Masked Admiration

His death was silent, but resonated through everyone.

I can still vividly recall his arrival. As though it occurred just yesterday. One day the town was how it always was, then all of a sudden, one man arrived, and sent a ripple through the natural course of everyone’s lives.

Ours was a small town, with a small population, filled with people who lived small lives, and worked small jobs. Things were generally rather mundane, so when we were informed that the town would be receiving a new visitor, and that he would be my neighbour, we were all quite exhilarated. Crowds of people stood around the entrance of the town, to welcome this new visitor.

Who would be it be? We all pondered excitedly. A wealthy business man seeking to grow our little economy? A well-known actor that would drive traffic in. A former banker, seeking a quieter life? An artist, seeking inspiration? The possibilities were endless, and kept us on the edge of our seats.

A moment later, however, like a hunted gazelle, our hopes were immediately shot down, when confronted with the true identity of our visitor - a temperamental man named Bill. He arrived, driving a worn-down pickup truck. The tires were completely coated in mud and dirt. The engine was rusty, and burped like a filthy old man. The colour was a dull brown, and matched the dirt stains.

As we all stood near the entrance, to greet him, and deliver a warm welcome, his only response was to honk at us, and yell for us to move out of the way. His raspy voice, formed an empty pit in our stomachs.

We all frowned, moved away, and allowed him to drive in. The excitement which we’d spent a week developing, vanished in an instance. From that moment on, everyone living in our town despised him.

The days which followed were no less awkward. Every morning, when I’d leave to head out to work, my waves received nothing but a loud, grotesque, sigh. He would sit on his front porch, wearing nothing but wrinkled shorts, and would allow his monstrous stomach, to hang loosely, as though he were displaying a trophy-something he looked upon with pride.

He merely didn’t care for anyone, and how they viewed him. Bill went on with his life, as though he were the only man on earth.

People edged away from him on the streets - avoided him like the plague. Looked in another direction, as they passed by him. Attempted to ignore his presence when they stood beside him, like a buried secret.

On one memorable afternoon, out of courtesy, I invited Bill over for a cup of coffee - I thought there had to be more to him, than I suspected. He reluctantly agreed, after much pestering. We spent the first couple of minutes exchanging small talk, discussing the weather, work and the news. He barely let a word out. Bill clearly had no desire to speak, but I continued to prompt him with questions, which continued to agitate him.

I know it was rude of me, but I had to ask him this: “why do you insist on living the way you do? Don’t you dislike the idea of people hating you?”

He paused for a brief moment. Taken aback by my risky question. I could see his face flushing red. His eyes widening. His pupils diluting like a predator preparing to pounce upon its prey. I’d clearly stepped into uncharted waters, walked beyond forbidden boundaries.

But a moment later, Bill relaxed, and slouched against the sofa. His breathing eased, and face returned to its former colour. He blankly faced forward as though he were staring into the abyss, and entered a profoundly deep state of contemplation - I'd never seen him act, in such a tranquil manner.

“Did I ever tell you about what I did before retiring?”

“No” I replied, bemused by his sudden, abrupt shift in emotion.

“I was a salesman. I spent every day trying to please others. Constantly smiling. Constantly greeting, as you folks did when I arrived. Constantly pleasing.”

He released a heavy sigh - reliving this part of his past clearly moved him.

“Despite this, people always viewed me the same way - as a sneaky, untrustworthy… greedy salesmen. One day, I figured what’s the point in acting like this, if people are always going to look at me the same way. So, I simply stopping caring about pleasing people. I live, without a care in the world as to how people view me.”

And he walked out, without shooting another glance at me. Life continued just like that.

At first, his arrival was somewhat of a shock to us all - none of us were accustomed to his distinctive way of life. Soon after, we all grew adjusted to him.

Every evening there was always an incident. Either he’d be getting involved in a fight with a drunk, yelling at the pizza deliverer, for being so sloppy, or smashing his television, after his favourite sports team had lost. As chaotic as it was, it added a little bit more humour, to our quiet little town - made it a little more vibrant. We would never dare admit it, but we all of enjoyed having him around.

A mere year after his arrival, he passed away of a heart attack. Everyone pretended not to acknowledge it, not to be affected by his passing, but Bill’s abrupt death took a piece out of everybody’s soul. There was not anyone, in our small, little town, who was not aware of it.

At the day of the funeral, the graveyard was abundant in mourners pouring tears, grieving for Bill. As much as we pretended to hate him, to view him with utter contempt and disdain, to look down upon him for his unique way of life, he had awoken something deeply inexpressible, inside of all of us - everyone, on the inside, truly wanted to live with as much freedom, and liberty as Bill.