Me, Myself And I

As the dusk sky wearied on, I looked out of my window. The day had been comfortably unremarkable and reminded me of a long yet stress-free life ahead, devoid of any unnecessary ambition and narcissistic anxiety.

I did have a few immediate issues to worry about but in the scheme of sky gazing and wonderment, they seemed trivial. Almost laughable. I was but a small, insignificant dot on the map of infinity.

The old man had left in the morning, without a word or a note and it didn't surprise me in the least. It was almost a relief. A gift.

Contrary to my view of myself, I find it really difficult to connect with people, let alone help them. I find the concept of offering assistance disrespectful. It translates to considering a person incapable of whatever they are doing and letting them know of it by pompously offering to do it yourself. 

Last night, though, was a revelation. As the old man was crossing the street, he tapped on my car window and asked for a lift. Normally, I would ignore such requests but he didn't wait for my approval and confidently, strode inside. As I started to drive, he offered me no introduction, leaving me to my ruminations. Once home, he silently parked himself in the balcony, asking for nothing. The situation was decidedly scary. A slew of house burglaries and homicide news visuals came flooding to me. I could see my bloodied, dead remains in the morning and the house ransacked. What a mess! 

I realised how tired I was and let out a weary sigh. I thought of keeping a vigil, carefully sidestepping all thoughts of confronting the old man and taking any subsequent action. Instead, I found myself wondering about how peaceful it would be to die. With death parked in the foyer, I could prepare myself and make it easy. I almost felt fortunate to be given prior notice and whistled merrily. Dinner was unusually breezy and I slept dreamlessly. 

It was hilarious how upbeat I was about impending death. My own death. Ironically, it was the happiest I had ever been, in my life.  I felt weightless and buoyant. All my life goals were rocks in the ocean and I was floating away, free. There were no more milestones to cross and no flagstones to keep. 

However, Morning came and I was still alive. The sun shone brightly and I felt grateful to marvel at it. How foolish had I been the night before? I was petrified to think of what could have happened. All that careless abandon of safety, I could be dead for all I was celebrating! Those thoughts of happiness and freedom seemed outrageous now. What was the Delirium about? Really, I couldn't be madder at myself.

Suddenly, I realised that the old, smelly, unkempt man was still in the house. I rushed outside to check but there was no sign of him. I checked all possible hiding places, closets but everything was untouched. There were no signs of him anywhere. It was like he did not exist. The front door was unlatched but shut, so he must have left earlier. This was unbearable! There was no testimony to the dangers of last night and here I was, driving myself crazy; first with the hysteria of freedom last night and now with the consciousness of survival! 

It was time to get to work and I got ready, disappointed with my raving self. Why couldn't I be more rational and less volatile? I thought as I sipped my coffee. Admonishing my crazy brain, vowing to take up more hobbies to keep myself distracted, I locked the house and walked downstairs. As I was getting in the car, the old man tapped on my window and smiled. 

I smiled back as he got in.