Mid-Life Crisis

"Is forty middle-aged?" That was the question on Alfred's mind this morning. Al had just left his split-level house in the suburbs and the little breakfast celebration of his 40th birthday by his wife, Ellen, and 12-year-old twins, MaryJo and Betty.

It was 7:35 AM and Alfred Spagone was cruising along Palisades Highway in his two-year-old Prius, heading for work. Traffic was still reasonable and he thought back to the way the morning had started.

It felt like he'd awakened in some 1950's television show like "Father Knows Best" or "Leave it to Beaver." He'd gotten out of the shower and started drying off when he noticed the scent of freshly brewing coffee and when he'd made it to the kitchen, dressed in his suit and tie, ready for his day, he'd found a place set for him at the kitchen table with hot blueberry pancakes, "real" warm, maple syrup, and orange juice.

There was a birthday card propped up near his plate that had a picture of a basset hound wearing a fedora and necktie. The front read "Happy Birthday, You Old Dog!" on the inside it said, "40 is only 5 1/2 in dog years!" His wife and daughters had signed it with exaggerated heart symbols and their names.

On any other morning, he would make toast and jam and mix instant coffee, directly in his commuter mug and be out the door before anyone else began stirring in the house. So he appreciated that they'd taken the trouble to change their schedules for him. He really did appreciate it. It seemed that everyone was in their own worlds these days and spent less and less time together as a family. He'd heard this same complaint from friends and movies and books, but it was different when you felt your own family slipping away. Oh well, it just made times like this morning more precious.

"I want you to know this was the girls' idea. They got things ready last night and when you got in the shower, they got to work on the pancakes," his wife had said smiling at him and nodding to each of the girls.

"Wow! I'm absolutely shocked. You guys really did a nice job. Thank you all for making me a wonderful birthday breakfast." He raised his arms above his head and as if waving to a crowd. "I feel like a king," he said and he meant it. This was special.

Ellen smiled at the fuss he made over the breakfast and pointedly looked at each of the girls, giving each of them a wink. The girls, dressed in sweatpants and long-sleeve sleep shirts, both grinned broadly.

"Eat, Dad. You don't want the pancakes to get cold," MaryJo, the "older" of the twins, said pointing to his plate.

"Yeah. We used real blueberries," Betty said. She was sitting at the breakfast bar on a stool, smiling at him, elbows on the counter, her cheeks cradled in her hands. Al could never look at her without seeing a flash of the three-year-old Betty who had appeared quiet and happy, no matter where she was. It was good to see her smiling again.

Betty had talked her mother into helping her change her hair color. It took a little time and way too much money, in Al's opinion, but now Betty had green hair. She had tried for blue, but after two bleachings, it was clear that her hair was never going to be any lighter than a honey blond without creating serious damage. Al had tried to talk her into stopping at the blond stage, he thought it looked good, but Betty was adamant about going ahead with the blue dye job, Like Ellen said, it would grow out.

The "greening" of Betty had been a week ago and he was glad to see that she was finally cheering up a bit now. The first few days she had been pretty depressed about her new look. Honestly, Al wasn't in favor of any of it, but he failed to see the material difference between blue and green hair when it came to self-esteem. He was at least wise enough to keep his real opinions to himself when it came to anything to do with teenage girls.

Ellen sat next to him at the table with her own cup of coffee flavored with one of a dozen or so exotic additives that she favored. Al preferred his coffee black and strong and freshly ground if he had a choice and the time.

Coffee was just one of the items that they agreed to disagree about. There were a lot of others. But, as far as Al could discern, marriage was a long series of negotiations and compromises, and as long as both parties were equally unhappy or satisfied, the union stood a chance of survival. Inequality or advantage of one party over the other usually signaled imminent trouble. At least that had been Al's working hypothesis over the past few years. His understanding of relationships changed at the same rate as his hairline.

"So do you feel older?" Ellen said to him, smiling. She was two years younger than he was and never let him forget it.

"Every day, Honey. Every day," he said while chewing some of the pancake-syrup mixture.

"Aren't you going to have any of these, Ellen? They're very good. Our girls can really cook." He smiled at his wife and raised a fork with another bite high above his plate in salute to the cooks.

"No thanks. I'm going to be having my whey-fruit smoothie after I finish this coffee," she said with a look of slight discomfort on her face.

"Yum. Sorry I won't be here for that," checking his wristwatch, "which reminds me. I better get going."

He swallowed what was in his mouth with a swig of orange juice as he stood up.

"Thank you all so much for this wonderful breakfast. I really do appreciate it and love you all, so very much. I'm very lucky and I know it. But, I've got to go make the doughnuts. As they say." He looked around at all of them as he said this and noted the rolling eyes and groans at his final pronouncement. He thought to himself, "My job as the corny dad here is done for now."

He'd then grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door to the garage.

Just before the door closed behind him, he heard Ellen say, "Enjoy middle age!" and he'd cringed on the inside.

That had been the way his day'd started. Overall, a great beginning to what would be an interesting day, he thought.

He changed lanes to the right to get into the exit lane for Ustead Boulevard and beat the light at the bottom of the off-ramp. The day was looking up.

Another 12 minutes and he was pulling into a parking structure a couple blocks from his office building. He usually parked a little closer to his work, but today he was doing things a little differently.

Ordinarily, he would be walking into his office about now but today he turned off the car, sat behind the wheel for a moment thinking and then pulled out his cell phone and dialed his office. It rang briefly.

"O'Neill and Bumpstead. This is Cathy. May I help you," the receptionist, a 20-something college student with the summer off, said.

"Cathy. This is Al Spagone. How are you today?" He said brightly.

"Hi, Al. I'm fine. Did your car break down or something. You're usually walking in right now."

"No. Nothing like that. It's my Birthday, I'm 103 years old today." He looked out the passenger window as a car, a black four-door Hyundai Sonata with three occupants pulled into the parking space next to his.

"Congratulations! You've aged well. Is it really your birthday?" Cathy asked.

"Sure is! Listen, let Larry know I'm not coming in today. You can tell him any reason you want, including the truth, if you think he could handle it. OK?" The driver of the Hyundai, a man in his early 30's with a baseball cap and a short beard held up an index finger to Al from behind his closed window and lifted a cell phone to his ear.

"Will do. You have a good day and don't celebrate too much and we'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"Thanks, Cathy. You're a peach," and he punched the red 'x' on the phone's face and put it on airplane mode.

Alfred reached down and pulled the trunk release, got out and looked around. Theirs were the only two cars on the level. He could see that the closed circuit camera near the stairwell had been turned slightly and covered with a lightly frosted plastic bag sometime before so that details from its picture would be obscured.

He heard the doors of the Hyundai open as he walked to the back of his car. He removed his suit coat and put it into the back of the Prius while pulling out and donning a thin, dark-blue ballistic vest and the dark blue windbreaker with a gold insignia on the breast and large letters on the back that read "FBI." He completed the look by adding sunglasses and a dark-blue baseball cap with a yellow badge insignia on the front.

The three men from the Hyundai were standing by its open trunk finishing their own costume change to achieve the same look.

"Are you ready to do this?" Al asked as he approached the men and began shaking hands.

"They'll never know what hit them," the Hyundai's driver said and handed Alfred a 9-mm Beretta handgun and a Remington 12 gauge pump shotgun in matte black.

"Let's go make some doughnuts," Al said, and as they all climbed into the Sonata he thought to himself, "I don't feel middle aged."



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