This story was one of 6 pieces that appeared on the Short List for the Letter Review Prize for Flash Fiction. It was also awarded a Finalist position for the Third Wednesday Flash Fiction Contest. This is one of the three pieces I submitted as a project proposal for a full-length book. The proposal was a strong contender and Finalist for the Kenyon Developmental Editing Fellowship for Emerging Writers.
Goodnight, Mr. Halian
“Surprise!”
Joe gasped as the lights clicked on, revealing a crowd of thirty in his foyer.
The well-wishers descended on him with kisses and hugs. “How–who did all this?”
A man shouted: “It was Lydia and Carol’s idea.” He motioned to two middle-aged women at the back of the crowd. They smiled politely and held up their wine glasses to Joe. “We wanted you to have an amazing night.” He blew them kisses.
A man pumped Joe’s hand. “We thought you’d never come home! We had to start without you!”
Still stunned, Joe said “Sorry, the shoot ran long.”
“Looks like they let you keep the clothes this time.”
Joe looked down to see he was still dressed in a chic linen suit. A series of snack bag clips ran up his back, pulling the fabric tight around his muscles. “Oh crap I forgot to change!” the guests erupted in laughter. Lydia and Carol exchanged a glance.
Jeff entered from down the hall. “Geez Joe you need a map to find the bathroom in this place! Amazing what a pretty face can buy.”
Joe yelled: “Hey, it’s not just a pretty face!” The guests went quiet, shocked by this outburst. “I also pose.” Laughter filled the foyer. Joe pretended to box Jeff.
“Careful Joe! You’re not 49 anymore!” More laughter. Music blasted through the speakers in his walls. Everyone started dancing.
Lydia and Carol watched from the back of the crowd.
“He doesn’t look fifty.”
“Did you?”
“...no…”
Joe laughed and danced, shimmying and spinning in rhythmic euphoria.
“I’m glad he’s having a good time.”
“He’ll be hurting tomorrow…”
Later that night, Joe sat alone in his house, reflecting on the party. He felt blessed, content, and a little drunk. He looked at the clock on the other side of the room. Wow! 3 am. He could still party with the best of them. He sighed and took one more pull from his glass of bourbon before closing his eyes and nodding off.
A frantic pounding at the door woke him with a start. He ran down the hall and peered through the peephole. Two men in navy blue coveralls stood on the patio holding clipboards. “Who is it?”
“Repo man.”
“Repo man?”
“Yes sir, please open the door.”
Joe cracked the door and eyed the men. The taller one spoke up: “You Joseph Halian?”
“Yes, what’s this about?”
“And today is your 50th birthday is that correct?”
“Uh, yeah…”
“Ok let’s go!”
The tall man pushed his way inside, followed by the shorter man and half a dozen other women and men all dressed alike. “Hey what are you doing, you can’t come in here!”
“Sorry Mr. Halian but we have an order to repossess some of your belongings.”
“What belongings?”
The tall man checked his clipboard. “Your knees, your eyesight, a few odds and ends.” With that he took out an instrument that looked like a gun. Joe shot his hands up in the air. The man pointed the gun at Joe’s knees and pulled the trigger. Joe heard a loud “click” and suddenly his knees felt sore.
“Ow! What are you doing?”
“You’re fifty now, sir, and we need these things back.”
Another gun appeared in front of his eyes. Click. Joe realized with horror that he could no longer see the clock clearly.
“Wait, I may be fifty, but I’m in great shape!”
“Not anymore sir. We’ll be needing this back as well.”
Joe heard a click behind him and noticed his lower back suddenly felt tight. Another click at his forehead and he couldn’t remember the name of that actor who played Apollo Creed in the Rocky movies. The clicks continued all around him. He saw a gun pointed at his crotch and heard a click, but felt nothing. “What the hell was that for?”
“You’ll find out later.”
“Stop dammit! All of you!” The repo men and women froze and looked at him. “Now I know I’m fifty, but I’ve taken care of myself my entire life. I eat healthy. I’m an athlete. I regularly get bloodwork done. I’m fit, I’m happy. I lead a good life. Surely I have some more time before I start losing all this!”
The repo men and women looked up at the tall man for guidance. The tall man turned to Joe. “I’m sorry, sir, but this is just how it works.” The tall man turned to the short man. “Have you rounded up all the guests?”
“Yes sir.”
Joe looked at the men. “My friends?”
“Oh, yes we’ve had to take them as well.”
Joe looked out the window and saw all his friends sitting in an oversized van, smiling and waving at him. “What? Why?”
“Middle-aged men tend not to have friends, Mr. Halian. You’re lucky you held onto them this long.”
Joe collapsed back in his chair, confused and angry. The men and women cleared out as the tall man made some ticks on a form on his clipboard. Joe’s pants felt tight. He ran his hand through his hair and saw to his horror that strands of brown hair came off between his fingers. “They didn’t even click there!”
The tall man tore off the top copy of his forms and handed it to Joe. “Thank you for your time. I know it’s limited.” As the man made his way towards the door, Joe jumped up and exploded in fury.
“You can’t do this to me! I’m going to fight this with everything I’ve got!”
At this the tall man turned back around. “That’s right I nearly forgot.” Click. Joe suddenly felt drained of energy, and fell back in his chair. His eyes closed and he started to doze. The name ‘Carl Weathers’ suddenly materialized in his mind. He tried to say it, but he was already falling asleep. “Goodnight, Mr. Halian.” The tall man slid out the door and closed it with a click.