The autumn wind, barely warmed by the morning sunshine, entered the room through the open window. Riding on it came the song of birds, waking the old man up. He rose up using worn-down joints, making the antique, blue sheeted bed creak. With lazy steps he made his way to the bathroom down the hallway. He shaved down his beard with the help of a trusty, rusty razor blade, leaving behind only snow-white stubbles. "Still looking good, George." he remarked, in that self-satisfied tone one ought to only use when talking to yourself. George would then make his way downstairs, frowning at the chipped white paint at the top of the stairs. He made a mental note to go fix it this evening, but knew he'd probably leave it for tomorrow's afternoon. His wife was already in the kitchen, almost done brewing the coffee when he arrived. The sat down and had a light breakfast of butter and jam spread on bread, coupled with the idle talk characteristic of a marriage that was neither happy nor unhappy.
"I miss when you could just read your morning newspaper. These days you have to squint at your phone for half an hour to read just to know the weather." George sighed
"It's not all that bad you know, at least it's easier to call the kids."
"When they remember that we're still kicking." he laughed, and took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter.
Next he'd get to his car. It was a new model, bought about a decade ago with the money got from selling his previous car, his older son helping him pick the right model. He would never like it as much as he did love his previous machine, but it worked well enough for his needs. He drove, enjoying the sidewalk trees shade and the well-kept houses of the neighborhood. Almost all the radio stations were playing the kind of music his grandchildren appreciated, but which was just noise to him. He played with buttons for most of the journey, until he found a station with songs old enough for him to hum to. This kept him from noticing the car on the other side drifting ever so slightly towards him, not until he ended up with a scratch in his car's deep-blue paint. The other car stopped, the driver got out, but not before George's horn beeped.
The old men stared at the young adult, his green, coffee-stained shirt, his wrinkled, blue trouser, his unkept, just starting to grow beard, that empty gaze of his, all told George that he's just another one of those futureless youth with no ambition nor plans.
"This is your first time driving?" He knew that getting this angry would be bad for his heart, but he just could not help himself.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry sir..."
"Like that'll fix my car. You ought to have your eyes on the street, not your screen."George paused for a breather, before continuing. "What's your name anyways?"
"Please, sorry sir, I just was in a rush. I can pay you now if you need!"
"What would you even be in a rush for?"
"Job interview."the young man blurted out. "What kinda job, garbageman?"George asked.
"Plumber."
One of George's eyebrows rose up, and he took another look at the man.
"We can settle it here, but don't go on driving like that again."he sighed
"Thank you sir!" the youth replied. His overwhelming relief made the affair take far longer than needed. This made the older men consider going back on his word a few times, until deciding that it would be too much trouble anyways.
George's job, when he managed to get there, was officially that of a senior engineer at a moderately successful company, and had been that for almost three decades now. This meant that most of his value came from being one of the few people who could remember details regarding obscure, old projects whenever one of them would raise their ugly head again. Most of his day to day consisted of being guided through new technology by his assistant , and sometimes dragging his feet out of office whenever one of the new hires was too clueless.
The unending sounds of small talk and cutlery clashing against meals filled the cantina. George and his colleagues were forced to raise their voice to the best their throats could produce. One of them, a small, hunchbacked man, with crooked fingers that had never healed right, was picking at a boiled egg, and as his nails dug beneath shell, as a thief tries to open a lock, he told childhood stories.
"...and after the cop gave us both a good beating to remember, he drove us home to our bloody parents. Should have seen the look on their faces at their two sons getting into trouble." the small laughed
"Could hear us screaming both from the other side of the town that night, after dad got the belt!" another man, with the same spring-leaves green eyes as the other added.
"Back then we had initiative, before kids just sat on their ass all day staring at phones."Another man, noticeably younger than the rest of the clique, commented.
"Come on, they're not all that bad. My nephew's been practicing the piano recently, let me show you..." George said, pulling out his new phone out of his pocket to the enthusiasm of his coworkers, hoping for any reminder of their own youth's vitality.
He began the long process of finding exactly where in the user interface of the message apps the conversation with his sibling was, and only then commenced the arduous process of scrolling upwards to find the exact video he desired. Before he could complete it, he was interrupted by a phone call from management. A newbie requested help with the old heating system in the basement. George grumbled, got up, made an apology for having to leave to his friends and left. The rest continued their usual conversations, without being truly disrupted by the disappearance of a single person.
Down the basement, between those four grey walls, always so ever damp, George found the beginner engineer holding a flashlight and staring at an empty space, ears perked up. The old men found him unpleasant from the get-go, something about his posture and the way his chestnut hair had been clearly left unkept for a long time. Still, he was in a good mood, so he may as well try to be polite, he thought.
"What do you need me for?." George asked, startling the newbie.
"Seems to be a leaking pipe."He half-mouthed
"Not hearing anything. I think you just imagined it."
"I swear, I can hear it." he contemplates his next words for a second. "Maybe you can't because you're too old. Want a guide?"
"Fine." George spoke with half a mouth.
Inside that jungle of tangled, confusing copper pipes, reddish-brown mixed with oxidized blue and the white of slowly built-up limestone, the junior showed the old man the spot where the sound grew stronger.
The old man stood still for a second, then moved towards a particular spot, where two pipes touched as they entered the wall. At his order the young man chipped away the cement near the lower pipe. As he did so the sound of steam got louder.
"I see now. Some incompetent must have bent a pipe there, when they wanted us to expand the heating this winter. Give me your flashlight."
"Be careful, I smell fumes."
"I still got a nose, you know. Let me work in peace."
For the next half hour George would attempt to repair the pipe by his own, denting the old concrete wall, little broken off pieces crumbling into grey dust beneath him, scattering on the floor. The sound of his grunts, little "oohs" and "hmms" filled the room constantly, only interrupted by requests for tools and their use. Eventually, the commotion would attract people curious to what is happening and end up checking in to see if George was alright or that he needed help. They would all be waved off with a yell from the old man, and a sympathetic shrug from the junior engineer, who George seemingly forgot was the one who held the flashlight in the first place.
Finally the sound of his own coughing convinced the senior to stop trying to complete the repairs themselves and formally inform the company of what happened. He spent the rest of the workday signing off paperwork, with a cup of coffee in hand and a headache that would not go away.
In the red glow of dusk, two old friends were together. They sat on newly made chairs, made to appear antique, on the porch belonging to the eldest. One of them, shorter than the other, his hair still having a trace of blondness, slowly took a cigarette from the nearby table and lit it. Smoke billowed out of his mouth, rising up straight to the sky, like a march of ghostly soldiers to war. His free hand tapped against the chair's arm, narrow gaze fixed on the falling sun.
"Where's your mind wandering now?" George asked without expecting an answer. "Come on, Theo, don't want to tell me?"
"How's life going for you?" Theodore asked, with an unusually serious tone.
"Good as usual, besides all the little annoyances today I told you about. What got you so serious?"
"I was thinking about... You know when we were both stuck together at that old woman's funeral?"
"That one where you ripped your pants trying to impress that blonde?"
"Yeah, yeah that one..."A faint smile rose on Theo's lips. "You remember what my grandma said to the both of us afterwards right? The thing about making sure you do something in life?"
"Worried about that?"
"A little."
George clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and opened the door to the houses' interior. He yelled intelligibly for something.
"You gotta stop worrying about crap like that. We're both real men with careers and real accomplishments. You were always the stuck-up kid of the town, at least loosen up a bit in your old age." George said, as he grabbed two beers his wife delivered wordlessly, and handed one to Theo. "A toast to two great friends." and the sound of bottles clinking together ended George's speech.
George would end up almost choking on his first gulp of the drink, and they would both end up laughing about it till the moment Theodore had to go home.
Afterwards, as night approached, George went to bed early, covering himself in blue sheets, trying to stave off the autumn cold. He was at a chaste distance from his wife, back turned.
"Dont hog all the blankets tonight." His wife spoke in a monotone.
"Whatever you say." George grumbled, as they both began falling asleep.
Three hours later George would die in his sleep. The autopsy would conclude that it was a result of his pre-existing life habits, aggravated by recent stressors. His body would be discovered in the morning by his wife, Annabelle. Three days later he would be buried, his funeral attended by a small number of acquaintances and family, including both children.