“I don’t give a damn the problems you’re havin’! That order better be on the truck and on its way to the drilling site this afternoon! Got it!” Mike Hanson slammed the phone down.

“Mikey, if you don’t calm down that vein on the side of your head’s gonna explode.”

“Put a sock in it!” Mike’s face redlined. “I don’t need you tellin’ me how to handle my business.” He sprang out of the chair slapping the glass desktop. “It’s infuriating!”

“Believe me...” said best friend Edward Belew, “...I know.”

“Those lazy yahoos in shipping don’t care and then pretend to be unaware of deadlines… looking for any way possible to get out of work. Why, I oughta...” His voiced trailed to a mutter as he pressed fingertips into his temples and dropped back into his chair. “Other than line them up and fire them...” he snickered, “... or shoot them, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I hope you realize, Mike, the fate of Weaver Oilfield Tool and Supply is in a lot of capable hands, not just yours.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He went limp, chin meeting chest as he contemplated options. Pressing hard on the sides of his head in front of his ears, Mike tried again to squeeze away a headache. As the pain became more manageable, he realized how unfair the outburst had been to Ed. He opened an eye, training it on his buddy standing on the opposite side of the desk. “Sorry, man... didn’t mean to snap at you. “Hell, I didn’t mean to snap at all. A sheepish grin came up. “But I seem to be doing it a lot lately. Don’t I?”

Ed pulled a chair in close to the desk and sat. He planted elbows on the front of it forming a fingertip pyramid and perching his chin atop them. He had that look—a look Mike knew well—the precursor to brotherly advice.

Mike’s head hurt just enough that he didn’t care to go for the pre-emptive strike as he normally would, watching his friend stare somewhere behind him and over his head and wondered what Ed cooked up in that conniving brain. Finally, he tired of waiting and swung a flailing gesture. “What? Don’t just sit there. Say something, if you’re going to.”

Ed’s eyes came down to connect with Mike’s. “Glad you asked. I don’t like handing out unsolicited advice.”

“Uh huh... right.” Mike rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been with Weaver Oilfield Tool and Supply for… what… twenty-one years?” Not waiting for an answer, “Man, no matter how you slice it that’s loyalty. And I’m here to tell ya, friend, there’s no one in this building that has given more to WOTS, Inc. than you.”

“Thanks but get to the point.”

“Don’t rush me. Genius like this must be savored like fine wine.”

“That’s such a crock...”

“Maybe, but hear me out.” Ed smiled as he rose and glided around to Mike’s side, gave his friend a patronizing pat on the shoulder and then sat on the corner of the desk. “It’s obvious you have a problem. That shipping snafu is a pittance, nearly nothing in the overall scheme of things. That can mean only one thing; your objectivity and priorities have become skewed. Since I know this to be true…” he leaned over and patted Mike’s shoulder again, whispering an aside, “…Here comes the genius part.” He winked and tapped his temple with a fingertip accompanied by a cocky nod. “...You’re burned out, buddy, that’s all there is to it.” He stood, towering over Mike crossing his arms over his chest and raising a stern eyebrow. “How long has it been since you’ve enjoyed… well... anything?”

Mike threw up an accusing finger. “If you’re—“

Ed blocked the finger with an open palm. “Hang on. Let me finish. I’m not talking about a few laughs at a silly movie or swapping jokes over a beer. I mean waking up in the morning and feeling wonderful about just being alive. How long?”

Mike stared.

“You can talk now.”

“Thanks for the permission but I don’t think I want to touch it. It’s a loaded question and you know it. You still don’t seem to be at the point of this little lecture yet.”

Ed plopped back down on the corner of the desk. “Okay, I’m going to get really serious.” “Sorry, but you don’t do serious very well.”

“Hush. I see anger and powerlessness, a dangerous duo teaming against you. Either one could bring you down but together and unchecked the combination could do some damage.”

Mike offered a conciliatory nod. “Maybe, then again, maybe not.”

“If there ever was an unhappier man, I haven’t met him. Buddy, you’re miserable.” His nose turned slightly upward. “Just my opinion, of course.”

“Of course,” he said. “Now it’s my turn. WOTS cash flow is down dramatically. In fact some of our long-standing revenue streams have dried up entirely. The industry is losing ground. I’m looking at the likelihood of having to cut staff. I’ve done it before but I’m losing the heart for it. I don’t think I have it in me to ruin people’s lives anymore just to balance a spreadsheet.”

Ed cupped his ear. “Is that your career I hear fizzling?”

“Ed, sometimes you can be a real dipstick.”

Ed’s grin wilted away. “Look, you seldom smile and hardly ever laugh. You’ve lost your verve. You don’t seem capable of squeezing the slightest gratification from this job anymore. Day-to-day problem solving has, itself, become a problem. I think you’re building a dangerous head of steam. And, who knows... you might even go postal. Yep, I’d rather piss you off now than wait ‘til you walk in someday in the near future in a blind rage spraying bullets because someone didn’t follow the rules and sign a requisition order to buy more paper clips.”

Mike turned away. “Now you’re just spewing bullshit.”

Ed’s eyebrow went up as he held a stern gaze on Mike.

After quiet seconds, Mike turned back and took note of Ed’s solemn look. “I’m guessing that face is for me and not for the derogatory remark I just made.”

“Yep.”

“What makes you think I’d ever do such a stupid thing?” Mike rose and stepped over to the large window overlooking downtown Midland, Texas.

“Think about it. You reamed the shipping department for an order that’s minutes… not weeks, days or even hours late. We’re talkin’ minutes, Mike… minutes. You tell me. Does that sound like something Mike Hanson would normally do?”

Mike gazed across the Midland skyline as he considered the question. He couldn’t look at his friend again until he’d come to some conclusion. Ed’s influence usually caused one of two reactions, laughter or anger. In this case neither seemed appropriate. His eyes blankly followed a plastic shopping bag carried on west Texas wind across his view of the Midland landscape on this late spring day while his hands remained clasped to his back. “So, you think that I’ve lost the capacity for a happy life. How can you possibly know that? Maybe you’re just too dense to notice.” Not hearing an immediate response, he turned. “Well?”

Ed sighed and shook his head. He smiled the smile of resignation, rolling his eyes then tossed his hands into the air. “I surrender. Someday I hope you start doing what’s good for you, my friend; not for me or your boss and absolutely not that… that wife of yours.”

Mike let the overly personal assessment slide.

Edward Belew was his closest friend and the only person between the South Plains and the Gulf of Mexico who could talk to him that way and get away with it. Ed had worked for WOTS for eleven years. A close bond developed into a cross between siblings and schoolyard chums. It was clear that Ed noticed Mike’s deterioration and would never hesitate to say whatever he deemed necessary to keep Mike from becoming depressed.

“Yep, the ol’ ball-n-chain is more like the ol’ albatross in your case.”

Mike underestimated Ed’s sincerity most of the time. Ed’s inherent laid-back and lackadaisical approach most often came across as cheeky. Unlike the rest of the world, Mike knew that attitude to be an act—an appearance perfected over years of sales experience to serve a negotiating style in closing difficult deals. At the moment, Mike struggled to keep his friend’s argument in perspective, shaking a warning finger at Ed while sporting a lopsided grin. “You just wait. Someday you’re going to meet a girl that’ll turn your world upside down. And when you do... wham!” He slammed a fist into his palm. “Your view of marriage will never be the same again.”

Ed snickered. “Yeah, right.” He laughed. “When that happens I hope my balls stay a little fuzzier than yours have. She does a tap dance on you and you do nothing to stop her. You’re a pal but you’re still a weenie.”

“That’s cold-blooded.”

“Even standing on my head, I think I’d recognize when give and take turns into give, give, give. You’re the giver… in case I needed to point that out. And God-all mighty, does she ever do some serious takin’?”

“Hey! That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.”

“Your point?”

“The point is; Brenda does a lot of good in this community. She works with several charitable organizations. She’s a giving person and don’t you forget that.”

Ed’s eyes opened wide then let out a belly laugh. “Yeah, she gives of everybody else’s time and your money. Wake up Mike! You—“

“That’s enough, Ed!” The warning finger turned rigid. “Shut up.” Mike returned to a more formal position standing behind his desk ready to mete out a reprimand for such a brutal invasion into his personal life. He quickly discovered he couldn’t—not to Ed. Maybe I have lost my verve. He sank down into his chair—argument evaporating before it started.

Although not a quitter in business or in love, he long ago vowed to do everything possible to make a successful and happy marital union but he also knew the problems with his marriage to Brenda were for the exact reasons Ed pointedly spoke of.

He wanted to defend her. He should defend her, but as he looked to his buddy in a calculating way, he eventually huffed pent up frustration out his nostrils and chose not to. He just didn’t have the wherewithal at the moment. It’s probably just the tension here at work. Mike didn’t want to delve into his wife’s shortcomings. It’d be a debate he couldn’t win without shading the truth. That, itself, was a riddle he had to get a handle on someday, but not today.

Brenda Hanson had become trapped in the allure of elite social circles. Mike never lost sight of that shy Texas farm girl he’d married, refusing to believe changes were anything other than playing a role. Maybe she felt obligated. He bore responsibility for that because of his position in the community. But he wasn’t sure that was the case. Uncertainty kept Ed’s admonition ringing true.

“Ed, why don’t we go to lunch and not come back?”

“Wow! That would be a major deviation… for you anyway.”

“I know, but you struck a nerve that’s resonating. Not about my wife, mind you, but about needing time away.” He slapped the top of the desk with both hands, jumped to his feet and declared, “I need a vacation.”

“True, but I don’t think an afternoon of playing hooky qualifies as a vacation.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“All I’m sayin’ is that you haven’t taken a full day off since Christmas. For Christ’s sake, it’s the first week of June! You need rest... serious relaxation, not just an afternoon off. I’d say at least a week.” He backed up to a sofa across the office and dropped. Twiddling his thumbs and grinning, Ed waited for a response appearing as though he had no intention of leaving without hearing commitment to his idea.

Taking only a couple of plodding steps toward Ed, he stopped, nibbled his lower lip and looked to his shuffling toe. He lifted his hands and dropped them into his pant pockets. For the first time in several years, Mike was giving serious consideration to one of Ed’s suggestions.