Forgiving the forgotten

Max knew what a mid-life crisis was, theoretically, but didn't believe in them. He understood that sometimes you have to shake things up, take some risks, just to keep feeling alive in a mundane existence, but refused to place a clock on when that might be a need for someone, anyone. It happened when it needed to. Didn't it?

He didn't actually know. He never had those impulses to quit something hazardous to his health, or do something death-defying, or try food from a country he gave up trying to pronounce. None of those tempted him in the least. His life wasn't exciting by any standard of daring or danger, but it was his life, and he wanted, above all other things, to live it into his twilight.

And then, he turned forty.

He had trouble putting his finger on it, but, as if a light switched on and a marquee flashed the words Half way there, a staggering realization crept into his consciousness. He was crossing a barrier, on one side his safe and efficient life, and on the other a slow march to the end. Life, then eventual, inevitable, unremarkable death.

Suddenly food tasted different, coffee more bitter, his clothes duller, his views on things, uninspiring. The day to day, that routine he held so dear for its predictability, bland as an old cracker, and he yearned to wash that dusty taste from his tongue. it was an epic shift, a scary shift, but he didn't wish to fight the change, almost clamoring to accept it.

He knew he had done only right by himself for too long, and the idea of such selfishness made him sick. He didn't care about a legacy, but new, he had to do something in this world to leave it in better shape than he entered it.

He didn't want to die with regrets, and while he had so few before, now he was awash with them. And some of his past, now haunted him.

He did a few things right away when the original spark of lingering mortality hit him. He changed his diet. He introduced a workout regiment to his day. He called some people from his past he lost touch with, and never planned to reconnect with.

Bleep-bloo-bloop. Bleep-bloo-bloop.

"Hello," he said, answering the video-call on his laptop

"I got your message," the caller said, "it's been a while."

"I know. Too long."

She looked so different. That awkward girl, freckle faced with wrinkled clothes and her hair in a scrunchy was gone. A gorgeous, unrecognizable image glowed before him, looking like she didn't want to call but did anyway.

"I'm busy," she began, "What did you need? You're message sounded urgent. Almost begging."

He took a second to put the right words together, hoping not to get choked up in the delivery. He was so emotional these days.

"I'm glad you hit me back. I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, incredulously.

He took a deep breath, stifling tears.

"In high school. I said some things I am not proud of. Hurtful, awful things. No one should have that kind of venom thrown at them. I had to call you. Tell you how sorry I am."

She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.

"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"We," she started, then paused. "We had one class together, twenty-two years ago. Why do you think I still care about what some jerk said to me back then. We were dumb kids. Dumb kids say dumb things. It's part of the deal when your a kid."

"I get that, but it was still a terrible thing to do to another person." He sniffed.

"Oh, man up. Your blubbering is just embarrassing. I'm over it. You should get over it, too." She scowled at him. He couldn't tell if it was the apology or the time she felt he was wasting that upset her most.

He remembered she was a year younger than he. Had she not reached that sudden change? Had her life been as such that if the change had come, she might not even notice. Had he driven her to be broken by his hateful words in such a severe way that she was unflappable by the trials of modern life?

"Well, I just needed you to know that I am sorry. So very sorry. I feel retched."

"And now you've said it," she looked down at the keyboard, seeking the button to end the call.

"Can you forgive me?"

She looked up. Her brow furrowed. She sighed, audibly.

"Nope." And with that, she ended the call.