Flash #12

Word Count: 24,026.
I think I can, I think I can...

Mac can’t imagine that getting the idea to call his brother Neil is a good sign. Sitting on the couch as Friday turns into Saturday, cycling through channels, wondering again – but only briefly – if drinking beer with the pain medications he is on is a mistake, he is determined to stay as far away from Neil as he can. Then why is Neil taking up head space now, as thoughts of how to set a date to get back to work dog him? He lets the feeling of dread fill him every hour on the hour, as if electing to get into a car with no steering wheel over and over again, knowing that the accelerator will stick every time. It makes him worry he has lost his nerve, and that once it is gone, the kids can smell it off of you – there is no going back.

The noise from the door closing downstairs makes him hit the mute button on the remote. His heart pounds for a couple of seconds while he listens to the footsteps, trying to tell by their sound who is coming to visit him. First of all, if they’re on the stairs then they’ve got a key to the downstairs door and that brings the number of people it could be way down. If the steps are at a quick jog, it sure as hell ain’t his mother. Before his front door opens, he knows it is his daughter, Sheila. Mac tucks his open can of Budweiser between the wall and the couch.