Always Waiting

Whenever he walked around the neighborhood, he remembered Julia taking walks with him.

Whenever he went to sleep,

the lullabies he would sing to Georgie haunted him.

Whenever he let himself out

of his shell, someone mentioned one of them.

And everything, everything

Came

Crashing

Down.

The world fractured and little shards of everyone who had left him would tumble down. G-d knows how long he had tried, time and time again, to master his emotions.

He truly hadn’t ever been an emotional man. In fact, many accused him of being entirely apathetic. The only way one could spark feeling from him was his family. To them he showed affection, and one could tell by the glint in his eyes when he looked at his family, pride and happiness and affection, that he loved them. With all of his heart.

But Fate was to get in the way. Doesn’t it always? As if to mock the poor man who had found his special place in life, slowly everything was pulled away from him, leaving him empty. His wife died. His daughter was in the hospital lying on her deathbed. His son had deserted the family, and refused to come back

Which left him, the broken wreck of a man, with nothing. Nothing at all.

A house, of course. And a van. But nothing.

So now, the man waited, and waited some more. He was an old man, a recluse, “The Old Hermit”, the neighborhood dubbed him when he, in the blanket of his misery, shut the windows and bolted the doors. Many people had sat down, and exchanged memories, and sometimes, when he didn’t answer, finally shut their mouths and remained silent, a prim smile planted on their faces. He knew they thought they helped, but they only reminded him of all the pain Life had caused him.

Which is why he needed Death to come. I am not a young man. I am not a healthy man. Must Fate twist Life even more? He would muse this night and day. He was only more restless as the days went by, because he didn’t feel they were numbered at all. He had even tried to regain his faith, but that hadn’t helped. Death had forgotten him, it seemed. If so, he needed Life to forget about him, as well. Whenever Life looked at him, everything turned around even more. He wasn’t sure if he was even still right side up. Or upside down. Maybe sideways.

This wasn’t some illusion of a troubled mind. The man believed the Life had done what it wanted to him. Then shouldn’t Death arrive?

He thought about it more, sipping his burnt coffee from the flowered cups his Julia had loved. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he imagined her pale hands handing him a cup of coffee, her chocolate eyes bringing a smile to his face.

A knock was heard from the doorway. Wary of another visitor mourning his loss, (though most had been discouraged by this practice due to his stony silence) he eyed the doorstep through his peephole.

A girl stood there. She had wisps of brown-golden hair tucked into two neat ponytails, grey eyes, and a slight figure. She reminded him so much of Georgie it was almost unbearable.

“What?” He questioned her gruffly, masking the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Hello, sir. My mummy and I made some cookies together and since we’re neighbors...” Her eyes had been downcast the whole time, but now she peeked them up at his eye through the peephole shyly.

The man truly wanted to send her away. She brought back too many happy memories, and all of them made him even sadder. But he had a soft heart when it came to children. He couldn’t bear to say no. So he opened the door and led her to the kitchen.

After settling down with a plate of cookies and two cups of tea, he couldn’t keep the question from leaving his head. “Why isn’t your mother here with you?”

In response, she looked up and gave a big impish grin, revealing a dimple. She motioned for him to come forward, and stood on her tippy toes to whisper in his ear with an adorable childish lisp, “Mommies talk too much about silly things, right?”

Although tears were already peeping out of his eyes at having a little girl, much like his own, trust him so deeply, he smiled. Because she was right, of course. The adults always brought up the hardships. A though occurred to him.

“My wife. My children. They’re...” He immediately regretted bringing such matters up with this little girl, and was also having trouble finishing his sentence. Her face turned serious. “Of course I know, silly. You miss them a lot.” He was touched by the simplicity, the innocence, and the truth of her statement. “How do you know?” He whispered. “I love my mommy, and I love my sisters, and I can’t lose them.” She shook her head furiously, and her pigtails flew around in great earnest. Then she popped out of her chair, ran over to his chair, and took his hand, slipping her tiny hand inside. “Let’s not talk about sad things.” He looked down at her grey eyes, filled with certainty. He missed that kind of look. It was the kind he had gotten from everyone he had lost.

He squeezed her hand a little, and regained his voice. “Sad things... they’re too sad to talk about all the time. But sometimes, just a little... it helps.” It was hard for him to talk to real people after so many years of being alone, staying silent. But this girl was different, she understood, she was wholeheartedly a child, and she gave him a youthful energy he had lost up until that moment.

 “Did I make you sad?” The girl quickly asked him, reproach in her eyes. “Don’t cry, mister.” The man smiled a little, remembering how Georgie would ask him the same thing. “You can cry from being happy, too, did you know that?” Her grey eyes widened. “No! Crying is for being sad.” He let go of her hand to wipe away the tears. “Sometimes things can be so happy, but they make you sad. And some things make you sad, but they can also make you so, so happy.” She cocked her head a little, and then smiled. Then she hugged him. He choked on another sob, and hesitantly put his arms around her. He had never been this happy, not since his life had changed so direly.

She patted his hand and skipped off, stopping at the door to twirl around. “Mommy says she has to come tomorrow. I’m sorry.” The man smiled as he watched her float away in a glow of sunshine. “It’s alright.” He told her with reassurance. She waved shyly and the door slammed shut.

And the man was left again, waiting. Waiting. How long was Fate going to tease him with these fleeting moments of happiness, that left him aglow, and slowly faded away into the gloom that he had grown to know so well, that-

The door slammed open, and the girl came running in breathlessly, her pigtails in royal disarray. Then she halted in front of him, and hesitated. Then she looked up at him sadly, and her eyes shone with understanding.

Then she whispered, “You’ll wait for me, won’t you? You’ll be here tomorrow?” He patted her head. “Yes,” He told her, and she left.

But it was so hard for him to wait. Suddenly, he didn’t want Death to take him. What had changed? Why, suddenly, did life seem infinitely more livable?

Because the man did not have nothing, he slowly realized. He now had something – someone – that was waiting for him, who cared about him, who wanted him to stay for her.

And he would. He knew he would.

Because he was not just left with a house and a van. Suddenly, he had someone who made the glint in his eyes, which had faded, come back with full force. And although he “missed them a lot”, there was room for new things.

So he waited, but this time, it was not for Death.

It was for Life. With all of its joys and terrors.

Life.