Max wakes up alone in his king sized bed. Soft silk sheets slide around his naked body. He peeks through a squinted eye. The room is dark. He shifts his head slightly. It’s 3:47 PM. Everything smells of sour perfume and stale cigarettes. Max tries to lift his head, but the strain on his face fades as he drifts back into sleep.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Was he dreaming?
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
What is that fucking noise?
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Max’s eyes blaze open and his breath explodes in hyperventilations like he’d been holding it for as long as he could. He pauses and forces himself to breathe slowly and deliberately. The Sony radio on his bedside cabinet flashes and beeps like it's about to explode. Max leans across and presses the red “off” button. It’s 8 AM—What day is it?
His bedroom is silent and reeks of misadventure. He rubs his face and sweat stings as he touches his still-adjusting eyes. He smells his armpit. He vaguely remembers showering. He flicks the switch on a lamp next to his clock radio. The brightness forces his stinging eyes shut. He feels around for his phone and blinks his vision clear. His jeans are on the floor. He tries to get up, but he’s dry and numb. He manages to roll over and rest on his knees and elbows. He’s still woozy.
After a minute or so Max manages to sit on the side of his bed with his back towards the blocked out window. He contemplates collapsing back on the bed for more sleep. He drags himself to the ensuite bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He splashes his face with lukewarm water and grabs a clean pair of underpants from his walk in robe next to the ensuite. He picks up his jeans from the floor and pulls them on. Checking in both front pockets produces his lifeless phone in one hand and a squashed softpack of cigarettes in the other—fuck!
Struggling to coordinate his mind and body efficiently, Max contemplates opening the bedroom blinds but decides to leave them for now. He grabs a green T-shirt from his collection of Stussy tops and slips it over his head and shoulders. He grabs a clean pair of ankle high sports socks and his black-and-white Converse basketball sneakers.
As he leaves the bedroom and walks past the spare bedroom and guest bathroom the smell of stale cigarettes overwhelms him and triggers a need for nicotine. The sun is pouring into the main lounge area. The tint on the windows makes everything glow with an amber hue, but the smell is annoying even Max.
First things first. He grabs the ashtray off the coffee table and empties it into the bin in the kitchen behind the hatch. Next, he opens the North balcony wall overlooking the Yarra and the city of Melbourne. Fresh air rushes in. The sun touches Max’s skin and his mood shifts. It looks like the Y2K didn't kill everyone after all. Heading back into the apartment, a soft breeze cools his back. Max opens the connecting Eastern wall and the eager wind engulfs the room and clears the stink of the 20th century like it was never there. Max heads to the kitchen to grab a Coke. On the fridge door is a yellow post it note.
“Good morning sleepy head ;)
I stayed till you started snoring.
I have to visit mum today
so I figured I better get some sleep
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Don’t forget you gave me next week off.
I'll see you on the 10th!
Ceebs xxx”
Max ignores the note and opens the fridge door, reaching for the array of cans inside. He grabs a Coke and flips its ring cap, spins around and closes the fridge door with his foot. He places one hand on the kitchen bench and sculls the Coke until his freezing brain tells him to stop. He burps loudly, expelling a little more of last year from his system. The caffeine and sugar ease addictive aches. He rinses the ashtray in the kitchen sink and dries it with a hand towel. He grabs a small plastic container from his pantry and plugs his dead phone into its battery charger. It comes to life, but Max lets it charge. With a Coke in one hand and the plastic container in the other Max taps the play all messages button on his TAM 100 Sony digital answering machine.
“You have five new messages” And then: BEEP! “Message received Saturday, January one at nine-oh-one AM.”
‘Hi Max, it’s Victoria here, not sure if you're home. Anyway, it turns out I’ll need to work today… Sorry about that, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be free Sunday afternoon for a couple of hours if you wanna hang out!’ BEEP!
What does that mean? What time is it? What day is it? Fuck, it’s Sunday! She wants to see him! Max takes another guzzle of Coke and places the mostly consumed can on the coffee table. He flops into the J corner of his couch with the plastic container on his lap. He belches again as loud as he can and for the first time this century his mind turns to food.
BEEP! “Message received Saturday, January one at ten-twelve-AM.” BEEP!
‘Hi Max, who’s the robot answering your phone?’ Abe probably thinks that’s hilarious. ‘Anyway, just wishing you a happy New Year Max. I gotta admit, I rarely knew what you were going on about with your technology talk, but I sure knew you thought you did. Congratulations on everything, Happy new year… Let me know when you’re back at work and we can sort out that family trust structure matter. Also, it’s your buy for lunch!’
Max smiles to himself. He loves that Abe cares more about his money more than he does and makes it sound like Max has never bought lunch.
BEEP! “Message received Saturday, January one at twelve-thirty-PM.” BEEP!
‘Max! It’s Bob Stormy. Just calling to wish you a Happy New Year. Let’s catch up for breakfast as soon as you’re back on deck.’ Perhaps he’s got feedback on the takeover? ‘Anyway Happy New Year Max. Give me a call when you can.’ BEEP!
Max flips open the lid of the plastic container and inside are a couple of thick cannabis buds, a small pair of scissors, 2 packets of Tally Ho rolling papers, and a small plastic bag filled with filters. Max uses the scissors to cut up one of the buds into the bottom of the container.
BEEP! “Message received Saturday, January one at five-oh-eight PM.” BEEP!
‘Hi mate it’s me. Happy New Year.’ Max sprinkles weed onto the papers. ‘I’m not sure when you're back in the office, but don't forget I’m on holiday at the end of the month.’ Max grabs a cigarette and breaks a little tobacco on top of the mull. ‘Let’s set up a meeting with that Billie-Mac bloke you were telling me about.’ Max puts a small filter at one end and rolls it into a joint. ‘Anyway, Happy New Year mate, I hope it was a good one.’ BEEP!
Max puts the joint in between his lips and lights it up. The tip blazes as he inhales. The hit of THC welcomes him to the new millennium.
BEEP! “Message received Jan one at six-nineteen-PM.” BEEP!
‘Hi Maxee. It’s just me, making sure you’re OK. Happy New Year! Did you get my note on the fridge? Don't forget I'm not in the office this week. I’ll see you on the tenth!’
BEEP! “You have no more messages.”
Max takes another drag and places the spliff onto the ashtray. The corner of his soft lounge cradles him. The sun warms the room and fills it full of light as it flows in from the Eastern and Northern wall windows. The river is glistening and the city is waking. He’s feeling good, Victoria wants to meet up, and the office is waiting for his return. Maybe this twenty-first century thing is gonna be OK!
He releases himself from his leather safe space, grabs the spliff and heads to the kitchen. His Nokia is charged enough, and he picks it up and presses the speed dial. He grabs a fresh can of Coke from the fridge and heads outside.
‘Hello, this is Billy Mac, I’ve been abducted by the Y2K bug and will be out of action until the week of the twentieth of Jan. If you have anything to say, please say it after the beep.’
‘Billy, it’s me Max. Are you there? Pick up.’