage has left things unsafe to work for a few days. So, you get the rest of the week off, on us. See you Monday morning, big guy.”



Sinking further back into the couch, smelling Margaret's perfume lingering in the air, and that phone message made Mike chuckle again, in spite of himself, “A free week off, nice, and nobody died.” He fell asleep on the couch smiling.