MID-LIFE CRISIS

 

By: Kenda

 

 

     "Good morning, San Diego.  It's seven-thirty!   Rise and shine!  None of us will be shining much today.  It's cloudy and the forecast calls for overcast skies, with the possibility of rain moving in by noon.  Better take those umbrellas when you leave the house this morning.  Now let's return to today’s hot, country favorites.  Maybe a tune by Garth Brooks will chase those clouds on outta here."

 

"I doubt it," Rick Simon groaned, while rolling over to turn the volume down on his clock radio.  He contemplated drifting back to sleep for another half hour but quickly decided against it, fearing he'd be late for work.

 

     "You're gettin' old, Rick," the detective chastised himself.  "There was a time in your life when you didn't care if you were late for work.  Hell, there was a time when you didn't work at all.  Man, sometimes it sounds pretty good to just chuck it all and hit the road again on a Harley, only workin' for a few days at a time when my wallet gets thin.  Geez, what's happened to me?"

 

     What's happened to you, Richard, is that you've grown up.  Become responsible.  You're an equal partner in a successful business, you have this houseboat you make payments on, that new truck you make payments on, the electric bill, the gas bill, the phone bill, then there's that new washing machine you had to buy, and you're saving for a big screen T.V., and--

 

     "All right, all right.  Shut up, will ya'?"  Rick ordered that menacing voice inside his head.  The voice that pointed out to Rick, that somewhere along the line, without even realizing it, he'd grown materialistic. 

 

     "There was a time in my life when I didn't own anything but a motorcycle and the clothes I could fit into my knapsack," Rick frowned at his image that was reflected down from the mirrors above his bed.  "Even when I had the Hole In The Water at A.J.'s, I didn't own much of anything else.  But now look at me.  I've turned into a regular ole’ middle class kinda joe."

 

     The detective cast a sleepy glance around his bedroom. He took in its comforts of the oak dresser and nightstand, the large closet, the rich oak paneling on the walls, and the plush beige carpeting on the floor. 

 

     "On the other hand, materialism isn't as bad as some people make it out to be,” Rick commented wryly.  “This sure beats sleepin' in a flimsy pup tent on a cold night in Montana."

 

     Rick lay against his pillow with his head cradled comfortably in his hands for another fifteen minutes.  He forced himself to move when his dog, Rex, whined from the doorway, indicating that it was time to start the day.

 

     "Morning, boy." Rick pushed himself to a seated position and stretched.  Rex padded over to his master's bedside, receiving a pat on his golden head and a long scratch behind the ears.  "Do ya’ need to go out?"

 

     Upon hearing the word 'out,’ Rex dashed for the patio doors. 

 

     Rick padded from the bedroom and into the boat's living area.  He opened the blinds covering the sliding glass doors, then fumbled with the lock.  As he did so, he asked Rex, "So, what's your opinion?  Do you think I've become a materialistic?"

 

     Rex didn't give Rick an answer.  Instead, ran out the open door, heading straight for the marina's lawn and his favorite tree. 

 

     "I'll take that as a no," Rick smiled, before making his way to the coffee pot.  He filled a mug with the steaming liquid, looking out the window as he took his first cautious sip.  "What a crappy day.  Matches my mood perfectly."  

 

     The lanky detective was soon engrossed with the morning tasks of preparing breakfast, showering, shaving, and making the bed.

 

     As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, Rick exclaimed to Rex, who was lying on the bedroom floor, "I'm makin' the bed!  Can you believe I'm makin' the bed?  That I've made my bed every morning for the last five years?"

 

     Rex favored his master with the opening of one eye, decided that whatever Rick was upset about wasn't worth a dog's time, then went back to his nap.

 

     Rick pulled at the covers and bedspread, still talking to the dog that was paying him no heed. 

 

"You didn't know me when I didn't make my bed, Rex.  You weren't around yet.  But let me tell you, I was one fun guy back then.  A guy who didn't live his life within the confines of middle class America.  A guy who did his own thing, regardless of what others thought.  Now look at me, I'm makin' my bed!"

 

     A corner of the blanket Rick was tugging on got stuck between the bedpost and mattress.  When a couple of strong pulls failed to loosen it, he threw the covers down in a heap, mumbled, "Oh, screw it," grabbed his hat off the dresser, and headed out the door for work.

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

             

 

 

     "Ha, ha!"  Rick cried triumphantly, racking up another high score on the pinball machine in the Simon and Simon office.

 

     A.J. sat at his desk, rubbing his temples, trying to soothe away the headache he was getting from the insistent clanging of bells and whistles emanating from Rick's toy.

 

     Rick started his tenth straight game, prompting his annoyed brother to ask, "Are you planning on working here sometime today, or is it your new ambition to be an overage pinball wizard?"

 

     Rick’s eyes didn’t leave the game.  "I'm just taking a little break, A.J.  Don't be so uptight."

 

     "You've been taking a little break all morning."

 

     "Hey, sometimes a guy just needs a little R&R, ya’ know."

 

     Rick couldn't see his brother's face, therefore the blond man allowed himself a fond smile of well-practiced tolerance.  "Yes, Rick, I know."

 

     "Besides, we've got that repo job after lunch.  We'll be workin' then."

 

     A.J. turned back to his computer screen. "I'm already working.  What you mean is, you'll be working then."

 

     "Whatever," Rick vaguely replied, his full concentration on his game.

 

     "All right!”  Rick shouted a few minutes later, when he once again topped his previous high score.  “Yes!”

 

     The satisfied man turned from his game then and leaned   against the machine.  He watched as the forecasted rain beat against the windows behind A.J.'s desk. 

 

"A.J., have you ever thought about what you'd do if you weren't doing this?"

 

     A.J. didn't look up from his computer screen, his fingers keeping up a steady rhythm on the keyboard. 

 

"Sure.  I'd be typing this report on that old manual typewriter we used to have, swearing every time I made a mistake."

 

     "Which was quite often, I might point out," Rick quipped.  "But that's not what I mean.  So, have you?"

 

     "Have I what?"

 

     "Have you ever thought about what you'd be doing if you weren't doing this?"

 

     "Doing what?"  Came the preoccupied question.

 

     "Oh, for cryin' out loud.  Are you retarded today or something?  Being a detective!  What you'd be doing if you weren't a detective."

 

     “I don’t know,” A.J. shrugged his shoulders.  "I suppose I have a time or two."

 

     "So?"  Rick prompted, after several seconds passed and his brother didn’t elaborated any further.

 

     A.J. pressed a command on his terminal.  Over the sound of the small printer, he asked, "So what?"

 

     "A.J., you are the most frustrating person to carry on a conversation with today!"

 

     A.J. looked at his brother.  "Me?"  He questioned with a hand to his chest.  "This from the man who has spent the past three hours with his back to me while engaged in a pinball marathon."

 

     "Don't try to throw me off track here.  Just answer the question."

 

     "What was the question?"

 

     "A.J.—-“

 

     A.J. laughed at the brother whose patience he was trying. 

 

"Okay, okay.  Have I thought about what I'd do if I wasn't a detective?"

 

     "Yeah."

 

     "The answer is yes, I have, but no, I don't really know what I'd do."

 

     "That's no answer," Rick scowled.

 

     "Sorry, it's the best one I've got," A.J. replied while proofreading his printed report.  "What brought all this on anyway?"

 

     Rick pushed himself away from the pinball machine, walking over to collect his coat and hat off the rack.  "Oh, nothing.  Forget it.  Let's get some lunch before we have to head to Vicker's place.  Why are we doin' a repo job anyway?  I thought we gave those up years ago."

 

     "Because Brad down at the bank asked us to."

 

     "So?"

 

     A.J. rose to gather up his own jacket.  "So, he holds the mortgage on my house, the mortgage on your boat, the note on your new truck, the loan for the copy and fax machine we bought,

the--"

 

     "Okay, okay, I get the picture.  He's not a guy we say no to."

 

     "Not if we want to continue to live in the style to which we are accustomed," A.J. said while zipping up his jacket.

 

     As the brothers headed for the door Rick said, "Maybe a change in lifestyles wouldn't be so bad."

 

     A.J. stopped his progress.  "Rick...is there something you want to tell me?"

 

     "No. Why?"

 

     "You've been making comments like that for the past month now."

 

     "Like what?"

 

     "Wanting a change, asking me if I thought a business this size could be run by just one person, asking me what I'd do if I wasn't a detective..."

 

     Rick gave his brother a push out the door, dismissing A.J.'s concerns with, "It's nothing.  Let's get moving.  I'm hungry."

 

     "When aren't you?"  Was the comment made before the elevator began its descent.

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

 

     "Geez, will you look at this rain," Rick observed, squinting through the windshield of this truck.

 

     The brothers were parked outside a home in an upper middle class section of San Diego.  A.J. squinted to see through the downpour as well, double-checking the address on the home with the slip of paper he had in his hand.

 

     "This it?"  Rick asked.

 

     "Yep.  The car's supposed to be in that big building around back."

 

     "And no one's home?" 

 

     "No.  Not according to Brad.  The guy lives here alone and he's away on business all week."

 

     Rick eyed the front of the house a moment longer, taking in the closed door on the attached garage and the drawn draperies at the living room window.

 

     "Looks deserted to me," Rick observed.  He pulled his cowboy hat down lower on his head.  "As much as I hate the thought of going out in this stuff, are you ready?"

 

     A.J., as well, prepared for a dash through the rain by pulling his jacket collar up around his neck.  "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied before opening the truck door and running for the building behind the house.

 

     The two men stood in the rain, Rick working at picking the lock on the side door, A.J. keeping watch.

 

     "At least with the way it's raining no one's going to be paying any attention to what we're doing!" the dripping wet A.J. shouted over a roll of thunder.

 

     "That's 'cause no one in their right mind would be out in this stuff!"  Rick shouted back as he continued to fumble with the lock.  "Tell me again.  Why are we out in this stuff?"

 

     "Because we owe it to Brad, and his bank is paying us five

hundred bucks to do this job."

 

     "Oh...I guess that's a good reason," Rick agreed as the lock finally popped.

 

     Both brothers quickly stepped inside the warm, dry, building.  Rick winced, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand.

 

     "You okay?" 

 

     "Yeah, my hand's just a little stiff.  This cold rain doesn't help it any.  That's why it took me so long to get the door unlocked."

 

     "Arthritis."

 

     "Oh,” Rick groaned, “don't start that again."

 

     "Well, it is.  The doctor told you that's what it is."

 

     "A.J., old people get arthritis.  I'm not old."

 

     "No, but you're not a kid anymore either, though you do still act like one on most days."

 

     "Oh shut...wow!  Would you look at these cars?" Rick whistled in admiration at the three classic sports cars before them.  "Which one is it?" 

 

     "The '64 Corvette."

 

     "Nice.” Rick ran his hand over the gleaming white body of the car.  “Very nice.”

 

     "Hey, it's mine," the blond man reminded Rick of the fact that they had previously agreed A.J. would be the one to drive the car back to the bank.

 

     "Yeah, but you didn't tell me it was a Vette.  And a classic one at that.  I thought it was just some everyday, ordinary Chevy or something," Rick argued while admiring the car's bright red leather interior.

 

     "I'm the one that agreed to take this job, I'm the one who drives it," A.J. informed his brother, doing a little car admiring of his own.  "Besides, you had your fun all morning reliving your childhood on that pinball machine.  Now it's my turn to relive my youth. I've always wanted a car like this."

 

     "So, get yourself one."

 

     "Get myself one?  Do you know how much one of these babies costs?"

 

     "So.  You only live once, A.J.  If you want one, you should get it. Talk to Brad about it when we get it back to the bank.  I bet he'll make you a good deal on this one."

 

     A.J. eyed the vehicle critically, walking a full circle around it.  "I don't know.  I just got my car paid off last month.  I was looking forward to not having a car payment for a few years now."

 

     Rick circled the car as well.  "What are you going to do with the extra money?"

 

     A.J. crouched down, studying the car's white wall tires.  "What extra money?"

 

     "The extra money you'll have from not making a car payment."

 

     "Save it for the down payment on my next car." 

 

     "A.J., you're really boring, you know that?  You've got some extra cash, you've been wanting a car like this, go for it."

 

     A.J. was always amused, and sometimes annoyed, by Rick's attitude toward money - if you want something, go for it regardless of the cost.  The blond man shook his head, "No, I don't need it that bad."

 

     "Geez, A.J., you're just like a little old lady when it comes to your wallet."

 

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

     "Frugal, frugal, frugal."

 

     "Well, at least when I am old, I won't be living out on a street corner like some people I know. My frugalness will have paid off."

 

     "Frugalness?  Is that word?"

 

     A.J. simply shot his brother a look of annoyance before beginning to hot wire the car.

 

     Rick leaned against the automobile while his brother worked.  "Besides, I won't be living on a street corner.  If worse comes to worse, I can always live with you."

 

     "Don't bet on it," came A.J.'s muffled response from underneath the dashboard.

 

     "Aw, sure, A.J.," Rick scoffed.  "You're gonna have all that money you've saved all these years, you're gonna be lonely. Let's face it, you're life's gonna be a real drag without me in it."

 

     "What fairy tale have you been reading?" 

 

     Before Rick could respond A.J. had the car started.  Rick unlocked and lifted the garage door.  A.J. slowly backed the Corvette onto the long driveway that ran alongside the house.

 

     Rick wandered back in the building for a moment.  He took the time to admire the two remaining cars, a '66 Ford Mustang and a 1960 G.T.O.

 

     Because of the sound of the wind, rain, and thunder, and because he was so far inside the big structure, Rick didn't hear A.J. calling for his help.  Therefore, Rick wasn't aware anything was amiss until he turned to exit the garage.  He had to look twice to make sure he was seeing clearly through the downpour.  Two large men, both over six foot four and built like wrestlers, had dragged A.J. out of the car and were beating him with their thick fists.

 

     Rick ran out of the garage at full speed, landing a vicious kick to the side of the man who had his brother by the throat.  Once A.J. had some help things improved a bit, but the free-for- all of fists and legs continued for several minutes until Rick disabled one of the assailants with a kick to the groin landed by the very pointy toe of his right cowboy boot.  He and A.J. then fought together to overpower the other hulk, finally depositing an empty garbage can over the big man's head and shoulders.

 

     The Simons made their getaway as one man lay moaning in the middle of the driveway, and the other circled around in a daze trying to dislodge himself from the garbage can.

 

     Rick grabbed his battered brother by the arm, leading him toward the pickup.

 

     "No...no,"  A.J. gasped, stopping by the still running Corvette.

 

     "A.J--" Rick urged with a pull on his sibling's arm.

 

     "No, I can drive.  I wanna get this car to the bank," A.J. insisted, clutching his rib cage and carefully maneuvering himself into the car's front seat.

 

     "Are you sure you can drive?"  Rick shouted skeptically, watching blood stream out of A.J.'s nose.

 

     "Yeah, I'm sure.  Let's get out of here before Samson and Goliath come at us again."

 

     A.J. backed the car out of the driveway while Rick limped off to his truck.  For just a brief moment the older Simon rested his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes.  He grimaced when he finally turned the key in the ignition, pain flaring from his knuckles again.  He slowly pulled the truck away from the curve, following A.J. down the street and to the bank.

 

 

         

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

 

     "Oh, thank God," A.J. muttered in the way of prayer as he and Rick entered the blond's home later that afternoon.

 

     The bruised, battered, and soaking wet brothers stood leaning against A.J.'s kitchen counter for a moment. Both gathered their strength, and for the first time surveyed their injuries.  Or at least A.J. was surveying his injuries.

 

He touched his tender rib cage.  "Nope, I don't think anything's broken," he said lightly.  He then raised a hand to his aching nose and the cut above his left eye.  "Not too bad."  He decided after a moment.  "The nose is still straight, and I don't need any stitches."

 

     A.J. tuned into the fact that Rick wasn't joining in the banter, but rather was staring out the window over the sink.

 

     "Rick?"

 

     When there was no answer, A.J. tried again, "Rick?"

 

     Still Rick didn't reply.  A.J. grew concerned, moving over to his brother and laying a hand on his wet back.  "Rick, are you okay?"

 

     Rick slowly turned to look at A.J., blinking a few times as if to orient himself from whatever daydream he had just been lost in.

 

     "Are you okay?"  A.J. repeated.

 

     "Uh...yeah.  Yeah, I'm okay."

 

     A.J. reached up to grasp his brother's jaw, turning his older brother’s head to get a better look at the large cut and bruise over Rick's right temple.

 

     Rick jerked his head out of A.J.'s hand, not wanting any part of the solicitous ministrations.  "What are you doin'?"  He asked gruffly.

 

     "Just taking a look at that bruise.  You're going to have quite a goose egg tomorrow."

 

     Rick moved away from A.J.  "It's nothin.’"

 

     A.J. wasn't sure what to make of it when Rick crossed into the living room and came to a stop in front of the French doors, once again staring out at the rain.

 

     "Rick...?"  The concerned A.J. inquired.

 

     Rick silenced his brother with an abrupt wave of his hand.  He remained where he was, watching lightening flash over the canal.

 

     A.J. studied his brother from the kitchen, recalling that Rick had been oddly quiet ever since they arrived at the bank.  A.J.'s older brother hadn't taken part in the banter between A.J. and their loan officer, Brad, when the banker teased them about their soaking wet, disheveled appearance.  Nor had Rick tried to goad A.J. once again into buying the repossessed Corvette. 

 

     A.J. decided it was well past time to get Rick out of this strange mood.

 

     "I'm going up to take a hot shower.  You've still got a change of clothes in the guest room.  You're welcome to soak in the whirlpool."

 

     Rick gave an involuntary shudder, while continuing to stare out the French doors.  "No, that's okay.  I'll just head back to the marina."

 

     Again, A.J. was puzzled.  Rick never, ever refused an invitation to soak in the big whirlpool tub A.J. had installed a few years back.

 

     Gently, A.J. pointed out, "It's pouring rain out there.  There's no need for you to rush off.  After I get out of the shower I'll throw a couple of steaks in the broiler, make some baked potatoes--"

 

     "Nh, that's okay."

 

     "Rick, come on.  You're standing there shivering and rubbing your hand.  I know the cold bothers your knuckles.  Take a soak and get warmed up.  There's a basketball game on T.V. at seven.  Stick around a while and watch it with me."

 

     Rick contemplated A.J.'s offer for a moment.  He seemed to reach a decision when another strong shiver coursed through his body. 

 

"Okay...I guess I'll stay for a while.  But you don't have to make dinner.  I don't want you goin’ to any trouble."

 

     Again, another oddity for Rick, A.J. noted.  His older brother never turned down a free meal.

 

     "It won't be any trouble," A.J. assured.  "Whether you stay or not, I'm doing to have to make dinner."

 

     Rick finally conceded, "Okay, but only if you let me help."

 

     "You want to help?”  A.J. teased.  “Will wonders never cease?" 

 

     Rick looked at his brother for the first time during the course of their conversation.  "Can it, A.J.  I wanna help."

 

     "Fine by me.  I'm sure I can find something for you to do," A.J. readily agreed as he headed for the stairway.  "You can shower in the guest bathroom if you're not going to use the whirlpool."

 

     "Uh...maybe I will use the whirlpool after all, if you don't mind." 

 

     "No. I don't mind.  It's all yours."

 

     "I'll be up in a minute then," was how Rick left things before turning back to stare out the doors.

 

     A.J. stood in the den a moment longer, studying Rick's shivering back.  He shook his head in puzzlement before finally turning and heading up the stairs to the shower.

 

 

 

S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S     S&S

 

   

 

     Once Rick finally did get in the whirlpool tub, he didn't seem inclined get out.  A.J. puttered around the kitchen, not rushing dinner preparations, allowing Rick all the time he wanted to soak away the aches and pains of the day.

 

     The steaks were sizzling in the broiler, and the potatoes were done baking, when the blond man headed up the stairs in search of his brother.

 

     He knocked twice on the closed bathroom door.

 

     "Yeah, A.J., come on in," Rick's tired voice beckoned.

 

     A.J. opened the door only wide enough to poke his head and shoulders in the room.  Rick was still submerged in the warm bubbling water. His head rested wearily back against the wide lip of the tub.

 

     "Supper's ready."

 

     Rick lifted his head, scowling.  "I told you I'd help."

 

     "That was over an hour ago," A.J. lightly informed his sibling.

 

     "I've been in here that long?  What time is it?"

 

     "Six-fifteen."

 

     "Okay.  I'll be right down."

 

     "There's no rush.  I just need to know how much longer you're going to be so I don't burn the steaks."

 

     "I'm ready to get out," Rick said, his stomach growling as the tempting smells from the kitchen wafted in through the open bathroom door.

 

     "Good enough," A.J. agreed before closing the door and going back downstairs.

 

     Forty-five minutes later supper was finished.  Rick helped his brother carry the dirty dishes to the dishwasher, then accepted A.J.'s offer of a glass of brandy.

 

     The two men walked into the den, A.J. going over to turn the T.V. on.

 

     "Don't turn that on yet," Rick requested from the easy chair.

 

     "I thought you wanted to watch the game." 

 

     "Not right now," Rick dismissed.  "Um...A.J., I need to talk to you for a minute."

 

     "Okay," a bewildered A.J. agreed.

 

     "Sit down."

 

     A.J. moved to the couch. "This is an 'A.J. sit down' kind of talk?  Okay, Rick, what have you done now?"

 

     Rick smiled slightly.  "Nothing."

 

     "Just give it to me straight.  You haven't made another batch of those T.V. commercials advertising the business and declaring yourself the president of Simon and Simon, have you?

 

     Rick couldn't help but smile again as he recalled how mad his brother had been over that little stunt.  "No, it's nothing like that.  It's..."

 

     When Rick stopped there, A.J. had to prompt, "It's what, Rick?"

 

     "It's...well, you know when I asked you today if you'd ever thought about what you'd do if you weren't a P.I.?"

 

     "Yes."

 

     "Well, I've been thinkin' a lot about it lately."

 

     "About what I'd do if I wasn't a P.I.?"

 

     Rick rolled his eyes at the familiar turn this conversation was taking.  "No, about what I'd do if I wasn't a P.I."

 

     "Oh. And what brought all this on?"

 

     Rick looked down at the floor.  "I...don't really know, I guess."

 

     A.J. wasn't going to let his brother off the hook that easily.  "You must know.  You've mentioned it often enough lately.”

 

     There was a long pause before Rick confessed, "I just sometimes wonder if there's somethin' more between here and retirement."

 

     "Like what?"

 

     “I don’t know,” Rick shrugged while taking a sip of his brandy.  "But have you noticed lately how middle class I've become?"

 

     A.J.'s eyebrows rose. "How middle class you've become?"

 

     "Yeah."

 

     "Rick, I'm not exactly sure I know what you mean."

 

     "For cryin' out loud, A.J., isn't it obvious?"   

 

     "Not to me, it's not."

 

     "Ah, that's just 'cause you're the epitome of middle class America," Rick scowled.

 

     "What's that supposed to--"

 

     "Forget it.”  Rick waved a hand in dismissal.  “Just forget I said anything.  This is about me anyway, not you."

 

     "Rick, come on, you started this conversation.  What's about you?"  

 

     “It's just that. . .that I'm gonna be fifty in April, you know."

 

     "Yes, I know," A.J. nodded, thinking of the party plans that were already in motion.

 

     "And...well...I'm just not sure I want to stay in this business until I retire."

 

     "The P.I. business?"

 

     Rick looked down at the floor again.  "Yeah."

 

     "Oh...I see," came A.J.'s quiet reply.

 

     Rick looked over at his brother, his face screwing up in regret.  "Now don't go gettin' like that."

 

     "Like what?"

 

     "All upset and everything 'cause of what I just said."

 

     "I'm not upset," A.J. negated.  "Just a little...surprised.  What's brought all this on?"

 

     "I've just...I don't know. I've just been realizin' lately how dependent I've become on...things,” Rick spat out that last word with distaste.

 

     "Things?"

 

     "Yeah, you know.  The stereo, the T.V., the microwave, the VCR--"

 

     "So?"  A.J. questioned.  "You've worked hard for those 'things,’ as you refer to them.  You deserve to have them, Rick.  You enjoy them."

 

     "You just don't understand."

 

     "Explain it to me then, please," A.J. gently requested.

 

     Rick leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling and taking a moment to gather his thoughts.  When he was ready to offer more, he looked over at his brother.

 

"It's like this.  There was a time in my life, a long time, when I wasn't tied to anything.  I didn't have a mortgage payment, or a car payment - heck, when I lived in Grandpa's house in Florida I didn't have anything but a couple pieces of furniture and a second hand refrigerator and stove.  Everything was paid for free and clear.  Hell, some of that stuff was so junky I hadn't paid a cent for it.  I was...free back then.  <