[Holding_Caulfield]

Age aint nuthin but a Number

He ran the glass under the tap for the third time and put it to his lips. No, the water definitely tasted funny, not bad necessarily just funny. So far he wasn't too impressed with is new water supplier, he should have known when the representative had looked about twelve. He poured the rest of it away and set the glass back onto the draining board and walked back to the breakfast table. The paper lay flat, the headline informing him that there had been no news on the seven people that had disappeared from his area over the past six months. He sighed and sat down with his cup of orange juice in his hand. He read the news story more out of boredom than actual interest. The seven people, four men and three women, had disappeared from practically right on his doorstep with no sign of a struggle, no clue as to what happened at all. He frowned but didn't really think much of it. People upped and left without a word all the time, it was nothing that he, Byron Harris, forty-something insurance salesman, divorced for the last decade, felt he needed to worry about. He drained his glass and left it by the paper as he got up and left for work. He was not as excited about his job as he had once been, he didn't feel old but when it came to the computer he had to use he felt ancient. He just didn't have the brain for it, but he knew he had to use it, the world was run by computers now, if he didn't get with the programme he may as well go stand in a museum with the rest of the dinosaurs! His office was more a cube than anything else, very impersonal, very cold and more and more depressing with every passing week. He had not pictured his life being like this, when he was younger he'd had dreams, ambitions. He never thought he'd end up where he was now. He put his briefcase on his desk and sat down. The computer whirred to life with the press of a button and pages or data appeared before him. It was all gibberish to him, he knew the buttons to press to get to his work but only from memory, he didn't really understand what it was he was pressing. He did the ritual with barely an upward glance, and all at once his work was up on the small 14 inch screen. "Another day another dollar," he muttered and slowly got to work.

The house was cold and dark when he finally walked through it's familiar door and put his briefcase on the table by the window. He switched on the lights and went straight to the heater and switched that on too, he hated being cold, and since turning forty he seemed to be cold more than he was hot. H e didn't like growing old, he didn't like it one bit. He walked into his kitchen and put the kettle on, a nice cup of coffee would warm him up, but he was thirsty and couldn't wait so he poured himself a tall glass of water. He drank it down without taking a breath, the taste was unusual, but not unpleasant. In fact he thought, as he put the glass back in it's place on the draining board, he quite liked it, it gave it a kind of zing that he found appealing. He turned back to the kettle but found he didn't want coffee anymore, he wanted more water. He stood at the sink and filled and refilled the glass until he was truly satisfied. It took seven glasses. He had the best sleep he had ever had that night, and when he awoke he realised he wasn't the only thing that rose that morning, for the first time in ages he awoke to a tiny tent where his groin was. He laughed his way to the bathroom and relieved himself in more ways than one, another thing he hadn't had cause to do in a while. It was a good start to what turned out to be a good day. He got to work early sat down in front of his computer and suddenly knew what he was doing, for reasons he couldn't fathom, he could understand what was written before him. He laughed to himself as he began to type. He laughed a lot that day, he had reason to laugh, it was as if his brain had suddenly come to life, like the huge lump that those scientists always say we never use had been jump started by means outside of his understanding. I mean he had no powers, no E.S.P. but his mind was extremely alert, so alert in fact that he managed to convince his boss that he should give him the day off and he spent the rest of the day in the park. It was a good day and when he got home he had a good night, he cooked the perfect dinner, remembering to check on the food this time instead of only realizing it was burning when the scent singed his nose hairs, which were also disappearing by the way! He had a picture of cool refreshing water to wash it down with, then a cigar, something he hadn't had in a while because it burned his throat and always made him cough, but not this night, this night it was remarkable, probably the best cigar he had ever had. He smiled as he took a long pull from it, then relaxed back onto the sofa and he blew it back out in a long thin line, watching it disperse into the room with a look of complete contentment on his face. A face that was not looking as worn as it had been, a face that for once didn't look it's own age let alone the usual ten years older. Byron Harris hadn't felt this good on years. ........