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Postcard in the mail today. From mom and dad. “Wish you were here! From the sunny beaches of the Bahamas!â€? Bubbly, yellow and baby blue lettering. Quarter-inch white border around the edge. That old stock photograph of two palm trees and a white, sandy beach. Classic. On the back, in mom’s near perfect handwriting: “We miss you honey and can’t wait to see you next week! Lots and lots of love, mom.â€? 74 years old and those two are still at it. I hadn’t seen them in ages. Hard to believe I’d be joining them in retirement so soon.

Early retirement, that is. Not my idea, though. Doc’s orders. Been working construction almost 20 years now. Thought it might be my back that would go first, maybe my shoulders. But not my heart. Not my ticker. Today’s the day, though. My pension meeting. God, I’m only 53.

This room they’ve got me in smells like recycled air and hand sanitizer. I realize now that I’ve never actually been in our office buildings. None of the guys I work with really had. Nice place. Empty desk in front of me. Figured I’d dress nice for the occasion. Collar itches a bit. A knock at the door behind me. Jeff walks in. Has to get one last word in before I’m gone for good, I’m sure. He’s wearing his typical Sears purple button up with black slacks. Guy’s never worked a day in his life. Really worked, I mean.

“Oh, hey, Peter. Look’s like he hasn’t started yet, that’s fine. Just wanted to tell you how much we appreciate all the good years you put in here.â€? He nervously extends his hand. Nearly 20 years and he still can’t look me in the eye. I humor him and shake it. “Thanks again, Pete.â€? He makes his exit.

Now the door in front of me opens. In walks a tall and thin man. His jet black hair, perfectly sculpted, almost seems to match his thousand watt smile, each tooth gleaming in the white fluorescent light. Clipboard in hand, he greets me.

“Hi Peter. I’m Gordon.â€?

“Gordon, it’s nice to meet you.â€?

He shakes my hand and then sits down across from me.

“I’m a retirement planner. I’m here to help in your transitional period.â€?

“That’s what they tell me.â€?

“Great, so let’s get started. I just need to ask you a few questions, and then you’ll follow me into the room behind me where we’ll just need you to sign a few dotted lines, and then you’ll be on your way. Sound good?â€?

Sounds like he’s said that more than a few times before.

“Sure.â€?

“Okay, great, great. So, Peter, when did you start noticing your heart condition?â€?

I think back to that hot day on the roof when it happened.

“A few months ago, maybe early July.â€?

“Yes, yes… And since then you’ve been having trouble performing your job function properly?â€?

“That’s correct. Can’t lift what I used to.â€?

He makes a few marks on the sheet attached to his clipboard.

“Okay. So, since early July of this year, you’ve been having trouble performing your function. Sound about right?â€?

“My job function yes.â€?

More marks on the clipboard.

“Alright, great. Now, if you’ll follow me into the room behind me…â€?

That was quick. Relatively painless.

Gordon opens the door and allows me to go in first. This room is huge and long, and pure white. So bright I can’t see what’s at the end. My eyes hurt. I hear the door shut behind me.

“Just follow me, Peter.â€?

So I do. Gordon walks down this endless white hallway. Finally we get to the end, where an elevator waits. An intercom system is installed in the wall next to it. Gordon presses a button on it.

“Peter Levins. Age: 53. Preexisting condition: heart disease.â€?

“Preexisting condition, what?â€?

I tap Gordon on his shoulder but he ignores me and continues.

“Unable to perform function since early July, two thousand and thirty one.â€?

The elevator dings. Two large men in suits walk out and grab me.

“Wait, what is this… What is this?â€?

One of them hits me, square in the side of the temple. Things go fuzzy and black.

I come to strapped to a table. I try to break the leather straps but it’s no use. A doctor to my left taps a needle. Gordon stands next to him.

“What is this? What is this!?â€?

I shout and scream and yell hard and loud as ever.

“Relax, Peter. I’m a retirement planner. I’m here to help in your transitional period.â€?