Chapter Text
John Egbert stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, 2020, is this young man’s birthday. In fact, this might be the last year he can be called a “young man,” as a quarter century of life looms in the year ahead. But for now he was newly minted 24, and still standing rather aimlessly in his room, doing his best to shove down a deep feeling of unease crawling up his back.
He justifies this to himself by saying he’s waiting. For a phone call. A text message. An IM. Something. Someone, somewhere, must remember it’s his birthday.
No, that’s not the path to go down! Of course someone remembers his birthday! His dad usually wakes him up with a birthday call on the years he’s unable to visit, but now it’s after noon and John hadn’t heard anything yet. But he’s probably just busy at work. Or maybe he didn’t have one last year before he was too old for such things.
John would call him later.
And his friends, well… It’s not that they were bad friends, but more that they weren’t close friends. Really they were mostly coworkers and that lady at the barista he frequents who seems to earnestly enjoy talking to him. He’s not sure how many of them actually know his birthday. Maybe they’ll say something next time they see him. Maybe it’s his fault for taking his birthday off of work. It’s not like he had any big plans for it.
John stares out the window, but as usual can’t see much, mostly just grass and sky, unless a squirrel or bird wanders past. Renting out someone’s basement wasn’t the most glamorous, but he still preferred it to an apartment and he had his own entrance, so he hardly ever sees the owners anyway.
He always liked the suburbs. Being surrounded by people while still maintaining a separation most apartments couldn’t offer. He remembers the noise leaking through the walls and ceilings and floors when he lived in a dorm. He still had upstairs neighbors here, technically, but they were an old couple and didn’t make much noise, especially after dark, so it was close enough.
He didn’t hear anything from them now, either.
It’s still outside.
John feels that icy dread creeping up his spine and shudders.
He collapses back onto his futon, reaching one arm blindly underneath, groping for his laptop he’s eventually able to pull out carefully by its cord then lift it more properly into his lap. He opens it and is greeted with birthday wishes from his computer, regrettably the first he’s gotten today, as he types in his pin and starts scrolling through his messaging apps, making sure his phone didn’t miss any notifications.
None.
Not any notifications, actually. Not in any channel or forum or group chat. Okay, well, that wasn’t entirely true. Some of the servers and websites were set up to send him messages on his birthday or anniversary of being in the community, so he had a few of those.
Was that weird? Or was he just hyper-sensitive to the lack of messages because he was expecting them today?
There’s not even a lot new in any of his RSS feeds. Just some comics updating. No new leaks in his anime or gaming alerts. He doesn’t feel up to reading the comics right now, so he huffs as he closes the laptop and shoves it back under the futon.
John looks around the apartment, as though expecting something to jump out and entertain him. When nothing does, he drags himself off the futon and over to his TV, grabbing one of his movies at random and sticking it in the DVD player. He rests his head on the TV, pressing his forehead into the bezel as the thing whirls to life. He gropes around the TV to find the right buttons to turn it on and to the correct input without moving, until its speakers blare to life with the DVD menu’s music. He returns to the futon, one hand quickly grabbing the remote to turn the volume down before his landlords complain, the other rubbing the weird dent in his forehead from the tv almost obsessively.
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Not the best Cage vehicle out there, but it had its charm. And nostalgia played no small part in his continued enjoyment of it.
John tried to pay attention. He really did. But his attention kept being dragged to his phone. Usually it was because notifications were going off, and if he was really into a movie, he’d silence it and flip it over. This time, he kept staring at the black screen, as though he could will a text to existence with his mind.
Nothing happens, of course.
Still, John finds himself grabbing it, double checking he didn’t miss any messages or phone calls while his back was turned. But of course all he got was an email with a birthday coupon from that cafe he frequented. He wants to delete it out of spite, but he does go there a lot, and it’s dumb to turn down free money (or the ability to spend less of it), so he almost begrudgingly favorites it for later.
He spends most of the movie staring at his phone. Unlocking it and opening apps in case notifications failed to send. Scrolling through social media, which was mostly stuff he’d seen yesterday. Checking his voicemail in case his phone was rejecting calls for some reason. Each time he came up empty handed, his ability to make excuses for everyone lessened and turned into frustration until he started chewing the inside of his lip in anger.
John didn’t like feeling angry.
He needs a change of pace.
He doesn’t bother pausing the movie or turning the TV off as he grabs his keys and wallet, slips on his shoes, and heads out the door. He almost immediately regrets not grabbing a jacket, the wind biting a little too cold for his liking, but he convinces himself the chill air will be refreshing, just the change he needs, and doesn’t turn back.
None of his neighbors are out and about, but it is 2pm on a Monday, so most of them are at work or school. At least it means he gets to do a bit more jaywalking than usual on his way to the cafe. Usually he’d ride his bike, but today he feels like taking his time. He only regrets walking a little as his breathing starts to wheeze as he nears the bakery. He didn’t think to grab his inhaler, like the genius he is, so he collapses on a bench a few blocks from his destination and goes through his breathing techniques until it doesn’t feel like he’s breathing through cotton. At least no one was around to see it.
John takes one more deep breath, then stands from the bench and finishes his walk, stomach rumbling as he thinks of the different pastries he might decide to finally try today. He usually goes with the same apple fritter, afraid of wasting money on something he doesn’t like, but it’s his birthday, and he has a coupon, so maybe this time he’ll finally try baklava. Or an almond macaron. Or maybe both!
He goes to open the door, and is shocked out of his daydreaming by it, well, not opening. He jerks at the handle again, and only then thinks to take a step back and look at the entrance. All of the lights are off, so it’s definitely closed, but the hours say they should still be open until 4, and there’s no sign explaining any emergency closure.
John stares blankly at the shop front, then presses his face into the glass, his glasses clacking against it and pressing awkwardly into his nose. He’s not sure what he’s hoping to see. A sign of a struggle from a robbery? An employee who decided to close early but maybe can be convinced to open back up for a special birthday boy? An empty room, like they closed up shop and gutted it over the weekend? But, no. It was just a normal, closed cafe, with nothing out of place.
John steps back, gnawing at his lip as he tries to clean his face print off the glass with his sleeve (rather unsuccessfully). His hand starts to move to his ever-silent phone, but he resists checking it, and rubs at his eyes under his glasses instead.
Okay, well, this sucks, no doubt about it. But there are other shops and cafes and restaurants and maybe if he shows his ID, he’ll get some discount even without a coupon handy on his phone. This sudden excursion won’t go to waste.
John looks around the street, hoping something will jump out as the perfect place to go. But nothing does. In fact, nothing seems open.
That can’t be right.
The trepidation that had been slowly taking over his nervous system feels like it’s reaching its peak.
He closes his eyes and goes through his breathing exercises again, but he can still hear his heart beat in his ears.
John goes to the business next door, one of those predatory payday loan companies that pollute the otherwise pleasant downtown. He can see the lights are off before he gets to the door, but he tries it anyway.
Locked.
He tries the next business, a thrift store run by an old woman whom John often sees stop by his house to chat with its owners.
Locked.
He crosses the street, as though this phenomenon is localized to one side.
The tattoo parlor is locked.
He runs a few blocks down.
The taco shop is locked.
The lights change automatically, and John finds himself waiting for the white walking man to come back before he crosses the road this time, as though he can force the area back into normalcy.
The bar is open!
The lights are on. There are a few cars parked outside. Music is still playing. John has never felt so relieved to hear decade old alt rock as he rushes in the building. He looks around expectantly, ready to hug the first person he sees, but…
There’s no one.
“Hello?”
His voice is hesitant and doesn’t carry far.
He swallows hard and tries again.
“Anyone here?”
He’s yelled at the characters in horror movies saying something as cliche as that, but in this moment, he relates to them. He understands that desperate longing for someone to tell him this has all been a bad joke or a big misunderstanding.
No one answers, so he walks around, hoping to stumble on some sign of life.
There are drinks on tables and the bar, some full, some partially drunk, all flat, a dead gnat or two even floating in a few. John wrinkles his nose at it, letting the disgust take precedence over the understanding that this bar didn’t open today, it just never closed last night.
Still, he looks in the bathroom, calling into the women’s before heading in, but there’s no one there to scold him to leave.
Just as there’s no one in the kitchen to tell him this is an employee only area. It looks like there was a fire though, which is more than he’s seen so far. Some burgers on the grill are burnt and covered in white gunk dripping down the front of the counter. From his brief stint as a burger flipper at McDonalds, he knows this is from the automatic fire suppressant overhead. Someone was here and cooking, but left without turning anything off.
John heads back into the bar and lays down in one of the booths. He squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. He then pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and only then opens his eyes to see the screen, still free of notifications. He opens his contacts. His dad sits alone at the top. His heart stutters and pounds and he chews on his lip as he slowly pushes himself to tap on his name and press call, putting it on speakerphone and just watching the seconds tick by as it rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Until it eventually, inevitably, goes to voicemail.
John’s not sure he’s ever heard his dad’s voicemail message. He’s always picked up.
“You’ve reached Jacob Egbert. Sorry to have missed your call. Please leave your name and number and I will call you back as soon as possible.”
It’s depressingly generic – almost as disappointing as when John realized his dad wasn’t some master prankster he pretended to be when John was a kid. Not that he should have expected anything else. What was he hoping for? A voicemail tailored specifically for him? A final “I love you, son”?
Final.
He doesn’t know what’s going on, but the feeling that had been consuming him all day tells him it’s true.
John puts his phone and glasses on the table, curls into the booth as best he can, and cries.