The Many Trents at Forty

by Caesar Augustus Plutarch

In response to a PPMB challenge that asked what would Trent be doing in the present as he would be turning forty. Six possible futures.

The Many Trents at Forty

Prologue

A sunny, breezy spring day in late May found Trent chauffeuring his sister Jane and her friend Daria to the campus of Smallwood Community College. Named for the Revolutionary War general and fourth governor of Maryland, William Smallwood, it elicited an endless number of juvenile jokes a matter not helped by their athletic teams being called the Woodpeckers but it served its purpose well and had the advantage of being the nearest community college to Lawndale.

"I don't know why if you're going to Boston Fine Arts College in January you're going to take classes here," Trent drawled as he found a parking spot.

"Not showing up a semester behind is appealing for one thing," Jane answered as she exited. "Plus it'll keep me in rhythm. This year was easier for me because I more or less went to summer school. When classes began I didn't have come out of hibernation as I usually did."

"Lot to be said for hibernation," Trent joked.

"Your dream of dreams," Jane joked back.

"You might want to take a look at what they offer here, Trent," Daria suggested as she joined the siblings walking toward the administration building.

Trent chuckled. "I'm done with school. Keeping my eyes on the prize, you know."

"How's that working out for you?" Jane archly asked.

Trent did not reply to her. Instead he turned to Daria. "You're going to some elite university. Why are you here?"

"To make sure I actually sign up for classes," Jane lightly said.

"Now that I've got you into the yoke, I'm going to keep you plowing ahead," Daria quipped. "But I'm enrolling here myself. If I can knock out a semester of requirements before I get to Raft, I'm a semester closer to graduating, a semester closer to grad school, a semester closer to getting on with my life."

"I've been getting on with my life for five years without school," Trent replied.

Jane put a hand gently on his chest stopping him.

"Trent," she began seriously. "You haven't been getting on with your life. You've been in a holding pattern. I'll be leaving after Christmas. I'm don't want to be kept up at night with visions of you molding in an empty house. Please, just take a look. I'm not asking you to get a PhD. Just something to help move you forward."

The naked worry in her eyes caught him off guard. Yes, he was a slacker. He knew it, embraced it even, but Jane never expressed any concern before.

He shrugged. "I'll see if anything grabs me."

"They offer music classes," Jane laughed punching her brother lightly in the arm. "Nothing can top the magic of 'Icebox Woman' but who knows what you could come up with if you learned a little something."

"They also have technical programs," Daria added suspecting that even Julliard could not make a competent singer or songwriter out of him let alone Smallwood CC.

Scenario 1

Jesse staggered from the bathroom rubbing his eyes. Wearing only black jeans and flip flops anyone could see that the once hard body softened but was not flabby. His still shoulder length moved from the dark brown of his youth into a decidedly salt and pepper look.

"Where are we now?" he asked.

"Pensacola," Trent replied while fiddling with a laptop.

"Florida, cool," said Jesse glancing around the motel room. "They outta put something on the walls, y'know, to let you know. Seems like we keep touring but end up in the same room every night. Like it follows us or something."

Trent smiled. "Most people know where they are when they check in."

"Most people don't live out of bus," returned Jesse. "This place one of those free breakfast ones?"

"Yeah," Trent replied. "But you better hurry. Its pretty late."

"That's the time to show up," he laughed heading for the door. "They rather you scarf it all down than throw the food out. Oh, before I forget, Happy Birthday, man."

"Thanks."

"God, forty," Jesse said. "Are we really that old?"

"Yep," Trent replied tossing his friend a tee shirt.

"Yeah, they kinda want you dressed," he said pulling the shirt on. "Beach close by? Got time for a swim if it is?"

"Beach is three blocks that way," Trent responded pointing. "We don't go on for another five and a half hours but we need to be there an hour before that so yeah you got time if you make it quick."

"Always time for a quickie," replied Jesse ambling out into the hallway.

Trent chuckled lightly as he sat down before his laptop. The decades may roll by but Jesse did not change. He on the other hand.

"Hey, Babe," he said when his wife's image appeared on the screen. Her long auburn hair flowing down to the green Lawndale University sweatshirt that she was wearing.

"Happy birthday," she said merrily. "Officially inducted into the order of ancients."

"Well," he drawled. "If sixty is the new forty then forty must be the new twenty."

"My mirror says otherwise," she replied.

"You're more beautiful then ever, Cherry," Trent said meaning every word.

"That's my silver tongued rascal," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

A look of concern crossed Cherry's face. "Tired as you didn't sleep well last night or tired as in I should make an appointment to see a doctor when you're back home in three weeks."

Trent shook his head. "I got enough sleep last night and my health is okay. Watching my diet like you want. Got in a forty-five minute jog this morning followed by a few laps in the hotel pool."

"That's good," she said. "Just don't wear yourself out before you go on. So tired as in what."

"I'm just so tired of living out of a suitcase," Trent sighed.

Cherry folded her hands under her chin. "I see," she said slowly. "Honey, if you want to quit touring I'm all for that. I'd love to have you home and you are missing so much of what's going on with the boys lives. Chet has started kindergarten and Clark is not far behind."

"On the other hand, you're a musician. You love what you do and you're good at it. Your still decent album sales attest to that. You're not a one hit wonder or a never made out of the garage."

Trent nodded. He did love what he did and he was good at it now. The smartest thing I ever did other than marrying Cherry he thought was listening to Janie and taking a couple of classes that long ago summer.

He quickly saw what he was doing wrong when it came to songwriting. One thing lead to another and he earned a degree in music from Lawndale State in three years. Writing new songs and reworking much of their older material success followed. Within two years of that Mystic Spiral signed with a major label.

"Yeah, Spiral is a six hit wonder," Trent replied. "But the last one was nearly eight years ago. We're becoming an oldies act. Club gigs are getting harder to book and we hit the stage earlier and earlier at the festivals. Signs of waning popularity."

"So what do you want to do?" Cherry asked.

"I've been thinking about quitting the road and just concentrating on songwriting," he answered.

To his delighted surprise, Trent found that he could write solid songs in many different genres. Over the last fifteen years his compositions hit the charts for pop, country, adult contemporary as well as rock. A top five song he wrote for a boy band is what first brought Mystic Spiral to their eventual label's attention. A fact that the rest of the band appreciated even though they kidded him about it ever after.

Cherry leaned off screen momentarily before reappearing. "On that subject," she said holding up a piece of paper. "Latest royalty check. Serious ducats, honey. If you don't want to be on the road any more then don't. You are and will stay a successful composer."

Trent sighed. "The hard part will be telling Jesse."

"He'll understand and continue on," Cherry said confidently. "Nick quit four years ago, Max three but Spiral continued. It'll go on without you also."

"Yeah," Trent acknowledged. Most of the bands that they shared a stage with at the festivals had few of their original members. Often just one with the older groups yet as Cherry said the bands went on. Jesse would soldier on also. He loved the road. In a perfect world he would play one last note walk off stage and drop dead when he's ninety with the cheers of fans still ringing in his ears. Still the two of them have been together for almost thirty years. He was his best friend. He hated the thought of disappointing him even though he knew Jesse would understand.

"So, looking at your schedule, I'm seeing bookings through November," she mused.

"Yeah, the last one's at Doxie's in Nashville," Trent said.

"Have you thought about us relocating to Nashville?" asked Cherry. "As a songwriter that's where the action is."

Trent paused for a moment thinking. Nashville was a town he liked. Cherry liked there also he knew otherwise she would not have brought it up and she was right. A songwriter could live anywhere but living in Los Angeles, New York, or Nashville facilitated sales.

"Check out some listings on the internet," Trent replied. "We can drive down when I'm home next. See if its for us or not."

Tears formed in Cherry's eyes. "You're really gonna do this?"

He never said a word to anyone but he dwelt on the thought for more than a year. Now that he made the decision he was at peace with it. He loved playing in front of appreciative crowds but he didn't want to be apart from his wife and sons anymore. He knew many, many musicians who could balance the road and family but he realized that he just was not one of them.

"Yeah," Trent answered. "You think that you can handle having me underfoot all of the time?"

"Most people get gifts on their birthdays," she said breezily trying to mask the depth of her reaction. "But here you are giving me one. I love you, Trent."

"I love you, Cara Mia," he said. "Hug the boys for me."

Scenario 2

Trent rolled over and creaked open his eyes. Enough sunlight sneaked around the edges of the curtains to tell him that it was morning although a little later than he normally arose.

"Gift number one," he mused lethargically. "Fiona let me sleep in."

He cocked an ear. From the back acreage he heard children playing. Listening carefully he heard many voices, too many for just his own.

"Guests already?" he asked himself tossing blankets aside. Jane lived on thirty acres next door but the noise level was even more then what he would expect with her brood combined with his.

The low murmur of conversation crept down the hall like spiders. There were definitely several people in his house.

"In-laws are here," he guessed getting quickly out of bed and stumbling to the shower.

"Hey, you're finally awake," Fiona exclaimed when he entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later as a chorus of 'Happy Birthdays' rang out. She kissed him before continuing. "I was afraid I'd have to roust you despite what I promised."

Jane rushed over to him embracing him tightly. Her husband Clay tossed him a two finger salute. His father and mother-in-law, Harley and Connie raised coffee mugs in toast along with his sister-in-law, Felicity. Surprising him most, Daria Morgendorffer sat at the table. While she did return frequently to visit Jane he did not have an inkling that she was in town.

"Thanks, everyone," he drawled knowing with the whole family here Fiona had to have something in the works. "What's going on?"

Before Fiona could answer the telephone rang.

"It's Jesse," she said after a moment.

"Put it on speaker, please," he said.

"Hey, Jesse."

"Hey, dude, happy birthday," Jesse's voice filled the room. "Wow. The big 4-0."

"Thanks, man," he said.

"I wasn't sure about the time difference. I hope I didn't wake you," Jesse said.

"No, I was up, shaved, showered and dressed," replied Trent.

"Barely," Fiona humorously said

"Where are you?"asked Trent.

"Germany, I think. Hey, where are we?" they heard him asked someone.

"Prague," Jesse said speaking back into the phone. "That's in the Czech Republic. You know I can't hear Czech Republic without thinking about Chex cereal. I wonder if they have it here? Anyway, I gotta go. Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday from me and the guys."

'Happy Birthdays' sounded from the background.

"We got to get together when I'm back in the states," Jesse added.

"You bet," Trent replied.

"Later."

"Bye."

"I see stardom hasn't changed Jesse a bit," Daria said when Fiona shut off the phone.

"Jesse's like a rock," Jane said. "Any changes are too subtle for mere mortals to notice."

"How's his band doing?" Felicity asked. "What is it? Mystic Spin?"

"Mystik Spiral," Trent supplied.

"Spelled with a K because that's just so rock and roll," added Jane.

"And they're doing good," Trent continued. "Their last album went gold like four of the previous six."

"As a favor to Jane, I've been handling the band's money for them," Clay added. "Without going into detail I can say that they tour because they want to not because they have to."

Years earlier Clay had been a whiz bang stock analyst on Wall Street. A nasty divorce and burnout prompted him to turn his back on that life. While getting his old house ready to sell he got interested in stamped concrete as workmen refurbished the pool area. When he decided on a fresh start it was the occupation he chose. Now his only connection to the financial world was giving investment advice to family and friends most of which panned out.

"So what's the plan?" Trent asked.

"We going to go to a state park," Fiona replied. "Some hiking, some fishing, some grilling. Good old American family fun. This time of year it shouldn't be crowded even if its still warm."

"I was thinking about hitting the clubs partying 'til dawn," Trent said.

"So says the man who can't stay awake for Jimmy Fallon's monologue anymore," his wife retorted.

Trent smiled. "Good point."

"What happened?" asked Daria archly. "You once said that the night held the key."

"The key to what?" he asked.

"I don't know, Trent. It's early," she replied.

"Sit down, Daddy," his daughter Noelle told him. "I've made you breakfast."

A small surge of pride and joy washed over him. She was his eldest child and his only girl. He loved his boys dearly but Noelle was part of his soul. He draped an arm about her shoulders kissed her on the forehead.

"How's my favorite Christmas gift doing today?" he asked sliding onto a chair.

She was at an age where eye-rolling was mandatory when parents said anything so she did even though Noelle, born on Christmas day nearly thirteen years earlier, loved hearing her adored father call her that.

Trent took in the dish. Rolled crapes filled with berries sat next to a small bowl of yogurt with fruit and some fresh baked mini muffins. A nearly depleted plate of cinnamon rolls sat in the middle of the table.

"It looks wonderful, Noelle."

"Thank you, Daddy," she said hugging him. "Everyone else has eaten so bon appetit."

"I can barely make toast," he said diving into the meal. "Yet my little girl is a practically a chef at twelve."

"He exaggerates, of course," Fiona said. "He can't made toast."

"I'm a witness," Jane piped up.

"How's the hvac business?" Clay asked helping himself to a roll. "Still cool?"

"Now tha autumn's here it's heating up," replied Trent. "How's the concrete business?"

"Getting harder," Clay answered.

"And the sad thing is they think they're funny," Jane said.

Both men laughed with the others. Trent smile grew a bit more as Jane sat next to her husband. He and Clay met at a job site shortly after Clay relocated to Lawndale. They hit it off immediately despite their differences in age and background and quickly became close friends. When Jane came home the summer after she got her BFA, he naturally introduced the two thinking nothing of it. Six weeks later he was as surprised was anyone when they told him that they were getting married. The suddenness worried Trent but twelve years later they were still going strong.

Trent turned his attention to Daria. The smartest thing I ever did other than marrying Fiona he thought was listening to Daria when she suggested that he look into learning a trade. He had no real intention of doing so but just to ease Jane's mind he agreed to check into the offerings of the local community college. The training for Heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning attracted him simply because the heater for their old house was temperamental and thought he could learn a couple of tricks to keep it going. One class lead to others and almost accidentally he fell into a career first as a technician then as a small business owner.

"I'm a little surprised you're here, Daria," Trent said. "Glad, though."

"I have to confess that I forgot that it was your birthday," Daria admitted. "I'm visiting because I needed an oasis of sanity."

"Daria was regaling us with tales of her latest Hollywood adventure before you woke up," Fiona said.

Over the years Daria sold several screenplays but earned a greater reputation in the film community as a script doctor. She rescued more than a few moribund treatments that went on to be respectable earners at the box office.

"I'm working with an actor-writer-director who shall remain nameless," she said. "The man has yet to meet a cliche that he doesn't like and is utterly convinced that he's the next Tarantino. He isn't which is why the producers hired me."

"Making him oh so very happy," Jane sardonically said.

"Trust me even though all of you are parents, you haven't heard this much whining," Daria continued. "I'd rather babysit every kid here, hop them up on sugar and give them each a drum kit then sit in the same room with that idiot."

Everyone chuckled in commiseration.

"Maybe you can forge an extra zero on the check," Clay laughed.

Daria smiled slightly. "I'll just turn it over to you. It'll have that extra zero soon enough."

The noise in the backyard increased slightly.

"Anyone checked for causalities lately?" Connie asked.

"Eh, so the herd gets thinned a little," Felicity quipped although she did peek out the kitchen window.

Trent chuckled. Herd was the right term. He figured his three boys were back there with Jane's two boys and her girl plus Nina, the daughter of Fiona's late sister that Harley and Connie were raising and likely Felicity's pack of three boys and three daughters.

"Enough kids here to level a Pizza Forest," Daria said.

"Level a small city maybe but a Pizza Forest, no way," Jane replied. "Those places are indestructible. It seems I'm there every other week for some classmate's or another birthday party."

"I hear you, sister," Felicity agreed mournfully as she sat back down.

"Returning to the topic of the day," Clay began. "How does it feel to be forty?"

"So asks the fifty year-old," Trent lightly retorted.

"Just as long as none of you youngsters mentions sixty-five," Harley said in mock sorrow.

"Any regrets?" Fiona asked. They married young. She was only nineteen and he was finishing his hvac training at Smallwood. They did not have the proverbial pot but she and Trent built a good life together. She felt that he was content but in the back of her mind she always worried that marrying her and quitting a band that went on to success nagged at him. His old friends toured the world while he stayed in Maryland changing diapers, fixing leaky faucets, mowing lawns and a host of other mundane tasks to which Jesse and the others never gave a thought. They had fame, moderate fame anyway, fortune, modest fortune anyway, and all the perks that went with it. He had her, a woman who was not model thin or fashionable, an income that battled to reach six figures and a modest house sitting on five acres amid the semi-rural tract between Lawndale and Oakwood: far from glamorous.

Trent paused between bites. He scanned those gathered about him as the joyous racket of playing children drifted through the windows.

"What can the luckiest man on the planet possibly regret, Cara Mia?" he asked giving her his warmest smile.

Scenario 3

Trent unlocked his front door. Reluctant steps carried him inside the house. It was silent. Late afternoon sun peeking through curtained windows lack the strength to illuminate the rooms beyond gloomy but Trent did not bother to turn on any lights. Quiet footfalls on the hardwood floors echoed gently as he plodded to the kitchen. Poring himself a glass of cider, he loosened his tie before plopping down onto a sofa. A massive television dominated one wall but he left it off. He sat and stared at nothing his only movement limited to the occasional sip of his drink.

His phone nestled in his jacket pocket vibrated suddenly. Trent noted the caller ID before answering.

"Happy Birthday, big brother," Jane exclaimed brightly. "I tried to call earlier."

"Thanks, Janie," he replied. "How are you? How's Steve and the kids."

"Oh, I'm good," she replied. "We all are. You outta to see Kelli. She doesn't stop. I was worried when it took her so long to learn to walk now she's darting all over the place. It annoys Jack who just wants to play quietly with blocks or whatever. He'll be putting something together and Kelli will bowl it over as she scampers by."

"Got her mom's running genes," Trent laughed gently.

"And then some," she said. "Need to get her a giant hamster wheel."

"Business doing okay?" asked Trent. Jane and her husband started a graphics design company few years earlier when both decided that they wanted more flexible schedules when Jack was born. They struggled but she repeatedly told him that they were making a solid profit.

"Yeah, it is," Jane replied. "Health insurance premiums are going to take a bigger jump next year than we expected but even with that we're doing better than last year; well enough to start saving toward college and retirement."

"If you need any help," Trent began.

"Yeah, I know and thanks," she interrupted. "But, really, we're doing good. Everyone there?"

"No, just me," he replied. "And I just got in myself. I had to go into the office. That's why I couldn't talk earlier."

"The office on a Saturday," Jane said. "And I thought you worked from home?"

"Usually but we have a client who wanted to meet the creative team and today was the only day that she could drop in," Trent explained. "A complete waste of time but, hey, she's paying the big bucks so I hopped the train to Manhattan."

"Where are Rosalyn and the girls?"asked Jane.

"Out and about somewhere," Trent said. "Probably a little birthday shopping."

"Big plans tonight?"

"Hopefully not but we're heading to the club for supper so who knows what Rosalyn has in the works," Trent ruefully said not wanting to spend his birthday making small talk but figuring that was what was on the horizon.

"Forty is one of the big ones and people tend to celebrate the milestones." Jane replied. "Its not hitting you too hard, is it?"

He took a heartbeat too long to respond.

"Talk to me, Trent," she demanded.

He sighed. He could always talk to Janie about anything and its not something he would want to share with his wife. She would not even begin to understand from where he was coming and likely misinterpret what he was trying to say and be hurt.

"Its just...," he began before pausing.

"You're unhappy," guessed Jane.

"No, unhappy is ...well, no, definitely not unhappy," he replied. "Confused, perplexed, stunned. I mean how the hell did I end up here?"

"Here as in forty?" asked Jane. "Husband and father? Advertising? Living in the land of the Muffys? "

"Land of the Muffys?" asked a bewildered Trent.

"Where are you going to summer, Muffy," Jane replied in a stereotypical upper crust northeastern American accent.

"It's not that wealthy of a town," Trent calmly retorted. "And most here don't talk like Katherine Hepburn."

Jane laughed. "You live in a mansion in the freaking Hamptons."

"It's a large house but not a mansion," he replied.

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," his sister said.

"And we did buy it after the real estate bubble burst at what for this area was a bargain basement price."

"What for this area was a bargain basement price," Jane repeated. "That kinda proves me right but you evaded the question."

Trent took a long sip of cider. "This kind of life never was one of my fantasies when I was a kid."

"Intelligent, pretty wife who loves you madly while earning major coin on her own, two adorable daughters," Jane said. "Wildly successful career writing commercial jingles. Big house on Long Island. A couple of Mercedes in the garage. Country club membership. Yeah, no one dreams of that sort of life."

"I really didn't," Trent replied defensively.

Jane chuckled. "I believe you but from where I sit it's gotta beat living in your parents house playing dives for next to nothing which is where I thought was you were heading."

"So you put me on a guilt trip getting me to go back to school," Trent said.

"I was only at Smallwood for two semesters," she replied airily. "The double major in music and marketing from Maryland State, that's on you. Why marketing anyway?"

"I thought that it would be useful in taking Mystik Spiral to the top, you know, learning how to get the brand out to the people," he answered. "But the band broke up before I could do anything. Part of what I'm feeling is I just sometimes wonder, you know."

"Let me help you there," Jane said. "Mystik Spiral sucked. No media campaign you could have cooked up would have changed that. You can slap lipstick on a pig but it ain't winning Miss America."

"I was beginning to write better material," Trent replied.

"Yeah, no doubt," Jane said. "And you obviously can write a decent tune as that mcmansion you live in proves but you only have a so-so voice and the others weren't putting in any effort to improve as musicians. Better songs probably wouldn't have mattered."

"Yeah, probably," Trent replied reluctantly.

"More than," Jane said. "And once you got with Rosalyn those days were toast."

"Yeah," Trent agreed.

To say that his wife was driven and ambitious was an understatement. Her life's desire was to put the Kentucky coal fields in which she grew up as far behind her as possible. She coldly severed all ties with her dysfunctional, ignorance embracing family doing her utmost to mold a totally new life completely divorced from her poverty stricken childhood.

She and Trent met by chance when a song Trent posted online caught the ear of a colleague of hers at the ad agency where she was an intern. The copywriter thought it could be reworked for a campaign he was creating so he called Trent to New York. The song worked better than anyone expected putting enough money in Trent's pockets to let him stay in the big city. He hung around partly for the music scene but more for Rosalyn. There was a mutual spark that both immediately noticed and did not hide.

She and Trent dated as he tried to sell songs and get a band together. In the meantime she worked full time and finished graduate school. While Rosalyn was unable to gain admittance to either Crestmore and Bromwell, Riverdale, a university on a par with both, did accept her into their MBA program.

A year later with a master's degree in her hand she proposed. He accepted and acquiesced when she asked him to put his degree to work on Madison Avenue. He thought that a day job would not interfere too much with chasing the rock and roll dream.

It did. As did marriage, the twin daughters that arrived ten months after the wedding, and his own turn in graduate school. After they were married, Rosalyn persuaded Trent to pursue an advanced degree at Riverdale. While he balked at getting a MBA, he did earn his Master of Music which played into his wife's reinvention of herself. If anyone asked or if she could work it into conversation unobtrusively, they were alumni of Riverdale. A throw here and there, coffee mugs, workout gear, and sweaters all with the university logo on them less than subtly reinforced the image. If knowledge of Maryland State or Southern Kentucky where Rosalyn matriculated had to come from her, the two schools would be forever unknown.

Trent found her attempts to project an 'old money' preppy persona silly but he went along to maintain calm at home with a woman he truly loved even though it was costing more money than he thought could possibly be spent just a few years earlier. A particularly noisy meltdown that followed his humorous suggestion of possum for supper not long after their nuptials taught him the wisdom of that course of inaction.

"You've got a good thing going," Jane said. "Don't toss it away to chase a midlife crisis wisp o' will."

"I've no plans to go anywhere," Trent came back sharply. "I'm not Vincent."

The reference to their father surprised Jane. Trent rarely spoke of him or their mother, Amanda, neither of whom he had seen in a couple of years although they remained more or less in contact through emails and social media from their home in a retirement community in Arizona. The parents increasingly rare appearances in their lives as they entered thier teens hurt both of them deeply but to Jane's relief their vagabond ways served to nail Trent's feet firmly at home.

"I know you wouldn't,"she said.

"Anymore than you would," replied Trent. "Its just, you know, sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes I look out the window and think what if, too and I'm under a lot less stress than you," she said.

"The stress isn't bad," he said. "But I miss the old days now and then. I didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what I was."

"What you were was a slacker going nowhere,"Jane pointed out. "But I get what you're saying. I love Rosalyn, you know that, but she does irritate me sometimes. Your torn jeans and tee shirts are a look that I don't miss however those GQ, Town and Country clothes she buys for you to wear aren't who you really are either even if you look good in them. You're just not part of the polo playing, trace your family back to Plymouth Rock crowd. Didn't she ever read The Great Gatsby?"

"I don't know if she ever did but hey, fake it 'til you make it," Trent said.

"Except you've never been very good at faking," she said.

"I have some good reasons to try though," he replied.

"Yeah," Jane said.

They fell into silence for several moments before Jane asked. "Has turning forty got you looking back or something else. Everything okay on the home front?"

The pause before he replied made her nervous.

"It's good, honestly. Really good," Trent finally said. "Wanting some things to be a bit different doesn't make it any less good."

"I know.'

"Maybe its natural to get nostalgic sometimes even when you know the good ol' days weren't that hot," he added. "Even if you know that you weren't going anywhere."

"Sounds like there's a song in there somewhere," Jane replied.

Trent chuckled ruefully. "Probably but you couldn't even sell booze with that sort of sentiment and that's my music has come down to."

"Nothing says that you only have to write jingles, y'know," she said.

"Yeah, I know, but I can't seem to finish anything these days," Trent complained. "I'll be working on something and I start thinking 'hey this would be perfect for a perfume commercial' or something like that."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Jane commiserated. "Everything I've done for years now has been for our business. I haven't done art for art in so long I'm not sure I can express anything either."

"Does this mean..." Trent said in mock horror trying to break the melancholia that threatened to engulf both of them.

"Yes, it does," Jane breezily agreed playing her part in the exorcism. "We have sold out."

Both laughed. Each heard the slightest tinge of loss in the other but knew that what regrets they had would not interfere with what happiness their lives gave them; loving spouses, wonderful children, good jobs. The modern mantra of follow your dreams was well and good but practicality had its rewards also.

"I guess no one's life turns out like they expect," Trent mused. "But you adapt and go on."

"Yeah, you do," Jane said. "Happy Birthday, Trent. I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied.

Scenario 4

Trent awoke when he felt Jesse climb unto the bed. Suppressing a smile, he kept his eyes closed waiting to see how long the five year-old would wait. Less than a minute it was Trent who quit the game. Cracking open an eye he saw his son staring back at him. Jesse was incredibly patient for such a young boy.

"You were awake," he stated soberly when Trent sat up.

Chuckling Trent pulled Jesse into a hug, planting a light kiss on the boy's forehead. "I was," he confessed releasing the smile.

"Happy birthday, Dad," the boy said.

"Thank you," Trent replied. "Are you hungry?"

"I can wait for Mom," he answered.

"If it isn't as early as it feels you won't have to wait long," she mumbled her face still buried in her pillow.

Trent glanced at the clock on his night stand. "Its about seven," he said evasively.

"Closer to six thirty in other words," she groaned. "So, birthday boy, what would you like for breakfast?"

French toast Jesse mouthed hopefully.

"How about some french toast, Holly," Trent said.

"All right," she said. "Head down stairs, Scamp. We'll be down in a minute."

Without a word, Jesse hopped from the bed. Holly Lane waited until she heard the door close before she rolled over. Like her husband she habitually slept in the nude. While her social views were liberal they did not go so far as to include allowing her child to see her naked. In the modern American climate where too many jumped at the chance to call social services at the drop of a hat it was likely the safest course to follow.

"Happy birthday, honey," she said drowsily. "The big 4-0."

"Crumbling to dust before your very eyes," Trent joked.

"Women turn to dust at thirty according to Hollywood so welcome to the club," she replied.

"Want to keep growing old together?" asked Trent.

Holly kissed him softly. "As I recall that's what I promised before God and this assembly twelve years ago."

"I think I said something similar," Trent said.

"I got video evidence," she replied falling back onto her pillow. "Now hit the shower."

Trent gently kissed her left breast before complying.

It was nearly an hour before a freshly showered and dressed Holly arrived downstairs to find her husband and son sitting together at the kitchen island, heads nearly touching, as Jesse read loud from one of his books. Two nearly empty glasses of orange juice sat before them. She paused quietly relishing the simple family scene. Few could understand what such moments meant to her.

Trent was so good with Jesse, an involved always there father. Her own father was essentially out of her life when she was three. After him came a revolving door of stepfathers. None of them stayed around any longer than her own Dad. Three of them came and went by the time Holly finished high school. It was a very unstable childhood. Her only anchor, a surprisingly good keyboard that her first stepfather got her for Christmas when she was seven.

To think that it was only a last minute change of mind on her part that she and Trent even met. When a than acquaintance of hers named Monique phoned asking her to join a band that she was putting together, her initial reaction was to decline but things were not copacetic with her current group so on a whim she drove to Lawndale to see what Monique assembled.

When she arrived with her keyboards in tow at the converted garage that housed Monique's tiny apartment, five people were jamming. Candy Finch, the drummer, she knew from Monique's band Harpies. Brent Bass, who with delicious symmetry played six-string bass, she had not met but had heard a couple of times when a band that he was with played some clubs in the D.C. area where she called home. The guitarists she did not know. Monique introduced them as Trent and Jesse from a recently disbanded group of which she was unfamiliar.

She was never that comfortable around strangers but Trent put her at ease immediately without seeming to try. Still she was not impressed with him at first. He moved and talked slowly so she thought that he was stoned. As the hours moved on she realized that he was not but conversation and a couple of comments from Monique painted a picture of a true slacker. Yet he had a quality.

She decided to stick around. She felt that at worst, she would spend a few days with some interesting people. At best, she could windup a member of a better band.

But even her expectations of what was 'at best' fell short of the realities. The band gelled together quickly. Songwriting, something that proved difficult when she tried alone, suddenly became almost effortless as the six of them bounced lyrics, riffs, and hooks off each other. Within weeks club dates were flowing in. Sixteen months later, a major label signed them.

Guttersnipe, as Monique named the resultant group, smashed onto the music scene racking up five platinum albums in nine years. Headlining several world tours the band made her richer than she ever dreamed. It was difficult to turn on a radio and not hear one of their songs. IPods were crammed with their music. Tee shirts blazoned with the band's logo adorned the bodies of fans from Boston to Mumbai.

In the midst of the rocket ride she married Trent. Far from a stoner, she quickly learned that he shunned both drugs and alcohol. Her own drinking was at the time of their first meeting threatening to get out of hand but her consumption rapidly declined when they began dating soon thereafter. He was kind, respectful and empathetic. Though inclined to be indolent given some direction and prodding he would put in the effort needed. Like her, he never obtained a formal education beyond high school but Trent was unpretentiously well read.

For Holly life got even better when Monique broke up the band to go solo. The sudden halt to touring and recording allowed her and Trent to settle down in his hometown and start a family. Jesse came along within a year. Trent immediately took over the primary caregiver role. She managed the money oversaw the apartment complexes and fast food franchises that they owned.

Some people raised an eyebrow at Trent being a stay-at-home father. Of course, some people were surprised that former rock stars could be so blandly domestic. They shopped at the same local markets as everyone else. They drove Jesse to kindergarten in a minivan. They did not have nannies or maids. Unlike the majority of their neighbors, they did not even employ a lawn care service with Trent handling those chores. What few parties they threw were generally just cookouts in the backyard of a house was not the largest on the cul-de-sac by far.

"Hi, Mom," Jesse said. "You look nice."

She smiled. "Thank you. Have you shown Dad the card you made for him?"

"I was waiting for you," he answered hopping from his chair. "I'll get it."

When he left the room Holly wrapped an arm around her still sitting husband. She playfully bite an earlobe as she brought a home pregnancy test around with her other hand for him to see.

"Happy birthday," she whispered.

Scenario 5

The street lamp cast a feeble light on the alley behind Blondie's, a club in Lawndale that catered to an older crowd than most of the establishments on Dega Street, but it was enough for the members of Mistik Spiral to move about confidently.

"That's the last of it," Trent said as the final piece of the band's gear was stowed in the SUV.

A decidedly obese Max rubbed the small of his back. "Man, we need to get lighter speakers," he groaned.

Nick laughed. "Try hitting the gym," he said stretching causally highlighting his own fit physique.

Max glared but thankfully as far as Trent was concerned did not start an argument. After twenty years they still snipped at each other something that was old to him nineteen years ago.

"Hey, the Laredo Chuck Wagon just pulled up," Jesse exclaimed from the corner of the building. "C'mon, Trent, it'll be your birthday in a few minutes. I'll buy you a fajita."

Trent's hand reflexively covered his stomach. Spicy food was hard to handle at anytime these days but late at night he may as well park himself in front of the television with a quart of antacid because he was not going to get any sleep.

"Or something," Trent replied not wanting to rebuff his friend's kind gesture. He hoped that the food truck's Tex-Mex menu had something that he could handle.

"Wimp," Jesse laughed disappearing around the side.

"Guilty," Trent admitted. Without any of the hotter sauces he thought that he would be okay before he remorsefully shook his head. It did not seem so very long ago that he could eat whatever without a worry. Now anything hotter than black pepper terrorized his GI tract. And his metabolism betrayed him. He had to carefully watch his weight. The old joke about smelling a doughnut and gaining five pounds was not so funny anymore.

He struggled to stay reasonably trim. He shied away from becoming a gym rat like Nick who responded to turning thirty by throwing himself hysterically headlong into physical fitness. Trent was not going to join Nick in running triathlons but following Max's example by allowing himself to get within spitting distance of three hundred pounds was not appealing either so he exercised moderately and watched his diet. Walked more. Drove less. So far it was working.

They found a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk beside the food truck when they caught up with Jesse but with the crew getting chow out almost as fast as it was ordered they quickly found themselves at the front of the queue.

"Hey, hey, it's Mystik Spiral," Edith, the chef-owner of the Laredo Chuck Wagon, said. "Knocked 'em dead tonight?"

"No one threw bottles at us," Trent replied.

"Might have to take a night off and catch you guys again," she said. "Kinda nice to hear the old songs played live sometimes."

Trent nodded as again a stray thought grabbed him. When he was young, he swore that he would rise or fall playing his own original music. Yet when it became painfully obvious even to him that Mystik Spiral was going nowhere he let go of the dream. It was the most difficult decision in his life but he turned his back on a musical career refusing any attempts to alter his decision.

By then all four of them had regular jobs their feet firmly planted on the bourgeois path. Jesse worked for the county. Max drove for UPS and Nick did sound engineering for a local production company. Like Jesse, Trent worked for the government except federal not local.

Now the band was merely a hobby for the four of them. Nearly every Friday night found them at Blondie's playing covers of songs from their youth. Occasionally, they would book a local festival or the like but they did not seek to make the band more than a pastime again.

Every once in a while at one of their shows someone who knew them from back in the day would drunkenly request 'Icebox Woman' or 'Every Dog has its Day'. They could barely get through the songs without laughing. How could they have been that bad and not realize it? They all felt that they made the right call years earlier.

Trent was the last to get his order. Luckily a sidewalk bench cleared as he got his food. The four of them promptly claimed it.

Jesse took a long sip of his drink then belched. "Welcome to forty," he said. "The big one. Beginning of the long slide."

"Or not so long," said Nick eyeing with horror the pile of food Max had sitting on his lap, giant soda resting precariously between them.

"Feel free to say 'I told you so' to my tombstone," Max replied biting with relish into a enchilada.

"How's it feel?" asked Jesse.

Trent took a cautious nibble of his black beans and rice. No warning bells sounded. "I'm not worried about it," he said after another bite. "People freak out over numbers but what the hell,you're alive or you're not. Anything else is just statistics."

"Good way to look at it," Nick said stirring his chili.

"Gotta be different for you, dude," Jesse insisted.

Trent frowned. "Why?"

"You never got married for one thing or had any kids," Jesse said. "Your life hasn't changed any since high school."

"I have a job, bills, a mortgage; stuff I didn't even think about back then," replied Trent.

"Yeah, but I mean its just different if you aint married or have kids," Jesse said.

"You guys are married. I'm not," Trent countered. "You all have children yet here we all are sitting on Dega Street at midnight. Can't see much difference."

"There is though," Max replied.

"Believe it or not, I agreed with them," Nick said.

"But you and Jesse have been divorced before," Trent argued without heat. "No insult Nick but you're on your third marriage."

"True but I've been married longer now than my first two combined," he replied. "So I'm sure the third time's the charm.

"And I'd still be married to Gwen if she hadn't cheated on me," added Jesse. "But if she hadn't I wouldn't have gotten together with Ellie so...well, I guess, I don't know...kismet maybe."

Trent nodded but said nothing. He kept it to himself but while he felt that he was in a good place in life his continued single state bothered him. Despite what his friends thought he had nothing against marriage. The idea of family appealed to him especially when he saw people who had happy marriages such as his sister, Jane.

Trent sighed inaudibly. He was truthful when he told them that turning forty did not trouble him but it presented a new obstacle or rather added impetus to a fairly recent one. Unlike some older men who wanted to date much younger women, Trent preferred those near to his own age. The difficulty lay in the fact that the vast majority of such women were either married (a line he would not cross), divorcees that had children and were not interested in having more, or women who chose to be child free. Each passing year the pool of eligible women that also wanted a family got smaller and smaller.

Maybe if I had gone to college like Jane wanted I would have met someone Trent thought. Can't really see how it would have made much of a difference though. I would have stayed in Lawndale just like I did so unless it would be like that Beatles song where I looked one way instead of another and met the one it would have been the same.

"You got quiet, Trent," Jesse said. "Whatcha thinking?"

Trent shrugged not wanting to divulge his anxiety. "I was thinking about that old Beatles song 'I've just seen a Face'. Remember it?"

"No," Jesse replied. "But I never was into the Beatles."

"I like the Dillards cover better," Max supplied.

Nick lowered his spoon. "Serious, Man. I've known you for ages and I never knew you like the Dillards. I think they were great."

"I've never even heard of them," Jesse said.

"Bluegrass," Trent told him. "More folk really."

"Oh, no wonder," replied Jesse. "If it ain't rock I don't bother."

"Broaden your horizons, dude," Nick laughed.

Jesse crumpled the remains of his meal into a paper ball and launched toward a waste bin. It bounced on the edge then fell into the plastic liner.

"Two points," he said as he stood. "Hoops tomorrow?"

"The 'Y' about eleven?" Nick asked.

"Yep. You coming, Trent?"

"Can't," he replied. "Gotta be at Janie's at that time."

He would be driving over to her house in the morning for a small birthday celebration. Any special occasion or holiday found him with her family. When they were kids, he did his best to take care of her in the long absences of their parents but as they aged, the roles reversed. She became the mother hen. Even though Trent was doing well financially, she worried about him being alone so made sure to include him in everything. Thankfully he and his brother-in-law, Steve, got along famously.

"Cool. Tell her 'hi' for me," Jesse said. "How about you, Max?"

"I'll pass,"he said.

Nick eased himself from the bench. "Serious, Max, you need to do something. I don't want to say 'I told you so' to your damn tombstone before you even reach fifty."

"Yeah, I know,"Max said lamentably.

"Invitation stands," Nick said before nodding at Trent. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," both Max and Trent replied simultaneously.

Trent watched Jesse and Nick as they strolled away before turning his attention to the crowds that prowled the night looking for love or a few hours diversion. Fashion changes. Slang changes. What is hot in pop culture changes yet people really don't he thought. City officials forced a cleanup of Dega Street a few years earlier but he could close his eyes and the buzz of the crowd on a Friday night sounded the same now as it did when he first started loitering downtown when he was thirteen. Back then he was certain that the night held the answers. It took him years to realize that the answers were within not without.

"You okay?" Max asked.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay," Max replied. "You closed your eyes. Leaned back. Thought you might be sick or something."

With a small grin, Trent shook his head. "Just listening to the rhythm and hum, you know."

"Yeah," Max agreed with a nod. "I like to do that, too. Sometimes you can almost slip from your body and be a part of something bigger. Better."

"Are you okay yourself?" asked Trent picking up on the undercurrent in his friend's voice.

"Not really," Max answered after a moment. "I don't need Nick or anyone else pointing out that I'm fat. It ain't like its something I haven't noticed but man its so damn hard trying to lose weight. I'll stick to a diet for a few days but as soon as something comes up like an argument with the wife or my boss being a dick again I start stuffing myself. Its just how I cope. Its not healthy I know but its what I do. If my job didn't have me moving all the time, I'd probably weigh four hundred pounds."

"I don't have an answer for you," Trent said.

"The answer is easy," Max replied. "And hard as hell."

He abruptly leaped up, waddled over to the trash bin and savagely dumped what remained of his order into it. "Maybe I will show up at the 'Y' tomorrow."

"You do that," Trent said.

"Happy Birthday," Max said patting him on the shoulder. "See ya later."

"See ya."

Trent indulged in people watching for a few more minutes before reaching into the pocket of his jacket for his phone to check the time. Surprisingly there was a text from his sister waiting for him.

u r old so no time 2 b subtle wear something nice 2moro have someon meet u will like her;)

Scenario 6

A breeze teased bits of paper debris into flight swirling them about Trent who sat alone waiting for the bus that would carry him back home. It was warm for a late autumn day. A few birds still trilled from tree branches that yet held onto some colorful leaves.

Minutes later Trent heard the bus lurching around the corner. He watched dispassionately as it rumble up to him than shuttered to a halt. The driver negligently opened the door. Trent stepped on board dropping his fare into the box. There were few passengers, apathetic and bored for the most part, but one tossed him a friendly wave. He was a older man, fat and balding, who moved into the same apartment building as Trent some three months earlier. They were friendly without being friends. On several occasions they ran into each other at the complex or about town. They would talk about generalities but neither knew much more about the other then they did on the first day they met. Neither thought that there was something wrong with such. Trent flopped onto a seat across from him.

"Hey, neighbor," he said. "Don't remember you riding the bus before."

"Hey, Will," Trent replied. "Car crapped out."

"Working some overtime to get it repaired," Will guessed.

Trent shook his head. "Cost more to get it fixed than it would be just to get another one so I'm trying to get a down payment on something that'll run. Getting in some OT yourself?"

He knew that Will worked at a pharmaceutical company a couple blocks from the plastics plant that employed him.

"Yeah," the older man replied. "Been working every Saturday for the last several weeks. Gonna try to keep working overtime for as long as its available if my knees hold up."

Trent nodded than fell into silence. Something that he liked about Will is that he allowed conversations to lapse. Some people could not stand dead air if they were with someone they knew; some even with total strangers.

They remained companionably quiet until the bus pulled to a halt at their stop. Trent followed Will onto the sidewalk. Both took a moment to look around before starting the two block trek to their apartment complex.

"Day or night, Dega Street is vibrant," Will stated.

"Yeah," Trent agreed. "Been coming down here for years even before I moved to the street."

"You're from here?" Will asked.

"Born and raised," responded Trent.

"Is it true what they say about our apartment building?" asked the older man.

Trent chuckled. "Yep. It used to be a hotel where many of the customers paid for an hour. Back when I was a kid, if there wasn't anything else to do, we'd sometimes hang out 'cross the street just to see if we could spy someone we knew sneaking in with a hooker."

"Did you?"

"Time or two," Trent replied. "But it wasn't like a teacher or someone that you'd want to rush and tell everyone."

"Doesn't seem like that kind of neighborhood," Will said.

Trent looked around remembering what was where ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. Gentrification would be too strong a word but the police cracked down on the sex trade and drugs, limited though both were, several years earlier then the hipsters and their ilk moved in finishing the transformation of Dega Street scrubbing away the previous seediness. Coffee houses and bistros abound. A microbrewery established itself. Specialty book and clothing shops invaded. The tattoo parlors were still around as body art only increased in popularity but The Zon was history. It's old space now housed a yoga studio. McGrundy's remained abet with a greatly remodeled and much cleaner interior. Some newer clubs appeared on the scene most featuring an array of craft beers with an eye on capturing a demographic much younger than the two men walking along.

"Used to be different," Trent answered.

"Like everything else," mused Will.

Trent caught the shading of the older man's simple comment. Yeah Trent thought he's been through it, too. You don't end up living in the cheapest apartments in town at his age if you hadn't. Not like I have room to talk. Damn near as old as him living right next door.

"Going out tonight?" Trent asked.

Will shook his head. "Naw," he drawled idly. "Read a little. Surf the net, perhaps. You?"

"Probably even less then that," he replied. "Grab a sandwich a little later maybe or heat up a can of soup if I'm too lazy leave the apartment."

"I've have a slow cooker full of beef stew that should be ready in about an hour," Will said. "Come on over. We'll break bread."

Trent mulled it over. An actual meal sounded better than anything convenient in his kitchen that he could toss down his gullet. He never mastered more than the absolute basics of cooking. If it was more complicated than something that could be fried in a skillet, it was beyond his skill.

On the other hand, he did not feel like company. Part of the reason he worked today was to avoid going to Jane's house. She wanted to throw him a birthday party but he really did not want to celebrate. He was forty freaking years old. Forty! And nothing in his life had gone as expected. His friends all moved on with their lives regulating him to the past. He was not married. He had not even been on a date in more than a month. He was not making his living as a musician. He was a blue collar stiff. He hated his job. He hated his studio apartment with its paper thin walls. He hated living from paycheck to paycheck but his dreams proved elusive slipping from his grasp leaving him with nothing to propel him forward.

His stomach suddenly growled making the decision easier.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," Trent said. "Can I bring anything?"

"If you want something other than juice, tea, or water than BYOB," Will replied. "I haven't so much as a bottle of beer or a soda in the 'frig. Otherwise, no. Just give me an hour to shower and finish up supper."

Seventy-two minutes later, Trent knocked on his neighbor's door.

"Come in," Will called out.

The aroma of fresh baked bread teased Trent as soon as he stepped inside. The layout of Will's apartment was identical to his own, probably he thought like every other one in the complex but it was tidy if sparsely furnished. A full sized bed sat against the back wall. A single nightstand stood beside it. A sofa, recliner, and coffee table occupied the center area of the room. A television hung on one wall. On the opposite wall hung two framed seascape prints. A small kitchen filled the front of the apartment, a peninsula separating it from the entryway. Though both doors along one wall were closed, Trent knew from his own place that a bath room and a large closet were on the other side of them.

"Smells good," Trent drawled immediately glad he accepted the invitation.

"Thanks," Will said as he pulled the loaf of Italian bread from the oven.

"You bake?" asked Trent.

"I can but I picked this up at the supermarket," he replied. "Just needs a few minutes of heat and viola, 'fresh baked' bread."

Will walked over to the closet and snagged two tall wooden tv trays from within.

"You may have noticed that I don't have a table so I use these," Will said. "Hope that you don't mind."

Trent chuckled. "I don't even have something like them," he replied. "Usually just use my coffee table or just eat at the kitchen counter."

"Me, too, half the time," Will admitted. "What would you like to drink?"

A few minutes later found both men seated,Trent on the sofa, Will on the recliner.

"This is very good," Trent said after his second bite.

"Thank you," Will replied. "But I really can't claim much credit. Just toss the ingredients into the slow cooker in the morning and let it do the work. Usually one pot gives me two suppers and two lunches. Cheaper and healthier than a steady diet of fast food and I don't have to spend a lot of time cooking after a hard day's work."

Trent nodded biting into a piece of bread. Maybe I ought to buy one he thought. God knows I'm getting tired of burgers.

"Cheaper I like," Trent said. "Definitely getting to an age were healthier is better."

"Healthier is better at any age but I know what you mean," Will replied. "Bad diet catches up with you when you get older but you're pretty young still."

"Turned forty today," Trent admitted surprising himself with that confession.

Will blinked. "I would have guessed six or seven years younger. Happy Birthday. Turning forty didn't bother me much but fifty; that was a kick in the balls."

Trent raised an eyebrow. "You're fifty? My turn to say I wouldn't have guessed."

"Fifty-five, actually," Will replied.

"What are you doing here?" Trent asked before he could stop himself. "Sorry," he stammered quickly. "I didn't mean it like it sounded."

Will chuckled. "Yes, you did and its a legitimate...well, perhaps not question but thought. Someone my age shouldn't be living like someone who is just starting out in life."

"Someone my age, either," Trent said remorsefully.

Will took a long sip of his water before speaking. "So what brought you here?"

"I asked first," Trent said a tad crisper than he intended.

Will ignored the tone but answered the query. "Cowardice and a lack of ambition," he said simply. "I was always afraid to take chances. Several times I began to train for something only to back away before making a final commitment. I was almost a teacher, a bartender, a mechanic, an electrician, a machinist. Two or three other things. So, instead of taking a risk, I just kept going to work"

"I also got into the habit of once I had a job I stuck my head in the sand and wouldn't bother to look around for other opportunities. In my grandfather's day that wouldn't have been such a bad trait but nowadays it's disastrous. I have had two plants close on me and been laid off four other occasions. Each time I had to get a new job I started at a lower base pay and the older I got the harder it was for me to get another job. Took me nearly ten months to get on where I'm at now and had to move a hundred miles to boot. I can only pray that it lasts."

"You never finished college?"

"Yeah, I did," Will said. "Got a BS in Political Science from Arlington State over in Virginia about thirteen years ago. The funny thing is after taking so long to get a degree I leave it off my resume. No need for one when you're looking for a manufacturing job. Might even be detrimental."

Trent absorbed what the older man told him for a moment. "I took a chance but didn't have the sense to know when to let go of it."

"What chance did you take?"

"Music," Trent replied. "Had a band for years but everyone kept quitting on me. Pissed me off but they were right. After so long when we hadn't hit the big time or were even making a decent living my band mates would move on, get jobs with regular paychecks and benefits, get married, join the Man but I kept bringing in replacements and rocking on. It was all that I wanted so what else could I do? A bout five months ago I looked around and discovered that I had held on too long. The rest of the band all quit at once and I couldn't find anyone interested in joining. So now I'm forty years old with nothing."

"Have you given up on the dream?"

Trent laughed acrimoniously. "It gave up on me. Maybe if I played covers I could put together something but what would be the point? If that's what you want to hear turn on the damn radio. Every town has a classic rock station."

"What's your plan?" asked Will.

Trent snorted. "Plan," he said incredulously. "I barely think about tomorrow."

Will drained his water. He twirled the empty glass in his fingers before setting it back on his tray. "Failure to prepare is preparing to fail."

"What?"

"It's a famous quote from John Wooden."

"Who?"

"John Wooden was a basketball coach," Will explained. "He is oft quoted."

"So he would think that I'm heading for even more failure," Trent stated.

Will shook his head. "He would say that it is up to you. 'Things turn out best for the people who make the best of how things turn out'. Another one of his quotes."

Trent sighed. "Yeah, I mean," he began. "It's just..."

"Trying to ascertain what 'making the best' of your situation is," Will supplied.

"I know what I'm doing isn't it," Trent said adamantly. "I absolutely hate my life right now."

"I can relate to that," Will replied soothingly. "You smile and put on a brave face but you know that optimism can cover only so much. Every bad decision you ever made and brother I've made a boat load of them dances through your mind everyday."

"How do you handle it?" asked Trent.

Will shrugged. "I just plug away. I don't have a dime to my name. Retirement is out of the question. I'll have to work until I die. All I can do is make the best of each day and enjoy what small pleasures come my way. A good meal. The sound of rain hitting the window. The smell of fresh cut grass."

"I have a lot to look forward to," Trent replied sourly.

"There's always fan fiction."

"Has my life really come to that?" Trent rhetorically asked.

"Well, that's in your hands," Will said. "You'll find this hard to believe at the moment but you're still relatively young. Let me tell you the difference between our ages is huge. You have time. You can still carve a niche for yourself but you need to do some hard thinking. Pick a path soon and throw yourself on it. Don't be living here fifteen years from now and if you are at least have the satisfaction that you tried as you did with music. Keep taking chances."

Trent nodded returning his attention to supper.

Midnight found him lying on his bed staring at the ceiling; planning.