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The car shuddered to a stop on the parking lot gravel. Jack allowed every step in shutting off his car to take as long as his tired hands wanted. When all that was left to do was open the door, he slumped down, mind empty and his eyes stared at nothing in particular.
His freshly pressed suit sat in the passenger seat and waited to hang over his arm like all of Jack’s co workers did, then placed on the back of his office chair to be forgotten until it was time to clock out, at which point he would chuck it back in the car, then iron it that night for the next day.
His office building opened at the crack of dawn, likely as a punishment to the employees for some sin committed in a past life, though realistically it was for the cleaners. So Jack dragged himself through the electric doors in the dimness of the morning. Every door he passed through opened and closed without him having to raise his hands.
He waved to exactly seven people, said the same amount of “Hello”s and “Good Morning”s, before he approached his office. Sandra almost missed his greeting because of her book, but she noticed and gave a meek wave back right before he turned away. Just like the morning before. And the week before. And the month before.
Jack scanned his brief on his computer screen and wordlessly got right to work. Light started to peep through the gaps in his window blinds as the day woke up around him. He tilted the screen to avoid the glare.
He ate lunch at 12:30, chicken and feta salad. He got the necessary reports on his manager’s desk by 5. He was out the door by 8:30.
Rain water dampened his loafers when he stepped outside. The sky was overcast as he started his car. His copper coloured jacket was a crumpled heap next to him. It never once touched his shoulders.
Jack picked something up for dinner and drove back to his apartment as the wipers worked diligently to clear his window. He tried to call the living space “home” for the first year after he moved in, but the word tasted acrid, and he eventually couldn’t tolerate the taste.
Not that it was a bad apartment, it was nice. Very nice. Straight out of a catalogue and bigger than he needed, with empty rooms and a gorgeous kitchen. He didn’t even glance at it, and made a beeline to the couch.
He kicked off his shoes, threw his tie on a chair and sat with a disposable fork to start on his pasta.
The sofa was a chic grey. Petite sized. He wanted a red one, big enough for all of the hypothetical guests he could have over, but just the sight of the displays caused a tightness in his chest.
The news flickered to life on the big screen tv, it erupted into a soundscape of protests, weather reports and commercials. Not that he was really paying attention, it was just nice to have sound.
Jack used to like the routine. His early adult years were so chaotic and unsure, and in the confusing aftermath of leaving Philadelphia, he hoped that it would create some much needed stability. Maybe even keep his mind off of his longing and desperate thoughts. But the years hung heavy overhead as he ate, the tv screen the only source of light.
At least work kept him busy, too busy to think. At least the debate on the screen flooded his mind and punched out all of the harrowing thoughts that threatened to break the dam, especially since he was too tired to open the beer fridge.
“-nator Graham and Mayor of St.Upid Town, Eric Matthews are here to-“
Jack’s head snapped up to the recap almost painfully, and his eyes focussed solely on the figures in front of him. He must have heard it wrong.
But the name ran unmistakingly along the bottom of the screen, and an achingly familiar face smiled to the camera.
Jack’s heart was beating against his ribs like it was trying to reach out to Eric, though he didn’t realise that he was leaning forward until he almost dropped his dinner.
Eric’s hair was shorter, his shoulders had broadened and smile lines were imprinted in his skin, but he was there. He eyes shone like he hadn’t aged at all.
It was a recap of the debate to be senator of New York. Jack didn’t think his eyes could bug out anymore. He wracked his brain for some information because when did Eric get into politics? When did he become a mayor? When did he go to New York? His mind raced a mile a minute to keep up.
Senator Graham cruelly questioned his opponent’s character, eliciting an indignant response in Jack he hadn’t felt in years. Then Tommy spoke up. Tommy, who was an adult, because of course he would be, it had been over a decade. Over a decade.
As Eric and Tommy tearfully hugged, Jack was punched in the face with how much time had truly passed.
They weren’t in college anymore, and he was suddenly having to grapple with the fact that he had aged fifteen years without noticing. Fifteen years since he saw his best friend in person.
Jack was brought back to the present by the announcement that Eric had won the election. As of that day, Eric was the fucking senator of New York. A photo of said man as broadcasted with a celebratory smile. It was like seeing the sunrise for the first time in years.
The next morning was so loud. With barely any sleep, the cars and conversations that bubbled up along the street were deafening to Jack. He had gotten used to blocking it all out and letting it all fade into white noise.
He forgot a suit jacket, just his button down between him and the world. When he stepped out onto the still wet ground, he looked up.
There was a faint glow that lined the edges of the building, the ghost of shadows peeked out from beneath it.
Jack found himself saying, “How are you?” More than usual. He stopped by Sandra’s reception desk and asked about her book. Though surprised, she gave him a brief summary of ‘The Song of Achilles’. He promised to check it out.
Jack froze in his office doorway and turned his head side to side. The walls were depressingly bare, except for a few posters and post-it notes. No photos. He opened the blinds with trembling hands. Muted yellow, orange and purple graced the window sill tentatively, like it was asking permission.
The previous night was fitful and conflicting for Jack, with multiple versions of “Should I call him? Should I not? Does he remember me? Will he forgive me?” played on repeat in his mind in an uncomfortably familiar pattern. He forced those thoughts out with apathy years before. Something less painful.
He scanned his eyes over the brief for a few seconds before he realised that he hadn’t actually read any of it. Jack stopped, breathed in and out, in and out, then scrolled back to the top.
He read it all carefully, felt confused at the purpose of most of the tasks for the first time in a while, when a request popped up in the corner of the screen.
“Hey Jack, the New York senator has just been sworn in, and we need to get in his good books to secure his allyship. He’s an airhead so that shouldn’t be hard. Can you ship out and talk him up? Respond ASAP if you’re available.”
Jack’s breathe stopped.