The aroma from the automatic coffee brewer teased his eyes open. A brand new day was about to begin. A day that began as unremarkable as all the rest, but would soon become unforgettable. The same old concerns flooded his mind before he could announce his protesting yawn.
What bills are due today? Is my car well enough to carry me to work? Do I really have to go to work? I hate work. I hate mornings.
He looked at his wife before he rolled out of bed. Partially jealous that she could sleep in on that Monday morning. Partially excited that he had managed to place the ring on that miraculous vision. His knees cracked as he forced himself to stand. Pulling the blinds open he confirmed that dawn was refusing him the right to return to bed. With a grumble and a moan, he shuffled towards the kitchen to devour the alarm clock.
Without a drop of caffeine, he stopped short so as to examine his sleeping child. He saw his son every day, but he missed him terribly. Always working. Always busy. Together under the same roof, but consistently separated. He entered the room where the only illumination was the Scooby-Doo nightlight and the glow in the ceiling’s constellations that rained down endless possibilities to his son. Like always, he stroked his hair and whispered I love you, but this time he apologized, not knowing why. He dropped his shoulders and resumed his grumbling as he turned to answer the dark liquid’s call.
The kitchen was never the right temperature. Too hot in the summer. Too cold in the winter. It was the room that promised to remind him that he was not good enough. Some day he would buy that new house. The one that he and his family deserved. Someday he’d get out of debt, and never again have to worry about the electric bill. Someday. Someday. Someday. The blissful day that he dreamed about as he sipped on the bitter hot.
There was nothing yet to do but wait for the drug to go into action. Too sleep deprived. Still, too much of a zombie to answer the day’s familiar demands. So he sat there. Drinking his black coffee. Wondering if the TV remote was too far away, or if the peeling wallpaper was sufficient entertainment. Taking a deep breath, he exerted the energy he didn’t yet have to extend his body and reach. Seconds later the room’s quiet was replaced by the talking heads’ loud rumbling. The burning on his tongue and throat were almost enough to prevent him from hearing the news. The tender nursing had turned into a desperate gulp which produced a harsh pain still insufficient to overrule his ears.
With those words the kitchen vanished. The freezing room was no longer noticeable. He himself was gone. All that remained, was pure concentrated and unblemished terror.
He had started that day like every other. Doing the nine to five grind so as to keep his family alive. He had sacrificed himself and his dreams. True, he had married his dream wife. But aside from curling up next to her at night, he rarely got to spend time with her. He had big dreams. Plans that he intended to bring into fruition. An agenda that justified to him the decades of misery. But all of that was gone now. The utterance of those words changed it all. Changed everything. Even the need for caffeine. He was fueled by something that dwarfs all factory made stimulates. Powered by that thing that allows little ladies to lift tons to save their children. That thing that inspires men to bare knuckle bears so as to protect their family. That thing that civilization and the civilized have no comprehension of. That thing known as Panic. Not the panic from misplacing your cellphone or wallet. Not the panic from the police knocking at the doors. Not the trivial experiences that have been associated with that powerful word. No. This was the real Panic. The panic that makes you run even though your legs are melting, your sides are ripping, and your heart is about to explode. The panic that forces you to forget yourself because to the only concept, the only word, that has residence in your mind is ‘survival’. Survival of those that you took the personal oath to protect.
The coffee was gone. Spilling out from the shattered cup that was too fragile to withstand the four-foot plummet. The oral burning existed, but was unnoticeable. However, those words remained. They echoed around the room as if they were laying claim to their domain.
“The financial structure within the United States has collapsed”. The words too impossible to be true, but with the graphs, charts, and the announcement of martial law it couldn’t be false. The tipping point had finally been reached. Too many people had become aware. Enlightenment had caused the demise of this man’s familiar routine. The fiat currency was at last recognized for what it was, worthless. As if an act of economic warfare, the other nations had simultaneously demanded the delivery of the precious metals that were rightfully theirs. Amongst all of that and more, in a perfect storm, all of the fear around the trillions in derivatives became suddenly justified. The tsunami of economic realities made the 9-to-5 irrelevant. Made the price tags a numerical joke. Made the bullets the second most precious possession.
In his underwear he slammed his bare feet against the cold floor in a full out sprint to cross the dozen yards to reach those he swore to protect. Through the fluid motion he resembled the titans raking up the mountains as his aging body picked up his son as if he weighed nothing at all. His son, mimicking his father’s morning eyes, was asking what was happening as his dad was screaming at his mother to get ready to leave.
“Where are we going?” she finally demanded. “Where are we going?” as she forced on the clothes atop of her still clumsy body.
With those new words he laid his son down on the bed, and continued on his downward journey to the floor. That question had mutated the panic, sent him spiraling towards a different emotional avenue. The place where much of the country now existed, the place of overwhelm, confusion. The place of Shock. With his head in his hands he couldn’t resist. He could feel their eyes upon him. Looking to him for guidance and protection. But all he could do was that one thing. That one thing that made him feel that he wasn’t a man.
The goals for promotions. The ability to have a new car in the garage. All those things that five minutes ago defined masculinity had perfectly vanished into the ether. All he could was cry. The world was coming to an end. Action must be taken. All he could was cry. His son reached down to hug his father. His wife turned to the television to gain a better understanding. They needed him. They needed him. But all he could was cry. It was all too big. He didn’t know what to do. The system upon which he depended had betrayed him. In his mind there was impenetrable darkness on one side and a wall against the other. They needed him. But he couldn’t stop the tears from shackling him to the floor.
That morning had begun like every other. The only certainty he had left was that the next time he awoke the world would be radically different.