When Marcy Lamport woke up she had no idea what was in store for her. Her husband of 37 years had kissed her on the cheek at nine a.m. and said, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
            It was August 14, 2014 -  her birthday. And not just any birthday – the big one – sixty-five. Marcy smiled and rolled over, wondering what he was planning. Every year he had a unique surprise for her birthday, sending a car to pick her up and take her somewhere special. Last year it was a flight over the city in a small plane; the year before it was sailing on a catamaran; the previous year it was a horseback trail ride in the country; another year it was a weekend at a cabin in the mountains. He had mentioned hot air balloons once, but Marcy didn’t like the idea. She hoped he hadn’t arranged anything like that. Well, she would just refuse to get in to the basket.
            She rousted herself out of bed grudgingly just after ten, took a shower, and put her housecoat on. Then she carefully applied her makeup. Marcy took her new black pants out of the closet and laid them on the bed. Then she looked for her new green blouse that the sales lady had talked her into, saying it matched her eyes. She flipped through her blouses twice and couldn’t find it. Then she saw the green material amongst her husband’s shirts. What was it doing there? Marcy shook her head. Had she placed the blouse there, or was this a little joke of Fred’s? No, Fred hadn’t seen it yet. Marcy had a moment of mild panic. She had been misplacing things lately. She vowed silently to pay more attention to things.
            Fully dressed, Marcy surveyed her image in the full length mirror. Her midsection was without definition after giving birth to two children and the onset of menopause. Something didn’t look right. Her blouse wasn’t hanging properly. Then she realized she had put the wrong buttons in the wrong holes. Perturbed, she righted the blouse. That’s better, she thought. She inspected herself with great detail,
Birthday / Jensen / Page 2
making sure everything was in order. She put a lock of her dyed brown hair (she swore she would never be grey) back in place. Still something was missing. Earrings. She decided on the diamond studs Fred had given her for Christmas. When she was finally satisfied she turned away from the mirror and checked the time on the clock radio. It was just before eleven.
            As she made her way downstairs she could smell the aroma of fresh coffee wafting up. As usual the coffee pot was hot and almost full. She poured herself a coffee, went around the kitchen island and set the cup on the table where the newspaper sat. She pulled out the chair and remembered that she needed her glasses. Marcy turned around and scanned the counter. They weren’t in their usual spot. Where had she put them this time? Her absentmindedness of late was annoying her.
            Just then, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to two men in black suits. Marcy figured them to be in their early thirties but it was difficult to tell because of the dark sunglasses they were wearing.
            “Mrs. Lamport?” one of the men asked perusing a sheet of paper.
            “That’s me,” Marcy said, her voice coming out in a singsong the way it did when she was excited.
            “Come with us, please,” the same man said with no expression on his face.
            “I’ll just get my purse.” Marcy answered. She started to turn and the shorter man stopped her.
             “You won’t be requiring it.”
            The man who had not spoken took her elbow and escorted her to a black limousine with darkly tinted windows. The back door was opened and she climbed in. The door was gently closed behind her, as if any noise was not permissible.
            “Oh, one more thing,” the first man said again. “Put this on.” He handed her a blindfold through the glass.
            As she reached for the black mask she felt a shock go through her fingers. Must be the dry air, Marcy thought. It wasn’t unusual for Fred to provide a mask for her to wear so she didn’t know where she was going. It was all part of the adventure.
            “Put it on now, please.”
            Marcy carefully pulled the mask over her head so as not to disturb her hair. An involuntary shudder went through her. The mask felt…strange. Marcy told herself she was just being silly. She folded her hands in her lap as she felt the car pull away from the curb. It must just be the excitement, she thought, that was giving her strange feelings. Fred had been asking some strange questions lately and Marcy had been trying to figure out what exactly he was up to. It was her 65th birthday – surely it was going to be big!
            They drove for about thirty minutes, or so it seemed to Marcy. She sniffed the air for clues. No manure smells, no flowery smells, no aroma of the sea. She was tempted to peek out from underneath the blindfold, but didn’t. Her anticipation was building. What on earth could Fred have thought of this year?
            Finally the car stopped.
            “Do not remove the blindfold, Mrs. Lamport.”
            The car door opened and she reached out her hand for assistance. The hand that grabbed hers was ice cold and she tried to snatch her hand away, but the man held on. Then, with a man on each side of her, she was guided over cement (her blindfold had shifted slightly allowing her a peak below her left eye) and through a doorway. Marcy sniffed again. A familiar odor, but she could not identify it. It was hot, too hot. She felt faint again.
            “Can I take the blindfold off now?” Marcy asked, her hands lifting towards her face.
            Ignoring her request, her hands were gently brought down to her side. The hands were warm this time. “We are going to sit you in the chair, Mrs. Lamport.”
            The two men lowered her into the chair. Marcy felt the warm leather underneath her hands. It felt like her very own recliner chair that she had at home. She tried to remember if she had seen it in the living
room before she had left the house. She would have noticed if it was gone, wouldn’t she? She ran her hands up and down the arms of the chair. Smooth. She reached down beside her for the lever that tilts the chair back. It didn’t seem to be there.
            “Please keep your hands still, Mrs. Lamport.”
            “Could you recline my chair for me?” she asked. Where was Fred? Why was she feeling so vulnerable?
             “Of course, we were just going to do that.”
            “Mrs. Lamport, today is your birthday. You are sixty-five years old, correct?”
            “Yes. That’s right.”
            “You were born on this day in 1949.”
            “Right again.” She tried to keep the singsong out of her voice.
            She was just starting to relax when she heard a buzzing sound. Then she felt restraints clamp around her wrists and ankles. Her heart started pounding. Maybe Fred had gone a little too far this time. She would have a word with her husband when this was over. He was never to do anything like this again.
            Marcy felt a stab of pain in her arm. A needle, she thought. “No!” She cried out. Within seconds her mind became fuzzy. She had been put under anesthetic enough times that she knew what was happening to her. But why? Marcy sniffed the air again. A hospital? A chill crawled up her neck. Had she forgotten about a surgery she was supposed to have today? Her gallbladder? No, she was sure she had already had that surgery.
            The medication was taking effect. She made an attempt to struggle against the restraints, but her body wouldn’t respond. “Where is my husband? Where is Fred?” Her mouth wouldn’t articulate the words clearly. Marcy was truly frightened by this time. Fred would never do something like this. What was going on?
            Her last thought as she drifted off was that her husband was trying to kill her. No, that was insane. Or was it? He had been acting a little strange lately. Was Fred having an affair? Had he arranged this to get rid of her? 
            At noon Fred Lamport entered the front door of his house. It was silent. He went into the living room. Marcy had been falling asleep in her recliner chair while watching the television. But the television was black and the recliner empty.  He went into the kitchen. A full cup of coffee was on the table. He touched the side of the cup. It was cold. The newspaper hadn’t been opened. Fred ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second level calling his wife’s name. Maybe she slipped in the tub. It didn’t make sense to him because of the cup of coffee on the table. But his mind was racing. He checked the bathroom, the bedrooms and Marcy’s sewing room. She hadn’t sewn in a while, but maybe she had taken it up again. No noise. The room was empty. Fred felt the panic settle in. He feared that his wife’s dementia had escalated. She had wandered out of the house twice in the last month.
            Maybe she was in the yard, although she seldom went in the garden these days. As he descended the stairs the doorbell rang. Relief flooded him. She had locked herself out of the house. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened either.
            But when he opened the front door, it wasn’t his wife standing there. Two men in black suits faced him.
            “Mr. Lamport?” The tall one queried.
            “Yes?” Who were they? What did they want? They handed him a letter and walked away without a word. He watched as they got into a black limo.
            His name stared back at him from the envelope. He tore it open. Maybe Marcy had a birthday idea of her own and was playing a little game with him. Maybe she had figured out what he had planned and was already there. A smile briefly touched his lips. He unfolded the letter.
            Dear Mr. Lamport,
            It has come to our attention that on August 14, 2014 Mrs. Marcy  Ann Lamport (nee Stratton) will be       turning sixty-five years old.
            He shook his head slightly. Since when did the government send out letters congratulating people for turning sixty-five? He read on:
            It is my duty to inform you that due to the enormous numbers of births in from 1946 to 1950, after   the end of World War II, the older population is becoming too large. Due to the continuing recession The Government is unable to provide all citizens with the Old Age Pension Income when they turn sixty-five. Therefore The Government will remedy this in the following manner. A computer has generated a list of every person who will turn sixty-five this during the four year specified time limit and seven hundred and thirty names have been chosen at random. The Government has mandated that these unfortunate souls need to be eradicated. At this time, this mandate will only take place for the four years unless The Government deems otherwise.
            Mrs. Lamport has been taken to a secret location to be put to death by lethal injection on this day   at exactly twelve noon. No action is to be taken on your part. Rest assured that your loved one will be treated with the utmost respect and will not suffer unnecessarily. Her remains will be cremated and taken care of by The Government at no expense to you.
            We are truly sorry that this is the case, but you must understand that we are, in the end, creating     better lives four our countries younger population and continue to make it possible for the remaining senior citizens to have a better quality of life that they otherwise would.
             We sincerely hope that this event does not cause you any inconvenience or hardship.
            He read it again. It was surely a joke. Was this Marcy’s doing?
            It was unsigned, but the government seal on the bottom indicated that the letter was official. Fred looked at the kitchen clock. Eight minutes after twelve. He put his head in his hands and wept.

updated by @carolinejensen: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM