A lonely old man

I am here, I’m a solid, load bearing wall. I’m in the middle of the apartment. I separate the living room from the kitchen. I don’t know how long I’ve been here but I’ve seen a lot of things. I’ve seen many people, all different shapes and sizes.

I can’t talk, I can’t tell you all the things I’ve seen, but if I could talk I would tell you the story of a man.

I remember clearly the day he moved in. I was surprised to see that he didn’t have many things. He had strong, young men move his things into the apartment, and he pointed to where he wanted them put.

He was an old man with white silver hair, wrinkles all over his face and hands from what I could see. The old man was slow moving, small steps at a time. He supported himself with a silver metal cane. His back was hunched over from all the years of living.

Once his things were placed he paid the movers and closed the front door behind them. As soon as the door clicked closed he cried, not just a few tears, the man sobbed. He walked over to the small couch that was just in front of me, he slowly sat down hands and knees shaking as he did so. Once sitting he put his hands into his face and continued to cry. This continued for awhile. I stared at the man wondering what was bothering him so much.

I pondered this for days as the slow moving old man would shuffle around his apartment suddenly bursting into tears for no apparent reason.

One day i suddenly saw why, he held a frame in his hand as he shuffled down the hallway to the couch. In the frame was a picture of a hound woman. The picture looked old, and worn out, like it had been in that frame for many years. As he sat he stared at the picture and cried.

“Oh Catherine” he mumbled through his tears, staring at the photo “I miss you so much my love. You died too soon. It’s only been a few months since you’ve been gone but it feels so much longer. My heart can not take the mobiles, the emptiness. You were my everything, my world, now I have nothing left to love for.”

I gathered that Catherine was his wife, most likely one person he was with for many many years, now suddenly left alone to fend for himself.

He was a quiet man, he didn’t speak much, he rarely had visitors and never called anyone. It seemed like the only ones who did call him were telemarketers. I got the sense that he was lonely for even if he didn’t need the item he was selling he would talk to them for as long as he could, and eventually buy the item so that maybe they’d call him back.

I could see the loneliness in his eyes, the sadness, the emptiness. I felt bad for him, but what could I do, I was a wall. They’re only to observe.

After only a couple of months living in the new place, as the old man walked down the hallway he took a misstep and fell. I could tell it was a bad fall, I even heard the crack of his bone. He cried out in pain on the floor. He cried for help over and over, but no one came. He laid there for quite sometime, I thought he would die there. It was painful to watch and not be able to do anything, to just be a wall and listen to the wailing of a grown man who’s in immense pain with no sight of it ending soon. The man eventually dragged himself across the floor and reached for the phone. Hands shaking he quickly dialled a number asking for help.

Eventually someone unlocked the door and people came in. They had lots of equipment and a bed that folded. They placed him on the bed and took him away.

The apartment was quiet, dark and empty. Days turned to weeks which turned into months. He didn’t comeback for a while, I thought he never would. I wondered what was happening, if he was being well cared for. I missed him while he was gone.

One day I heard the key slide in the lock followed by it clicking unlock. The door slowly swung open. If I had a heart it would’ve kept, I was looking forward to seeing him. I heard lots of commotion and shuffling. The man that came in the room was not the same man that once lived here. He looked much older, sicker and crippled. He could barely walk, he grimaced in pain with each step he took. He sat down on the couch with a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He began to get visits from a nice young woman who wore the same outfit every time. She costed 3 times a week every week. When she came she did various tasks, sometimes she cleaned the apartment or cleaned him, made him some food. I got the sense that they were strangers for each time she came she asked him questions about his life. This made me happy for I was able to learn more about who he was.

Over their conversations I learned that he and his wife were childhood friends then high school sweet hearts. They moved into a little house and spent their days there together. They never had children because she was unable to. He had to sell the house because he was unable to upkeep it or do the stairs.

As he told her the stories you could hear the pain in his heart, he would sometimes shed a tear remembering the women he loved with all his heart.

With each visit with the woman he became less and less mobile. Different strangers came in to help him do the most basic stuff. Eventually they brought a high bed with wheels and moved it next to the couch. The man spent all his time there, mostly alone, just waiting for his time to come.

After the bed on wheels came it didn’t take long, eventually the old man stopped moving, then stopped breathing.

He wasn’t found for a few days, he was taken out, the apartment was emptied. The apartment felt smaller, lonelier, and darker than it was before.

I am just a load bearing wall. I can’t talk, but if I could I would make sure someone remembered who the lonely old man was.