Curmudgeon For A Day, Part 4

         A devastated Bruce McGee embarked into his six-figure Mercedes, sped out of his parents' driveway, and commenced the most difficult drive of his entire life.
         For the next three hours, including two traffic jams, a bout of heavy rain, and a close call with a tractor trailer, the mood inside the leather-bound interior was funereal. The stereo remained off. Bruce's stereo was never off. The only noise that reverberated in the car was the internal combustion of the turbo-charged flat-four engine and the thousands of revolutions per second of the Mercedes' tires grinding along the crumbling concrete of the Long Island Expressway. Inside Bruce's head however, was enough loud noise to deafen those with the keenest and strongest sense of hearing.
         All he could think about was his failed relationship with Karen, the sudden loss of his dream job, and the now strained relationship with his parents, especially his mother. Her outrageously boorish behavior induced by the insanely strong wine she had been drinking was completely foreign to him. Joyce McGee had always been a compassionate, gentle soul who always nurtured her son with love and respect. Now, to Bruce, she was a monster; a heartless, indignant specimen of skin and bone that was overpowered by a vengeful demon, eradicating the heavenly aura that had permeated deep within her for all thirty-three years of Bruce's life. Sure, Bruce still had his father's love and respect, but he had already made up his mind: conversations by telephone, text, or email would be too awkward, and he could never set foot in his parents' house again knowing that when he was at his lowest moment, only one of the two people that still mattered to him in his life did not have his back.
         The Midtown Manhattan skyline drew larger and more imposing through the Mercedes' windshield as traffic glided smoothly along the westbound Long Island Expressway, and as the late afternoon December sun slowly descended with an expanding glow of orange beyond the concrete spikes ahead, it seemed fitting for Bruce. Daylight was concluding in the current chapter of Bruce's life, and a period of darkness was about to begin. When he entered the Midtown tunnel, his entire body felt numb, as if the old Bruce had drifted away from the confines of the open space beyond the East River, sifted through a tube, and emerged out a new man in a new world. Although the tangible world in front of him was the city he has called home for years, the virtual world inside his head was a foreign one. He had no job, no fianc, and no friends. His relationship with his parents were strained, and worst of all for him, he wasn't going to have a child. What was Bruce to do now?
         When he eventually reemerged inside his condo overlooking the Hudson River, Bruce did what he always does: immerse himself in the virtual, artificial world of television. Awaiting Bruce on his cell phone were frantic text messages and voicemails from his father, apologizing for his wife's behavior and imploring him to call the house the moment he gets a chance. Bruce replied to his father with one blunt text message: "I don't say another world until Joyce meets me face-to-face, looks me dead in the eye, and apologizes to me."
         One month later...it didn't happen.
         Two months later...it didn't happen.
         Three months later...nothing.
         And finally, on Bruce McGee's third month, seventh day, and eight hour of hiding, another text message came from his father: "We're getting divorced. Nearly 35 years of marriage...gone. I'm numb."
         The message didn't faze Bruce one bit. He hadn't seen, nor spoken with his parents since that fateful day in Long Island, so to him, it felt as if his parents were already split. His mother never apologized to him, and never attempted to reach out to do so.
         Bruce could only muster one response to the heart-wrenching text his father sent: "Mom still hasn't apologized."
         His father was in pain, but to Bruce, it didn't compare to the pain he had experienced. What was he to do? Where was he to go? More importantly, what Bruce McGee did he want to be? Did he want to continue to be the lazy, uninspired slacker that his ex-fianc and mother saw fit to criticize him for at the highest possible level, or did he want to be someone new?
         While drifting off to sleep underneath his silver duvet, immersing himself in the darkened grooves of the now frayed leather coating of his four-figure reclining sofa, the rainbowed colors of the television screen flashing like a strobe light, Bruce immediately began dreaming about him and his father. Except it wasn't his father sitting to his right while partaking in the tranquil confluence of the whitecaps of the Long Island Sound on a cloudless, pleasantly mild summer afternoon. Instead, it was the main character of one of Bruce's favorite TV shows, assuming the husky, broad-shouldered flesh of his father, donned in a white polo shirt firmly tucked in to his light beige khakis, sitting cross-legged while nursing an imported beer in the palm of his left hand. The man's face, however, was as familiar to Bruce as his father's - wrinkled forehead, aviator glasses, perfectly clean-shaven skin, and rotten teeth stained by one too many cigars and cups of coffee. As the conversation began, the character's infamously blunt and narcissistic personality, which has drawn polarizing reactions from millions of Americans (his detractors denouncing his narcissism, misogyny and take-no-prisoners attitude; his supporters praising him for his dark, off-beat sense of humor and honesty), ensured that Bruce would pay close attention him with zero distraction.
         "Boy," the man bellowed in a thick Brooklyn accent, "I'm gonna snap your dick off with a pair of pliers so fast that you'll bleed out before you can even look down and realize what's missing!"
         A startled Bruce stared blankly at the man, mouth agape.
         "Dad, where the hell did..."
         "Dad? What you think, pal, I banged your mama and she popped you out?"
         "Never mind," Bruce defeatedly stated.
         "You know what your problem is, kid? You've let too many people push you around for so long? I mean, think about it. When your mama yelled at you that day, you ran away like a little bitch! You barely stood up for yourself! You just ran away from your problems!"
         "But Dad, I..."
         "No buts, boy! That bitch of an ex of yours was right about you. Now, she's a loser, but that's besides the point. You're gutless. You have no ambition. See, women don't want that. They want some guy who's gonna take a bullet for them, act like this tough guy around everyone, have a wad of cash in their wallet, and defend them no matter if you know for fact they are wrong. All you have is a wad of cash in your wallet. You didn't have the other three, and that's why that bitch ran away!"
         "Yeah..." Bruce somberly replied. "I know..."
         "Look at ya...whining like a little cocksucker. You're just like everyone else these days...you're too sensitive! Wake up! The world is evil and selfish! You can't afford to be a nice guy! You know what your other problem is? You've afraid of what people think of you! I mean, think about it - imagine you're at the convenience store. You request a take-five lottery ticket and the incompetent boob hands you a Pick-Six! You tell the guy that's not what you ordered, and the moron begins arguing with you. What are you going to do in that situation? Probably just take his abuse and walk away, right? No! You need to grab that kook by the collar, pull him eye-to-eye, and scream "give me my damn take five!" See how much better you feel about yourself! Anger release, so long as it's channeled properly, is cathartic! You feel free. Then, when you realize you're not a castle made of sand impacted by a big wave, you feel like you can do anything!"
         "Anything? You mean, like, kill a man?"
         "Well, if you did, boy, I ain't got no bail money for ya!"
         "Well..."
         "Think deeply about it, boy. And then imagine when you take the same give-no-shits attitude toward Karen, or your boss, or even your own mother. You'll be a different man."
         "But how do I just transform into that person?"
         "You tell me, boy. You told me you wanted to a curmudgeon for one day. Why, exactly did you think that way? You're angry. You're disillusioned. You want revenge. You just haven't figured out how to channel it yet."
         "I...well..."
         "You want to be a pussy the rest of your life? You want people to walk all over you?"
         "No."
         "SAY IT WITH CONFIDENCE!"
         "NO."
         "AGAIN!"
         "FUCK NO!"
         "Now we're talkin'!"
         Suddenly, Bruce jolted awake. Still in total darkness at 3:30 AM, he looked in a hundred different directions just to ensure he was still in his apartment. Once he came to the realization that he was still alive and home safely, he suddenly felt different. He didn't feel the weight of thousand ropes tugging at his heart, or a thousand tornados blowing throughout the interior of his lungs. His brain no longer had capacity for deep thought.
         Bruce McGee didn't feel like Bruce McGee. There was no scientific explanation for it. It just happened.
         He felt...reborn.
         He had nothing left to lose. His life no longer mattered. He was just one man out of billions in the broken, cynical world he lived in.
         Then, after pulling himself off the couch and posturing himself upright like a military cadet preparing for inspection from his drill sergeant, Bruce McGee realized exactly what he had to do and what he wanted to do.
         And then, he smiled.