The Couch

Chuck sat in his car. Lost in thought. Enjoying the cool breeze coming from the vents. Then his phone rang.

A quick look at the caller ID.

Ignore.

With a sigh, he exited the car, trading the air-conditioned comfort of his leased luxury SUV for the sweltering summertime heat of South Carolina. In an instant, sweat began to bead on his forehead. He hustled across the parking lot towards the cluster of condos.

By the time he reached the front door, sweat had soaked through his t-shirt. He hurriedly looked through messages on his phone. Looking for the code to open the rental. Just as he found the message from Airbnb, his phone pinged.

Chuck looked at the text message.

You can’t avoid me forever. You have until tomorrow.

Chuck swiped away the ominous message. Pulled up the message from his Airbnb host. Punched the code in the door and went inside.

As he shut the door, Chuck smiled. The asphalt melting hellscape waiting just outside the door no longer presented a problem.

The air conditioner worked.

As gusts of artificially cooled air whipped around him, caressed him, cooled him, Chuck began to look around the condo.

Nothing had changed in two years.

As he walked into the living room, a young girl shot past him, excitedly running laps around the small room, squealing with delight.

Chuck smiled as the little girl took off for the bedroom. Bag in hand, he followed after her.

When Chuck entered the bedroom, the boundlessly energetic girl was bouncing on the bed like a trampoline. On the other side of the bed, the young girl’s mother stood arms crossed. Trying to look serious but unable to conceal a smile of her own.

“Katie, please stop jumping on the bed. If you hurt yourself, you aren’t gonna be able to play tomorrow,” she said.

The little girl stopped jumping. Sat down on the bed. Still grinning from ear to ear.

Chuck put his overnight bag on the bed.

And the mother and daughter disappeared.

All that remained was a lingering sense of regret.

Chuck pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sent a text.

While he waited for a reply, Chuck walked back into the living room. Plopped on the couch in the empty living room.

Sat in silence.

Until… a ping.

Chuck looked at the phone.

The Flying Fish, the text message read.

Chuck stood abruptly. Plugged the name into the Maps app on his phone and headed out the door.

**

As the hostess walked away, Chuck sat down at the table. On one side sat his daughter Katie. On the other side, the love of his life, Anne. Chuck smiled as everything just faded away. The interminable heat outside. The traffic on the way to the restaurant. And… everything else.

The waiter appeared.

“Are we waiting on anyone else?” he asked.

Chuck’s smile faded. He was alone at the table.

“No.”

**

Chuck had eaten like a king. Ordered everything. Crab quesadilla. Buffalo shrimp tacos. Mahi. Just like they had two years ago.

Nothing.

Except a bunch of leftovers.

As he trudged up the stairs, Chuck longed to be back inside the comfortable condo. In the air conditioning.

He punched in the code. Hurried inside. Slammed the door shut. Sealed himself away from the still-stifling night outside.

After a moment, he became reacquainted with the blessedly cool air conditioning and walked over to the fridge. Stuck the leftovers inside. And wandered into the bedroom.

He went into his bag and retrieved his laptop, some notebooks and a bottle of Old Forrester bourbon. His bourbon of choice. Back before he could afford better.

Chuck put everything on the dining table situated between the kitchen and the living room. Retrieved a single glass from one of the cabinets. Sat down at the table and poured himself a drink.

After a quick sip, Chuck opened his notebooks. Turned on his laptop. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Still nothing.

Only the blinking cursor. Sitting in its starting place at the very beginning of a very blank Microsoft Word document.

Taunting him.

A mechanical groaning, maybe real, maybe imagined, temporarily halted his psychic spiral.

Chuck grabbed his phone out of his pocket. Sent out a few rapid-fire texts. Hoping to find a foothold.

He tapped his foot nervously.

Everything was falling apart. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew. But everything he had ever wanted had been right there.

How could he have done anything any differently?

At the time, he had known the answer. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

In the absence of a better path forward, he drank. And he waited. Until his glass was empty and he could wait no more.

Chuck grabbed his phone. Pulled up his contacts. Dialed the one person who might be able to help.

After a couple of rings, the call connected.

“Katie, I really need your help. I’m…”

“No.”

Chuck hesitated, temporarily confused by the interruption. By a voice other than his daughter’s.

“Anne, please put my daughter on the phone. I need to…”

“No, Chuck, I will not be putting our daughter on the phone.”

“Why not?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Of course you don’t.”

“Anne, I don’t have time for this.”

“No, Chuck. I don’t have time for this.”

“Anne, please!”

“You got everything you ever wanted and it still isn’t enough, isn’t it?” Anne snarled before hanging up the phone.

Chuck picked up the bourbon bottle. Poured another drink. Took a healthy swig. And fired his phone across the living room at the couch.

The couch.

Chuck felt his mind slip again. Back to when it all began.

Coming back from the fields, after a marathon day of softball games. Hours of sitting, watching. Of cheering. Exhausting days. But great days.

The happy trio barely making through the door into the condo. The hurried showers followed by the even more hurried donning of pajamas.

Katie off to bed. To prepare to do it all over again the next day. A nightcap with Anne. Before bed beckoned for her as well.

Then he was alone. On the couch. Alone with his thoughts as his mind powered down for the day. Lingering in that blessed silence right before sleep.

The moment everything had changed.

Chuck grabbed his phone and laid down on the couch. Placed his phone on his belly and closed his eyes.

The first night, his thoughts had been nebulous, ephemeral. But the second night, when his conscious mind slipped away, an unseen muse whispered in his ear, bringing shape and clarity to his thought bubbles.

Another mechanical groan. More noticeable. More final.

Chuck sat up. His phone fell to the carpeted floor. Sweat beaded on his brow.

He had attributed the rising temperature in the condo to the bourbon. But that noise. That noise was concerning.

Chuck stood and walked over to the thermostat. A medley of blinking and flashing icons and symbols. All Greek to him.

But the symbols didn’t really require a lot of interpretation.

Chuck walked over to the closest vent.

Nothing.

He stalked into the living room. Retrieved his phone from the floor.

With no intention of spending a night without air conditioning, Chuck pulled up the Airbnb app. Typed a message to his host. A short, emphatic message.

Then he returned to his seat at the table. As he waited for a response, he topped off his drink. Stared at the blank laptop screen.

His phone buzzed.

Chuck sighed as he read.

I can’t hold them off any longer. You need to send me pages tomorrow or you need to find a new editor.

Chuck finished his drink. Looked at the laptop. At the notebooks. He placed the empty glass upside down on the table and slowly walked over to the couch.