Old John

He paces the meager space which surrounds the block of tired red brick units, where he has lived on the ground floor since his wife left him in 1976 due to a bad turn in the stock market and the subsequent loss of the family home. His back is so straight, proudly staving off the inevitable onset of an aged hunch. Each step is small and deliberate, but the creases on his face are surrendered to the painful pointlessness of his routine.

 

“I get so down in winter, I can’t walk when it is cold it hurts my knees” he says to a passer by who seems to be an involuntary participant in the conversation. A smile lifts the lose skin about his jowls, almost squeezing his eyes shut. Animated by the opportunity to talk to someone he continues, trapping his target who forces a smile and tries not to look at the food stains old eyes fail to notice. “Its getting warm now though, it will be summer soon, I do like it when it is hot” John says. I duck as he looks up at the window from which I watch this routine, ashamed.

 

Living in this apartment has become a tactical game of avoidance. All the residents learn fairly quickly that if you don’t want to be cornered by John for at least twenty minutes every morning before work, you have to plan your escape with the precision of a military operation. There is however a small part of me which aches every time I duck behind the hedge out of his limited vision and jump on my bike before he sees me and asks me if I believe in Global Warming. I tell myself he has family, its just they visit when I am not home. I convince myself there is some one who cares about him, children maybe who bring him gifts at Christmas, and drop in to check he has all he needs. But I have never seen this happen.

 

He once told me he used to be big in the television industry, he offered to have us round for chocolate royals, and said I could watch any musical I wanted as he had them all on tape. I meant to go, I really did, there just is never time.