To Wake Up At 52

It felt like the zestful waters of a powerful outpouring flowing into my blood when I took the proposed toast of wine at Christmas Eve 2004. A general feeling absorbed me on that evening when I had so many occasions to relish upon. It was the best time of the year – snowy fairy-tale, presents and people together - and I was the luckiest man alive. If we put my job promotion at the television, my sport achievements and the Christmas excitement on the side, my daughter and I were the stars of that gathering. It was her first and my thirty-second birthday, and my whole family had come to celebrate those long-expected moments of happiness. All I knew was that I was successful and had managed to meet the expectation of my relatives. 

“Happy birthday James and Daisy! – my dad finally gave me that look of approval which I had so much longed for – Please, accept this!” – he passed me a white envelope. I opened it anxiously but had to read only the first two lines of the letter to realise that my dad was transferring one of his flats on my name. My body was crying internally out of happiness. I was sweating out of excitement and motivation to make everything better for everyone. Now, when I had the financial stability to build on what I had achieved, ambitious ideas of sending my daughter to study abroad at some point, finding a job at New York and creating a business stormed in my brain. 

“Cheers, everyone!” – I proposed another toast and indulged myself in the spirits of prestige, prosperity and longevity. 

The celebration continued the next day with more presents, rich dishes and beverages and cheerfulness. My daughter was growing beautiful and talented, and I could sense that she would be a singer one day due to the great number of Christmas carols she chanted before going to sleep. I was going to support her at every stage of her journey.

At the age of four, Daisy was already singing in the national choir and was one of the best. I set up a big party in our flat after her first concert which was accompanied by a great assortment of fine wines, whiskey, vodka cocktails and more. People were having fun and admired my sense of humour, parties and my daughter’s voice. It just felt like it was my wife who was always pushing me backwards with her grumpy and arrogant attitude. She was always sceptical of the celebrations I organised, the amount of money I spent on alcohol for the guests, and most shockingly, she doubted our daughter’s talent!

“We cannot afford so much for parties, alcohol or your own luxury!” – our arguments had deteriorated so much just four years after Daisy’s birth. She was never happy with what I was doing and complained about our financial state too much. True, money was never sufficient, but it was unfair of her to say that everything was for the sake of ‘my own luxury’. I had a relatively healthy lifestyle, went to work from nine to five and provided enough paternal care for Daisy. Her accusations of me drinking too much were unjustified.

“I drink like a man. Men’s daily alcohol tolerance is higher than that of women.” – I was watching TV on my armchair after a long day at work trying to clarify to my wife that two bottles of light beer each evening did not make me an ‘alcoholic’.

What infuriated me though was that she tried to alienate Daisy from me. On her sixth birthday, my daughter appeared to be scared by me. I gave her a pink princess book and tried to bend down to hug her, but she just stepped aside and cuddled with her grandparents. What a fantastic celebration I had to endure on Daisy’s, my birthday and Christmas Eve 2009 thanks to my wretched wife. She had turned everyone against me on that day and all I thought of was how to divorce her as soon as possible. My income was for sure higher than hers and I enjoyed more free time and social hours with my daughter so I could easily convince the jury that I should be the primary paternal figure after the separation.  

I retrieved in the bedroom letting everyone enjoy the celebration in the way my wife had set it to be. I wanted to reflect on all the arguments we had gone through, and how I could just be more successful without her suffocating presence. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and started reasoning. Honestly, marriage had brought so much stress to me that I found more relief in having some spirit evening time rather than spending time with my wife. 

I turned on the TV and luckily, they were broadcasting my favourite show. I had watched it like thirty times but who cares? It was Christmas and my birthday. As I was having some wine later, I realised that maybe I could resolve the issues my wife and I had faced. It was just her hysterical behaviour sometimes that drove me into this state of loneliness, but I was sure that we could deal with it in the name of Daisy and her future. We could start everything anew in New York or Los Angeles. All I needed was to ask my dad and brother for a small loan so I could initiate my business with more confidence. I could have done it today, but I slowly started feeling a bit tipsy so this kind of made me drowsy and I concluded that it would have been better to talk with them on the following day.  I felt more and more relaxed and all I was thinking of were dreams and future goals. It felt incredible to imagine what the human being could do once the balance was established. It was this balance comprised of hard work and fun that I was going to initiate on the following morning so I could become the best version of myself. I gradually retrieved in my dreams. 

I woke up freezing to death. The window must have been shattered last night by the chilling gusts as they were blowing directly in my face in the early morning. The flat was dominated by a deadly silence which alarmed me slightly as I was used to Daisy’s singing in the mornings. I looked on my left and did not find my wife sleeping next to me. Instead, it was a big pile of my T-shirts, boxers, jeans and a couple of books. I rubbed my eyes frantically and got up. After cleaning the broken glass, I went to the toilet to wash and looked at myself in the mirror. I was possessed by an instant horror when I found something monstrously pale and aged looking at me. It must have been someone else – a spirit, a ghost, a demon – that had possessed my house and had settled in the bathroom mirror. I rushed to the corridor to check the big mirror and yelled into agony to find the same creature there! Big, fat, pale, wrinkled, saggy… These definitions and their attachment to the word ‘human’. Or at least the thing in there looked just a bit like a human. After observing it more closely, I fearfully started discovering some familiar features. The monster in the reflection resembled me very vaguely…Maybe it was the hangover from drinking some wine after the whiskey last night that had brought me into the state of seeing stuff, I thought… I went to the kitchen thinking that some breakfast would solve the confusion. Opening the fridge, I realised it was empty and only two cans of beer and a jar of pickles were there. I took out the jar and a can of beer and sat on the table. Maybe my wife had given the leftovers to the guests the previous night to prevent wasting. After eating, I went to check the time on my phone as I realised that we had to be at my parents’ house at 1 pm. A burst into sweating and intense heartbeat overwhelmed me when I realised that it was 2 pm 25^th December 2024! Surely there must have been a mistake in the electronic calendar as this meant that I was 52! It was the strong stench of urine, alcohol and dust that drive me further into going out to have some grasp of fresh air. 

Observing the exterior, alas, did not make me feel any better. The pavement was covered in grey cement instead of the fluffy snow that had wrapped the city just yesterday. The sky was dull and dismal, and no birds were chirping. It soon started raining so I had to seek shelter in some pub or bar. Almost everything was closed so I headed towards the near off-licence shop that was famous for staying open even on Christmas Day. I took three cans of beer to the till.

 “Eight pounds, please.” – stated Lilly, the shopping assistant I had known for years. Which years though? The ones before or after 2009? I looked for some cash in my pocket but found like a pound or so.

“Ah, it is fine. This time it’s on the house – said Lilly half annoyed, half cheerful – It was your birthday yesterday, so that’s my present for you.”

This somehow felt like my first birthday or Christmas present for years. It cheered me up a little bit, I must say, after the horror I had experienced this morning. I strode to the nearby bench and opened the second can. Reflecting on life, I began on pondering on how I could find a new job from the New Year and make my life more meaningful. At the end of the day, even if I did not, I was 52 so it was too late for me. I took a sip. 

“James!” – my friend Ryan waved at me and approached me from the other side of the street. He sat on the bench next to me and shook my hand – Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, bro! Wish you all the best – lots of success and money!”

“Thanks, mate. Merry Christmas!” – I gave him a fake smile.

“Let’s drink for you – he took out a bottle of cheap wine from a nylon bag – Your ex-wife and daughter did not visit you this year?” – Ryan started showering me with his incessant curiosity.

The chilling gusts from the morning penetrated through my torn jacket. The grey, gloomy, obnoxious feeling absorbed me again. My heart was weeping but I was not. 

“I guess they had other plans” – I responded apathetically. I sipped from my can again.