Facing Forty

By Patrick Triplett

Jeff Baxter is a successful businessman married to a loving wife Linda, who along with his sister Patty and mother Gloria plan a surprise 40th birthday party for him at his favorite restaurant surrounded by his best friends. The problem is that Jeff doesn't want to turn 40, and experiences a sudden panic attack that leaves both his family and friends worried and puzzled.
Jeff tries to shrug it off as nothing more than being overwhelmed by his surprise party, but it soon escalates into a full-blown mid-life crisis, as Jeff begins to change his views, values and lifestyle.
Sitting down at his desk one day, Jeff composes a list of things he has always wanted to accomplish but lacked the motivation to follow through on. Now, having turned 40, Jeff feels a sudden need to pursue his long-term goals, resulting in some bizarre and even dangerous exploits.
Facing Forty follows Jeff's journey through a series of adventures from haunted houses, Marathon races, skydiving, to saving someone's life, and forever changing his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503552234

Patrick Triplett

Patrick Triplett has lived his entire life in Iowa. Born in Clinton, he moved to Bettendorf, then Davenport where he currently resides with his wife Mimi. Patrick attended Loras College in Dubuque and received a degree in Applied Sciences. He worked for 37 years as a software developer and is now retired. Patrick and Mimi have three sons and six grandchildren. Patrick has written hundreds of articles, columns and short stories over the years, many of which were published in The Quad City Times, QC Magazine, and Fifty-Plus Lifestyles. He also published his first book called Turning 60 – Prematurely several years ago. Facing Forty is Patrick’s second book and his first novel.

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Copyright © 2015 by Patrick Triplett.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/12/2015

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1

The black balloons hung from the ceiling like dark clouds preceding an impending storm. There was black everywhere I looked. I guess that’s traditional for a 40th birthday party. But it’s not a pleasant tradition. Not for someone who doesn’t want to turn 40.

So, how does it feel, old timer? my friend Walt asked me while slurping down the rest of his draft beer. One of many judging by his eyes and the slur in his voice.

It feels fine, better than 39, was the stock answer I gave everyone who asked. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

So, how does it feel turning 40? asked Doug.

It feels like nothing. Because it is nothing. It’s the point you reach where it’s too late to start anything new and too early to quit what you’re doing.

Jeff? said my wife Linda, overhearing me. What’s the matter? Aren’t you having a good time?

Of course I am, I said in my most convincing attempt to act sincere. Who wouldn’t be having a good time? A surprise 40th birthday party at my favorite restaurant with my best friends.

You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself, she said. Is something wrong?

I tried combining what I was feeling with what she wanted to hear.

Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that … Oh oh, that’s going to come back to haunt me.

Just that… what? Tell me.

Let’s open the presents, I said, finishing my third rum and coke and trying my best to avoid answering the question.

It’s time to open the gifts, yelled my sister Patty in a voice that could be heard well outside our rented room and into the farthest walls of the restaurant next door.

Patty was smashed. She loves a good party and makes the most of it. Some people find her obnoxious when she drinks too much. I find her kind of funny. Always have. My kid sister, five years younger than me in age and 20 years younger in behavior. She refuses to grow up. That’s one of the things I envy about her.

Gather round, people, she shouted. My brother is about to open his gifts.

The 20 or so guests who were invited to my party huddled over me like flies at a picnic, waiting for me to unwrap the obvious gag gifts meant to hurl well-meaning insults for nothing more than having lived on this earth for 40 years.

I unwrapped the first gift hoping for the sand wedge I had broken in a fit of rage for having left my shot in the trap. Instead it was a cane. A cane. Of course. That makes much more sense than a new sand wedge. I pretended to laugh along with everyone else.

You’re going to need it trying to climb out of those sand traps, yelled Tom, who was there that day I snapped my wedge in half.

I played to the crowd by pretending to limp while grabbing my cane. Everyone seemed to enjoy that one. Maybe the next gift will be something I won’t throw in the garbage as soon as I get home.

Nope, no such luck. A shawl. That’s going in the trash along with the cane.

What’s next? Let’s see. A book. I’ll bet it’s an over-the-hill book. Yep. I pretended to read it and laugh. That was until I got to the page showing a man in a wheelchair with a shawl wrapped around him. I looked over at my cake, trying to take my mind off that damned picture. The cake was chocolate, all chocolate, in the shape of a coffin. That’s when it happened.

The next thing I remember was looking up at Linda, Patty and my mom, Gloria. They were fanning me with opened gift-wrap paper and looking at me like I had died and come back to life.

Are you alright, sweetheart? That was my mom. She always calls me sweetheart or honey or some affectionate term normally reserved for a child.

What happened? I said, having no clue as to why everyone was standing over me.

You passed out, said Linda, looking worried.

Yeah, bro. What the hell? said Patty. You like fainted or something. And you haven’t even gotten to my gift yet.

I tried to stand up but Linda held me down.

Just take it easy for a minute. I’ll go get a glass of water.

Too many rum and cokes, Jeffer? said Walt. That was his nickname for me. Jeffer.

I guess so, I said, trying my best to come around and figure out what the hell happened.

My mom was in tears, which isn’t surprising. She thinks of me as her little boy. Even though I’m 80 - or 40. Or whatever the hell I am. I just know I’m old and I have the presents to prove it.

I finished opening the rest of the gifts, which were all worthless except for my mom’s. She got me a book called The Best 18 holes in Golf, which is something I will actually read. Patty got me an over-the hill survival kit, which included stuff like Geritol, cream of wheat, prune juice, a pair of bifocals and a bumper sticker which read, Caution, 40 year-old on board. That’s okay. I still love her.

We cut the cake, had some more drinks and called it a night. Linda drove home while I sat slumped in the passenger seat from one too many drinks and having passed out.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t get you anything, said Linda. I was going to surprise you after we got home but now I’m thinking I better wait after what happened.

You mean the fainting thing? I said, more interested in hearing about Linda’s present. It was nothing. I’m fine now. Really.

She looked over at me like a doctor examining a patient.

I don’t know. You were zonked out for nearly a minute. I was pretty worried.

"By the way, what was it you were going to tell me? she said. I knew she wouldn’t forget it. That’s something a guy forgets. But not a woman. I could have said it last month and she still would have remembered it.

It’s just that the whole night was overwhelming, that’s all, knowing that wasn’t going to work.

Overwhelming in a good way or bad? she countered back, not giving me a chance to think of what to say next.

It was strange, that’s all. I mean the surprise when we walked into that room and everyone yelling at once. And then having 20 people crowd around me while I opened the presents. It was just too much.

Your mom, Patty and I planned this for weeks. We figured you would enjoy it. I guess we figured wrong.

Shit. That’s game, set and match. There’s no way of climbing out of this hole.

"What was it, the black balloons? The shawl and cane? The over the hill book? The cake?

It was the picture of the guy in a wheelchair.

What? That’s silly. It was a joke. It wasn’t meant to be serious.

I know. It just made me realize that I’m not a young man anymore. That maybe I really am over the hill.

You’re 40, Jeff. I’m only two years behind you. Do you see me going around moping about how old I am? Tell you what. Let’s see how over the hill you are. You ready for your present tonight?

It’s not a walker or a seeing-eye dog, is it?

"You’ll see. I just hope you’re up for it."

Ten minutes after we got home Linda came downstairs in a sheer see-through blue nightie. Wow, 38 years old and looking like a Playboy centerfold. And I just thought of her as Vice President of Central Savings and Loan.

An hour later I was lying in a sweat on the edge of the bed, totally exhausted.

Happy birthday, Babe. I love you, she said, kissing me on the forehead and heading for the shower.

Love you too, I said, still trying to catch my breath. It was my favorite present of the night, hands down. Screw the sand wedge.

I went to sleep that night feeling like 20 and woke up the next morning feeling every bit of 40. I walked downstairs and fixed a pot of coffee while Linda slept. I found a half-stale bagel sitting on the kitchen counter and ate it while sifting through my old-timer gifts that hovered on the table like buzzards surrounding a wounded animal.

When I got to the page in the over-the-hill book showing the guy in the wheelchair I studied it for several minutes. The more I looked at his face the more it began to resemble me. That’s when I threw it in the trash can and headed into the den.

Logging on to my laptop, I browsed the internet until I found a site called Things To Do After 40. I started jotting down notes on a piece of paper. The first thing I wrote down was watch every Oscar-winning best picture. I went upstairs, showered, got dressed and headed for the video store down the street.

When I returned, Linda was sitting on the sofa in her bathrobe sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.

Why do you have 12 movies tucked under your arm?

I’m going to watch them, I said timidly, as if I should have asked her permission first.

You’re going to watch 12 movies? Like now?

It’s Saturday. I’m still worn out from last night. I was planning to sit in my recliner and watch every Oscar-winning best picture. Want to watch them with me?

I’m supposed to have lunch with Jean and Melanie. Maybe I could watch one.

Just then the phone rang. Linda picked it up. It was my mom. I could tell by the way Linda rolled her eyes.

Hi Gloria. Yes, he’s feeling much better. She put her hand over the phone and said to me, Should I tell her about the wild sex we had last night?

Please don’t, I said, knowing she was kidding but not willing to risk it.

I know, we were all a little worried there for a minute. But he seems fine now. I will tell him. Bye now.

Your mom wants you to see a doctor first thing Monday morning about your fainting spells, said Linda, trying to suppress a smile.

Spells? As in plural? I