The Prison Cell Called Loneliness

Garry Norman Garfield lll was lonely. Though his warm smile and eyes brimming with kindness might hint otherwise, they were as fake as his cheap brown toupee. Garry used to have a family. He used to live a life full of merry Christmases and suburban bliss. He used to have a loving wife, a child who radiated bubbly boyhood, a full head of luscious hair. But now he only had the empty friend called lonely. That, and his hermit crabs.

Garry rubbed his eyes, reaching for his glasses with a heavy sigh that echoed in the hollow space. His spectacles were a deep brown, sophisticated and lively, a tribute to his life left behind. They were spotless, perfectly preserved besides the large, ugly crack down the middle. They were held together by a single jagged strip of white duct tape. Garry had meant to get them fixed, but like many things in his life, he hadn’t gotten around to it. 

He shoved the glasses onto his face, pushing his hair back and tried to focus on the task at hand. He grabbed the paint brush to his right and snatched a smooth white shell from the overflowing pile on the floor. Garry had always been a little different, always had some quirks. One was his adoring love for hermit crabs, as well as painting their shells.

Forms began to take shape as paint piled onto his spherical canvas. Seaweed greens and turquoise blues, rolling waves and sandy beaches, the pretty picture came to life. He often drew beachy scenes like this one on the hermit crab shells. He wanted them to have a familiar feeling of their native land in the tiny homes. Garry didn't want them to feel lonely. He knew quite well, no one deserves to be acquainted with loneliness.

Suddenly, the muffled chiming of bells sang from the other side of the door. Garry sat up from his chair, a desperate smile breaking across his face. He strode towards the door to his isolated office and creaked it open. The door led to the main area of his shop, where hermit crabs roamed in little glass boxes, waiting for their new owners to walk through the entrance and bring them into their family. He was never sad to see them go, he only felt excitement in his heart at the thought of his little friends finding a true home. He was also excited at the thought of someone walking through those doors. His loneliness became shy when other guests came to the hut, lingering only faintly in the back of Garrys mind.

A slender woman walked through the door, the serious charcoal of her dress and the ominous clopping of her heels rustling nostalgia into the air. A small boy was attached to her hip, clasping his mother's hand as if it anchored him. A loud chime echoed through the space and the woman peered down at her phone. She pulled it to her ear and muttered something to the boy, pulling her hand away as he cried in shy protest. The mother walked to a corner of the store, now fully engrossed in a conversation with the person on the other end of the line. 

Garry looked back at the little boy, who had gotten over his trepidation quite suddenly and had his small hands pressed against one of the many glass boxes. He peered at the tiny creatures crawling inside with fascination. 

A smile graced Garry’s lips as he stared at the mesmerized child, warmth spreading throughout his chest. The boy looked remarkably similar to his own child, with ruffled chestnut curls, curious blue eyes and a light sprinkle of freckles coating his entire face. 

Garry’s smile immediately froze, faltering at the fading memory of his beloved son. The familiar ache of loneliness began to spread throughout his limb. Panic began to bleed and mixed with the solemn emotion slowly invading his very soul. He could feel his body shutting down, seeking solitude, seeking to lock himself away, though his heart ached for the opposite. He felt chained. Garry pulled at the shackles surrounding him, but it was no use.

The loneliness continued to claw at his skin. He tried to fight it, he really did, but the isolating tentacles wrapped around him, covering his mouth and clawing him back towards his stuffy, windowless cell of an office. He tried to speak, tried to call out to the boy and his mother, tried to fight the box of seclusion that had been created and thickened over the years. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. 

One minute, he was standing in the open shop. Next, Garry found himself alone. Back inside his box, peering wearily at the wooden door that kept him enclosed in the office. His prison. He never found comfort in the isolation, but he couldn't help shutting down when his whispering thoughts turned loud. The response of hiding away was an instinctual tribute to the family he once had, the life he had once lived, the world he left behind.

The voice of the woman outside pierced through Garry’s internal war and despair.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” She said with uncertainty. “The sign outside said open…” Yes! Garry tried to scream, but the solitude was stuffed down his throat, and no sound came from his agonized plea.

Silence followed. Then, the muffled sound of heels clicking on the brick floor broke through the hushed hut, fading until the jingle of the door behind the retreating pair snuffed out the remaining signs of human life. 

People often talk about how the death of a loved one feels similar to losing a piece of oneself. Garry was different. When his son and wife had passed, he had lost all of himself. He had known he would never be the same. The lighthearted man, the doting husband, the proud father, they were now locked away deep inside him. He could always feel the old version of himself beating at its cage, forever trying to escape the confines of his isolation. He knew it was no use, that the efforts were in vain. He was destined to live a life full of solitude. A life locked in the prison cell called loneliness.