The afternoon sun shone on the white paint of the attractive homes that lined the quiet street. Luxuriant grass, recently cut, filled the air with its sweet scent, and the rustling leaves of the centenarian trees cast colorful blooms of lovingly tended gardens in delicate shadow. A few puffy clouds, prodded by the gentle breeze, passed lazily overhead. Elsewhere, beach goers reveled in warm sand and cool water, free from the cares of the world. It was a perfect day.
And Chuck Bartowski was stuck in freeway traffic on his way to his sixth service call of the day.
He moaned as the queue of vehicles inched forward, then stalled. If traffic didn't pick up soon, he was going to be late. Big Mike didn't like it when he was late.
Maybe he could find a different route around traffic. He peered through the windshield at the exit ramp a half mile away, and knew there was no way he was going to make his call. Big Mike was not going to be happy.
He scowled and slumped in his seat. He was being suffocated by the demands of the people around him. Big Mike demanded this, people who couldn't find the "any key" demanded that, the CIA demanded, demanded, demanded.
It wasn't fair. After his best friend betrayed him, and he was forced to work at the Buy More, and it looked like things couldn't get worse, Fate had kicked him in the shin once more. He had never asked for this. He had been just an ordinary guy struggling to get by. Now he was caught in a war. No one cared about Chuck Bartowski the computer geek, only Chuck Bartowski the Intersect. His best friend had used him, the government was using him, and the less said about Big Mike, the better.
He was tired, and he wanted out. He wanted to be plain old Chuck Bartowski again, free to go where he liked without worrying he might be jumped by enemy agents, free to have a decent career, free to have a girlfriend and a normal life. But until the CIA found a way to remove the Intersect from his brain, he was trapped. His life was like this traffic jam … he could see the way out, but he couldn't reach it.
Traffic hadn't moved in almost ten minutes. He was going to have to cancel his service call. Chuck scanned the radio channels for a news report on the traffic jam.
"… I can't begin to know what you're going through
and I won't deny the pain that you're feeling
but I'm gonna try and give a little hope to you …"
He paused on the channel when he heard those words.
"You got your disappointments and sorrows.
You ought to share the weight of that load with me,
Then you will find that the light of tomorrow.
Well, it brings new life for your eyes to see."
Chuck was amazed at what he was hearing. The singer seemed to know exactly what he was going through.
"There's a light at the end of this tunnel,
There's a light at the end of this tunnel for you …
For you, yeah …
There's a light at the end of this tunnel,
Shining bright at the end of this tunnel for you …
For you … so keep holding on.
Keep holding on!
"You got your disappointments and sorrows,
But I'm gonna try and give a little hope to you …"
Wow! Chuck felt as though the song had been especially written for him. Funny how that works. As the song faded, he felt that maybe there was something else after all, waiting for the right moment to be revealed to him.
He gazed out his window, past the stream of cars with their irate passengers, past the smog-choked city, and beyond. The fresh green leaves of the trees fluttered in the breeze; soft clouds seemed to float effortlessly in the bright blue sky. He still worked at Buy More, and Big Mike would still be waiting for him when he returned to the store, and he still had the Intersect in his brain, but all that didn't seem to matter as much as it had. That one special lyric echoed in his mind …
"So keep holding on …"
Chuck Bartowski, aka Charles Carmichael, smiled.
I will.