This is my story about loneliness.
The elderly man made his way from the shop with a shuffling
gait, shoulders hunched, head down watching for anything that might cause him
to trip or fall. People hurried by, barely noticing him. Despite being tall and
smartly dressed he was all but invisible to the world. He clutched the handles
of his shopping bag in his arthritic fingers, fearing if he dropped it he would
not be able to bend down to pick it up again.
The girl in the shop had been very helpful. He chuckled at
the thought. Girl, was maybe the wrong word. She was probably in her forties
but she seemed like a girl to him. She had waited patiently while he had
emptied his basket onto the conveyor belt, smiled at him and said 'hello', even
put his shopping in his bag for him, but she wasn't the chatty one, the one who
asked how he was and who told him about her grandchildren.
He reached his house and let himself in, removing his
overcoat on the way to the kitchen, dropping it on the chair in the hall.
Grandchildren, he thought, as he switched on the kettle to
make some tea. He had three but couldn't remember the last time he saw any of
them, nor his children for that matter. The grandkids, two boys and a girl,
were all pretty much grown up now. All at university, with their own friends.
It wasn't as if their parents could drag them round to visit any more. And they
all lived so far away, not like the old days when families stayed in the same
area.
He put his shopping away. A couple of tins of soup and some
bread. He never did a large shop, not like the youngsters did. He couldn't
carry a big bag and there was no way he was going to use one of those trolley
things. Besides, if he didn't go to the shop every day he didn't see anyone.
Winter was the worst time. Cold, dark and often wet. If it
was raining too much he would stay indoors. No point in getting soaked and
catching a cold. Those days dragged. With only the television for company he
often found himself talking back to the screen, especially if some stupid
politician was trying to say how wonderful things were.
He took his cup of tea into the living room and settled
himself in his chair by the window. He liked looking out at what went by. He
was lucky he could see the street. Some might say he was nosey, but what else
was there to look at? Four walls and the television? He would rather watch the
people and cars going by than stare at the TV all day.
He sipped his tea and tried to remember when David, his
eldest, had last telephoned. People, these days, were supposedly never off
their phones, yet David never called him. Yes, phones worked both ways, but the
last time HE had called David he was made to feel like he was being a nuisance.
He was only supposed to call in an emergency, not for general chit-chat.
What would happen, the old man wondered, if he just drifted
off here in his chair. Gone to that great, long sleep from which there was no
waking. Would anyone miss him? How long would he be sitting in this chair
before anyone realised what had happened?
Copyright©Kristen Stone 2018
