Auld Lang Sine

On a quiet evening, in a sleepy town, tucked away in a forgotten part of rural Ohio, there stood a building. Within the building, there existed a quiet little bar. Sitting alone at the bar, slowly swirling a drink in his hand, was an old man. This man was once well known in his younger years, having served in the army and returned unscathed when so many others had not. He was hailed a hero in those days, a sterling example of American military pride. This man, Harold Wolfwitz, now quietly stared at the dark amber liquid within his glass as it spun and danced, the ice clinking softly against the walls of his cup like gentle chimes. Gone were his days as a hero. No one remembered him as "the man who survived the war" anymore. No, now he was just Harold or Mr. Wolfwitz, and he was okay with that. Harold didn't need the glory or the fanfare. He never wanted it or even felt he deserved it. 

When Harold had returned home from the war, he sought a job at the local factory and eventually settled down with a woman who gave him three wonderful children. His two sons, Marcus and Anthony, and his daughter, Alice, were quick-witted, mischievous little things in their early years, but once they found discipline, they became kind-hearted young scholars with a penchant for coming up with ways to make lives easier for people of their small town. 

Harold's lips formed a melancholic smile as he reflected on his children. They were his greatest accomplishment, even though he often felt he had no real hand in the wonderful things they had accomplished themselves. Still, his humility allowed him to have this ounce of pride. His children were, indeed, wonderful and he deserved to feel good about bringing them into this world.

A small bell joined the sounds of his clinking ice symphony and Harold stopped his reminiscing for just a moment to look up as the door to the quiet bar opened and a man entered. Dressed in a knitted sweater and denim jeans, the man took a look around the bar before stepping forward and greeting the bartender with a smile that was barely visible beneath his thick beard. Harold thought of his eldest son, Marcus, whom Harold had named after his father. Marcus always prided himself on his beard, even when beards were not fashionable. 

Anthony had preferred a more clean-shaven look, and being seen as the spitting image of Harold in his army days. Anthony, however, had also preferred a more casual style of dress while Marcus preferred a more professional look in his day to day attire. His sons had gone off to college and returned to the quiet town educated and ready to put it all to use. They set their sights on politics and, together, worked to improve the town's infrastructure while pulling it forward into the modern age. Alice, meanwhile, became a school teacher and worked hard to improve the minds of the next generation, ensuring a bright future for the town and making sure that her brothers' efforts weren't wasted. 

Harold had stopped swirling his drink as he reflected on these old memories. The clink of a falling ice cube startled him slightly and he looked down at the drink in his hand. A small scoff of a laugh rose from his throat. He had sat here, swirling the liquid inside his cup and reminiscing about days gone by and had yet to take even a sip. He began to raise the glass to his lips when he noticed a newspaper clipping framed on the wall. Pictured next to the article was Anthony on the day of his inauguration into the office of Mayor. A bittersweet sensation washed over him as he recalled the day his son had told him of his plan to run for office. 

Marcus and Anthony were brilliant men with minds far too big to be stuck within such a small town, and yet they refused to abandon their home. Harold was undeniably upset when they had graduated only to return home and even more so when he realized they intended to stay and waste their potential even more. His trepidation washed away quickly though and was replaced with pride. Harold could not allow himself to stay upset knowing that his children, despite being so much better (in his mind) than their environment, sought not to leave it behind but to raise it with them. Remembering those conversations brought tears to Harold's eyes and filled his chest with a warmth far greater than the contents of his glass could provide. 

As more people entered the building, Harold shifted and relaxed a bit more in his chair. The clock on the wall read 10:53 and Harold knew that more people would be arriving within the hour, seeking a warm and inviting environment to count down the seconds until the New Year arrived. Harold wasn't fond of the celebration, but he was not bitter either. Harold was simply lonely. Even surrounded by so many people, Harold felt entirely alone. He missed his wife dearly.

Carol, a spark of fire in the quiet misty town, was an auburn-haired beauty that he had tripped and fallen in love with. This is all literal, mind you. One day, while walking home from the factory, Harold was not entirely paying attention as he turned the corner past the market. Carol, 20 years old at the time, was leaned over and looking at some fresh vegetables when Harold rounded the corner and fell over her. Both were fine, no harm caused, but Harold was at a loss for words. The smiling redhead scolded him for being so clumsy and then demanded that he take her out for coffee. He was still a bit of a celebrity at that point, but she didn't seem to let that or the fact that he appeared to be at least a decade older than her stop her from being forward. She was so refreshing, so energetic, and so strong-willed. He couldn't help but fall in love with her that day in the coffee shop. 

The tears that had been forming finally began to threaten their fall. Harold blinked them away and once again raised his glass to take a drink. A cheer from across the room made him stop. A strawberry blonde in a red peacoat triumphantly raised a pool cue in the air. Her friend high-fived her as two guys nearby hung their heads low. Harold chuckled a bit, remembering how his wife and daughter always seemed to be able to best him at games. Be it chess, pool, or poker, there was never a game he could win. That fiery determination and drive to win stuck with Carol until the end. Thankfully, it was a peaceful end. Carol passed away, expectedly. in her sleep, under the watch of doctors and family. She was comfortable in the end. It didn't make these moments easier though. 

Marcus, Anthony, and Alice all stayed with Harold for a while after Carol's passing. Marcus and Anthony, having families of their own had other responsibilities and, with regret, left after a week. Alice stuck around a little longer but still needed to leave in time. As their father, Harold had always felt it was his duty to remain strong and stoic. It was only after Alice left that Harold allowed himself to feel the full weight of his loss. He always knew his time with her would be limited, but he never suspected the term to be as short as 53 years. To Harold, it felt like nothing more than the blink of an eye and some kind of cruel cosmic joke. Then again, Harold never felt he had enough time with the people he cared about. 

Harold's parents were dead long before he stormed the beaches, as were most of his friends and other relatives. Harold was always surviving beyond others and he had begun to resent it. When his obituary is finally read, will anyone he knows be around to hear it? Will he be survived by others? At this rate, Harold was fairly certain the answers would be no. Time was cruel to those that Harold loved and it seemed that no one ever had an answer as to why. 

When Carol had passed away at 80 years of age, Harold prayed he was soon to follow, but midnight came and went, a new year followed, and Harold found that he had survived the year that took his wife from him. His misery was only compounded 5 years later when his son Anthony passed from lung cancer. As smart as his son had been, he still fell victim to televised marketing and carcinogenic pastimes. 2011 was a hard year, but it too came and went, leaving Harold with one less person in his life. 

The noise and commotion of the bar began to draw Harold out of his thoughts. Somehow, while Harold was lost in his thoughts of days long past, the bar had become packed with guests. The slow, smooth melodies that normally filled this bar were being replaced with modern songs that didn't always agree with Harold's ears, but he was never one to condemn things just because he didn't enjoy them. "Let the young be young," Harold often said. The thought filled his head once more as he saw the young people in the crowd begin to dance and cheer as the hour grew later. 

The clock on the wall now read 11:27. Harold twitched at the recognition of those numbers. His oldest son, Marcus, had followed his brother to the beyond only three years later, on Thanksgiving of all days. He had been having dinner with his wife and kids when a sudden heart attack took him from his family. Harold was estranged from them at this time, having become reclusive after the loss of Anthony. Learning of Marcus' passing from Alice, Harold somehow blamed himself. Harold was in no way educated on the life-saving procedures that would have been necessary, but he still felt that he should have been there to try and save his son. Alice, however, would have none of it and, showing that same fiery spirit she and her mother had shared, struck her father. Their grief culminated at that moment and Harold allowed himself to truly cry in front of his daughter for the first time. It was a memory that, though it may seem strange, both Harold and Alice had cherished. 

Alice had been all he had left. Sure, the families of his sons remained, but somehow there was a disconnect whenever it came to them. Harold loved and cared for his grandchildren as much as he had his sons, but there was no real common ground. It continued to be one of Harold's biggest regrets, especially now that they were all older and off on their paths. Alice, however, continued to teach at the local elementary and would visit her father at least twice a month, making sure he was keeping up with his household tasks and taking care of himself. 

It had always been a joy for Alice to visit, even though it was also a bit of an irritation to have someone dotting over him. Even in his age, Harold was active, able-bodied, and had well capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need Alice to come and check in on him, but it was always wonderful to see her and he made sure to treat the occasions as such. He would always anticipate her arrival and have a meal prepared for the two of them. Her passing truly had been the hardest. 

Following Marcus' death, Alice never missed a visit with her father. When she didn't keep their appointment at the end of the week in October of 2019, Harold knew there was a problem. It was when he called the school that he learned the truth of the matter. Alice had been with some of her students on a field trip to the Museum of Science and History when there was an accident. A semi-truck had been cut off by a speeding car and was forced to swerve. Unable to fully correct itself, the truck tipped and slid into the oncoming lane and right into the side of the school bus. The students survived with minor injuries, but Alice, at age 63 succumbed to her injuries almost immediately. Harold was now truly all alone.

In his despair, Harold tried many things. He turned to drink to numb the pain, he tried locking himself away, he practically starved himself to death, but (unsurprisingly) nothing eased the pain or made it even remotely better. Harold's sadness quickly became anger and bitterness. Harold had always thought that his daughter would be the one to bury him. He'd never seen her get a bump or a bruise, never even a scratch. She reminded him so much of himself, he just knew she would be the one to share his knack for escaping any situation. He had been so hopeful. Now, knowing that not even Alice shared his gift, Harold felt like he was at last forsaken and destined to solitude.

The clock's hands edged closer to 12 and the crowd's attitude at the bar began to change. At once, the revelry became slightly more subdued as the party-goers all focused their attention on the television and it's broadcast of Time's Square. Harold looked down again at his drink, still untouched, and back up to the clock. 11:59. Under his breath, Harold cursed. Time is everyone's enemy, it can't be denied, but for Harold the reason was different. Most people go through life feeling like they never have enough time. Harold, on the other hand, always seemed to have more than he wanted. He should have died with his wife or his sons, he certainly shouldn't have outlived his wonderful daughter, but that just wasn't the case. Harold, now 100 years old, had prayed for only one thing since the death of his daughter and it was that he not be made to see another year's end. However, fate is cruel to Harold Wolfwitz, and as he finally takes a drink of the liquid amber in his glass and sheds a tear over those bygone days, he hears the crowd chant: "5... 4... 3... 2... 1!"