The Unwritten Apologetics of Henry Reeds

The sound of his keys unlocking his door seemed to scream out into the hallway, “I’m home!”

He walked into his apartment, and closed the door behind him. It felt bigger than usual, the darkness seemed to swallow everything. So did the silence. It enveloped each step as he went to turn on the light, just a few feet away.

The dim light presented a clean and perfectly maintained high-rise apartment.

Slowly making his way to the kitchen island, he noticed something out of place. He was confused, there shouldn’t be anything there.

“What the heck is thi- Oh…”

On the kitchen counter was a large portion of cake with the words, “Happy Birthday He-” written on it. He forgot it was his birthday last week. In less than an hour, it would be more than one week since he turned 50. This was a big one for him. The big one before he retired, at least in his opinion. This was the official I’m old year where the line between father and grandfather started to get blurry.

He had promised himself he would do something to celebrate this year, but he didn’t. He thought about going to that nice Steakhouse with no prices on the menu, but he didn’t. He thought about going golfing and taking his new Miura and Titleist clubs to the range, but he didn’t. He thought about buying some things from Amazon to start a hobby, but he didn’t. He couldn’t even bring himself to order the imported German beers from one of the local specialty shops. His bosses were whisky people and looked down on beer drinkers… but he was a beer person.

He thought back to last Friday when the team surprised him with a small cake, balloons and a card. Some of the youngsters were even kind enough to bring him a few gifts. But at some point after the birthday song and before he got his slice of cake, one of his colleagues had to back out of a trip to visit a client on-site in Arizona, so he volunteered to go. He always did

He’s reliable that way. He’s dependable. He’s the one his bosses always go to when a problem needs to be solved and they don’t want to do it themselves.

The cake on his kitchen counter was out of place. A Costco cake with commercial frosting wrapped up in generic cling wrap. On a soggy paper plate that was more wet than paper.

It was a foreign object in his world. He stood there in his Hugo Boss suite, resting his body on the Italian marble kitchen island surrounded by solid .9999 fine silverware and hand blown drinking glasses he never used. Those were a party set, and he never hosted, he never had people over.

He took the cake and threw it away. Shame. He was hungry. He would’ve ordered something on Uber eats on his way back to his place from the airport, but he fell asleep after getting in his Uber black.

Tomorrow is Saturday, he didn’t have any plans, but he promised to have more work sent over the weekend to his bosses and clients.

For the first time in a while he was regretting that.

All he wanted to do now was take a glass of whiskey and go to sleep. But he couldn’t lie to himself, he didn’t want the whiskey. He just bought it because his bosses saw it as a status symbol of maturity in their subordinates.

He was tired after this trip. His legs and back ached. He knew something was wrong. He started getting that deep, unsettling, empty pit feeling in his stomach that would sometimes bother him.

He filled a glass with water and went to his suitcase. He rummaged through the front section of his carry on and took out a medicine bottle that read, “Sertraline (Zoloft) - 100mg Pills - Take 1 pill in the morning and 1 in the evening by mouth - Quantity: 125 Pills”.

He put that in his back pocket, knowing he would need it tomorrow morning. He then took out an over-the-counter bottle of melatonin to help him fall asleep.

No whiskey tonight.

He undressed and threw his clothes in the laundry basket. The maid will get it on Sunday.

He took off his Patek Philippe watch and set it down on the solid mahogany night stand.

He felt that unsettling feeling of dark emptiness in his gut. The more he focused on it the worse it got. He couldn’t wait to wake up and take his Zoloft.

All he could think about was “Go to bed, go to bed, go to bed, go to bed.”

Falling to sleep was difficult, even with the melatonin. He struggled to go to sleep and even when was asleep and in a light dream, he questioned if he was asleep. Suddenly, his mother was in his room, his mother had been dead for years. He wasn’t confused this time, he knew it was a dream.

“Henry, I told you to get up. We don’t lay in bed all day in this house,” his mother said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Then he was at school, enjoying his after school sports and Theatre. Then two open doors appeared in front of him. The left door had pools of lights swirling from the school’s massive auditorium, with all different colors of lights, and teens in costumes, stage managers walking around, props being moved, the hustle and bustle of The Show Must Go On! alive in front of him once again, He peeked into the other door, it was a gateway to the school baseball field. His father called out to him, “Get over here!,” his father said angrily. “You quit that gosh darn ninny crap and choose a real sport like a man. We work in this house!”

Henry heard the speaking door of the auditorium close slowly and painfully as hinges squeaked and finally made an echoing and deep thud. That path was closed. His father continue yelling, and he did as he was told.

The bright lights got darker, his parents become more distorted, he was now at his graduation, it was in a small and hot room. His parents were talking to the Dean about his future, “Yes, he would excel at this internship, I’m happy to give the firm my full recommendation” said the Dean.

“Good, excellent, great to hear. We’re happy you could help us. We think he’s got a bright future if he listens to all of us” said his parents, now too large to fit in this room, too difficult to get their attention. But he knew if he said those dreaded words he would be attacked by them, they were now reptilian creatures, just angry beings, he had to say something…

“I don’t want to go into finance,” he yelled, “I want to go to New York and try doing acting work for a little, I-” a reptilian hand backhanded him, and they hissed at him.

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re saying, you can thank us in 20 years.”

“I know what I want for myse-”

“Be quiet!” Suddenly they were his size again, and he was in a dark tunnel, and these two creatures, were running toward him and they were coming for blood. As the first stabbed him in the chest, he suddenly opened his eyes.

His alarm woke him up at 7:30am. Still groggy from the melatonin, he got up slowly, and went straight to the bathroom. He was still not fully awake and made a mess, he did not care.

He was wet, he had been sweating.

He splashed water on his face and briefly looked at himself in the mirror. Briefly.

He went to the kitchen and made coffee. Cream and sugar. He liked it sweet. It was one of the few things his doctor disapproved of.

But that was his life. A middle aged man who made his decisions. He was now reaping what he sowed. Professional and financial success. He had it. Alone in his own apartment. Bought in full, paid for with cash.

But the silence was overwhelming this morning.

He tried to relax and let his head rest. But he couldn’t do it. He immediately remembered to take his morning Sertraline. He rushed back to his room and began counting down.

He turned on the morning radio and spent no more than 45 minutes getting ready and by 8:15 he was in business casual clothing ready to tackle another day of… work.

On his laptop.

At home.

He started typing away and with the whole new AI craze, tasks that would’ve taken him a few hours now took seconds, minutes if he was picky.

By 9:07 he was done. Two sets of reports, one for the client with a Memorandum of what had taken place over the weekend, and status report of the week in Arizona and how well it went, what was accomplished, what needed to be followed up on, what new deadlines were set, who would be in charge of what, expenses, profits, receipts, everything, they wanted to know everything! Everything he did, they wanted to know, everything! All the time! Every detail of his actions, his motivations, his reflections, his before, during, and after!

“Another report they won’t even read. What the hell is the point? This one was on my dime.”

He sat there for some time and checked his watch. 9:08am.

His heart was racing. He could not sit. He was not happy. He was successful but missing so much inside. He was angry, for missing his birthday (again!), he was annoyed for making sure to send those reports on a weekend, even when the clients said they won’t check their emails until Monday, what kind of guy works for free on the weekend? He used to be the kid who would be sure to make plans just so he didn’t have to do work. He. Was. Not. Happy.

He took a big, long, and slow, deep breath in and out. He needed to leave. He needed to do something that wasn’t in his home. His home felt too crowded, too small, he felt like he was suffocating.

The empty unsettling feeling in his stomach was growing and he wasn’t happy about it. He went to a coffee shop, he ordered a pastry, he was restless the whole time eating it. He went to the gold range, he was better but he was still so stressed, he went for a long walk in Central Park, and just could not shake this feeling.

This whole day he spent cursing at himself for all these years and now he wasn’t able to go another second thinking about his bosses. The ones who judged him for not having their favorite tailor, for not drinking whisky, for liking things that weren’t what they liked.

The judgement. The backhanded comments. The smug looks of “I’m better than you.” The sarcastic questions. The Whys? Why this? and why that?, why don’t you try my guy instead?

“Why don’t you just let me live my fucking life my way?!” Henry said that out aloud, on a park bench, close to the upper west side.

He realized what he had done, the whole day had been a blur.

He was alone when the thought hit him, all the sacrifice, all the focus, all the work, it was for nothing. HIs job didn’t matter, his work didn’t matter, none of it matters. The years of slaving away certainly gave him a good life. But it was life that he shared with no one, enjoyed very little of, and finally understood that it was all to make other people happy, in their equally own selfish and greedy ways.

Once he understood this, his heart calmed down, his breathing softened. His body eased up and relaxed. He walked home.

When he got home, he notice he had left his birthday card on the kitchen island. He read it, “Happy 50th Birthday!” everyone signed it. People he knew and didn’t know. The newbies who were still struggling with security, being confused for food delivery, and the veterans like him who were hoping to be out in less than 20 years. But the more he looked, the more he realized, his own boss, the person who’d known him the longest, hadn’t signed.

The following Monday, at 8:00 in the morning his office was quiet. His lights were off.

At 8:45am, one of the Managers noticed this and called his work phone, no answer. He called his personal phone, no answer. He called the client’s Arizona site thinking he might still be there, they confirmed he left Friday evening.

He went to John Billings, one of the Senior Partners. John knew Henry for many years and was staring at his computer monitor. He didn’t look at the much younger Manager, who politely knocked, “Good morning John”.

“Morning.” John didn’t move.

“I was just wondering if you had seen Henry, he’s not at his office…” the young Manager waited.

“Yeah I’m working with him now, just turn his lights on please.”

“Yeah, sure,” said the young Manager.

John slowly looked up, and added, “Could you please tell my secretary to come in when she has a minute.”

“Sure thing, anything else you need?”

“No, thanks.” That was the most John had ever said or will say to the young man. He closed the door and walk away.

John was staring at an email from Henry. A short, concise, and direct email.

“Sent from: Henry (henry.reeds@finanocorps.org)

Sent to: John Billings (john.billings.01@finanoadmin.org)

CC: Arthur Baddens (abaddens@LawOffice.org)

Message:

Dear Mr. Billings,

Pursuant to my contract’s termination clause, which in short, stipulates I am within my lawful and legal rights to end contractual employment with at least one calendar month’s notice, I am hereby notifying you that as of today, I will first be taking four consecutive weeks of paid personal leave, which I have saved up from the past seventeen years of my time under your supervision. These Personal Days are not required by state law nor company policy to be approved in advance.

At the end of my leave, I will be officially ending my employment with Finano Corporation. I have CC’d my legal representation, who has been notified of the situation and will speak with you on my behalf moving forward.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Mr. Henry Reeds

Financial Analyzer and Risk Assessment

Finano Corps. New York Office

1 State Street, New York, New York”