Reclusion

 

The old man lay on the mattress all alone. This place had been his home for nearly six decades and the memory foam held him like an old friend. His vision had slightly dimmed, and his glasses had grown thicker over the years. Bookshelves filled every empty wall space and any flat surface held up chest high stacks of academic works, most obscure and of little interest to most.

He thought back over the years and instead of wondering, instead of sadness or regret, he only wished that he had more time. He was always seen as the grumpy old man that no one liked but he knew full well that this idea was not at all accurate. There was nothing grumpy about him, pensive possibly and certainly ashamed of his many sins. But no one else knew, as far as he knew. Maybe others saw things that he didn’t see, but there was nothing he could do about that. The connection just wasn’t there.

There was a small box on the top shelf in his closet, underneath his sweaters. It was here he kept his emotions. Ridiculously small tools that offered very little value to him. “An emotional response is, by definition, a non-thinking response,” he would often think and occasionally say. Not that anyone hardly ever spoke to him. Most were more concerned with their social media accounts and inane chit-chat.

“Why is it so cold in here?” he thought. “And why are my feet always cold?” was his second thought. Crawling under his covers, though fully clothed, he was determined to warm up. The gas fireplace was set to seventy-two and yet his feet were cold. His belly was full but his eyes were tired.

As he lay in a state of half sleep and half wake, he thought back over the many people he had come to know but sadly, most of them had been left behind as life moved on. Maybe it was his demeanor, maybe it was the lack of expressive emotion but whatever it was, no one ever had been close to him. Even his children that he loved more than life itself seemed to have moved on. He didn’t understand it. He would have done anything for them. He just didn’t know what they wanted or if he did, he couldn’t understand it.

As he lay there right on the cusp of drifting off to sleep, like a lightning bolt, he was suddenly awake. He could hear so much laughter, so much joy. Someone or someones, somewhere were having an awfully good time. Feeling somewhat perturbed by being so suddenly awakened by such thoughtless individuals, he crawled out of bed and moved to his window.

“What the…” he thought. “Why are there so many people out and about at this time of night?”

Turning to slip back under the covers, he realized that he was no longer cold, not even his feet. Looking up, two men walked into his bedroom.

“Excuse me,” he demanded. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Hello old friend,” one of the men said. “We’re here to bring you to the party. It is for you, after all.”

“A party? For me?” he asked. “Whatsoever for?”

“Oh, my dear friend, today is a very special day,” the other answered. “But instead of talking about it, why don’t we just step outside and join in. That would be so much better.”

Reaching out an arm and embracing him in a side hug, one of the men began moving him toward the large sliding glass door. He didn’t have his glasses on, and he would have sworn that the door was closed but they passed through the opening and joined a warm summer barbeque in the backyard. An oatmeal stout was slipped into his hand as well as a jalapeno-popper and he began seeing many, many familiar faces.

Moving from one group to the next, he realized that he had hugged more people in the last ten minutes than he had in the last ten years. His demeanor had completely changed, and he felt like the joy was about to burst out of him. Turning around, he looked into the bedroom window and realized someone was in his bed. Moving closer to the glass, he realized it was a very old man with gray hair. “He looks kind of familiar,” he thought. “I never forget a face but names, not so much.”

“Hey, buddy, catch,” he heard someone call out. Turning toward the sound, he immediately caught a football. A young man with long blonde hair had thrown a long pass from far across the yard. “Hey, send it back,” he called out again.

Feeling remarkably robust, he gave the ball and toss and hit his target spot on. Still holding his stout, he took a drink and then realized that the building, the bedroom window and the sliding glass door were now, somehow far, far away. There were more people around him than he could count and somehow, he knew them all and they all seemed so happy to see him.

The longer he mingled with these long-lost friends, he found himself thinking less and less about his cold feet and his aching hips, not that either of those were a problem any longer. Sitting down on the grass, almost immediately a little old man sat down with him. “Hello brother,” the old man said. “I’ve been praying for you for a long, long time. I am so happy to see you. I knew eventually this day would come. Life has a funny way of bringing people together.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “you do look very familiar, but I can’t put a name to the face.”

“That’s all right,” the old man said. “Names really aren’t that important. Just think of me as the best friend you’ve ever had.”

It was then that he realized the old man was speaking to him in Russian. “You’re speaking in Russian,” he said. “I know I’ve studied it a bit but honestly I’m surprised that I can understand you. It’s quite thrilling actually.”

“Ha, that’s funny,” the old man said, standing up. “I’m sure we’ll be spending a lot of time together as time goes by. But I need to run right now. There is someone else I need to connect with while the party is still going on. I’m so glad to see you, my friend.”

Looking at his watch, he realized that he had lost track of time. Turning to go back to the apartment, he saw that the building was completely gone. All around him were only good friends, jalapeno poppers and a rousing game of volleyball. Feeling particularly vigorous, he joined in.

The rhythm of the game was starting to flow when he realized that there was no sun in the sky. Stopping in mid swing, the ball bounced off his head, eliciting a chuckle from a teammate. “Wow, someone started thinking about something else,” the other player said.

“Yeah, sorry,” he answered. “I just realized that I don’t see the sun.”

“Sure, it takes a little getting used to,” he said. “But there is really no need for it.” Just as he answered, a bell sounded. “Oh, hey, I guess this party is over.”

“What? Over? I feel like it just started,” he said.

“Oh, this is only the beginning,” he answered. “Here, help us pack up. The really big party starts in about an hour. You are gonna love this.”