All things have their price. Now I am as lonely as a stray dog
I write to you as a solitary man who has just passed the seventieth year. I wish to set down my tale, perhaps it will serve as a warning to others.
I have lived most of my life in a modest market town in the English Midlands, yet all around me the faces are strangers. The old brick walls of my house have long ceased to feel like home, and the streets I once strode down with confidence now lie bleak and cold. No one waits for me, no one asks after me. Such is the toll exacted by the past
I stare into the mirror and do not recognise the man looking back. My cheekbones have sunk, my hair is silver, my shoulders are hunched, and my eyes have dulled. Where is the fellow who once lived at full tilt, who adored women, boisterous feasts and the good life? Where is the swaggering bon vivant who thought the world lay at his feet? In his stead stands a weary old man, unwanted by anyone.
The sins of my youth
In my younger days I was a rake, a favourite of fortune. Beautiful women delighted me; I could charm them with ease and then discard them just as swiftly. We only live once, we must take everything life offers, I would mutter to myself, convinced I was right.
I was married to Eleanor, a gentle and patient woman. She endured fifteen years of my marriage while I gave her no respite. I would disappear at night, return drunk, often bringing home a cheap barmaid or two. Eleanor kept silent, endured, hoping I might someday see the error of my ways.
But I had no intention of stopping. I believed she would never leave, that she existed merely to endure. Could she really walk away? I was charming, merry, and flush with cash. Then one day Eleanor put me before a choice: change, or she would go. I only sneered, And where would you go, dear?
She already knew where. She gathered our belongings, took the children, and left for the other side of the country. No shouting, no hystericsjust a quiet departure, for good.
At first I paid it no heed. I went on as before, recalling my wife and children only occasionally. I neglected to send maintenance payments, and they never reminded me. One Christmas I thought to surprise them, so I mailed gifts. A few days later the parcel was returned to me
I shrugged it off. Theyll turn up eventually. Yet the years slipped by and the telephone stayed silent.
A lonely old age a dreadful reckoning
I never thought of old age. In my youth I imagined it would never come. I disliked steady work, preferring revelry. I hopped from one venture to another, never staying long enough to settle. I laughed at those who saved, built houses, and worried about the future.
Now my free life has dwindled to a pittance of a state pension, barely enough for my prescriptions. I havent had a warm meal in ages. Sometimes I drift off to sleep on an empty stomach, but who could I complain to?
Recently I met an old schoolmate on the high street. He had grown older, yet he looked wellkept, confident, calm. He owned a house, a family, children. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and said:
Edward, you once ruled the world, what have you become?
I could find no reply. A lump lodged in my throat. All that remains are memories and regrets. I do not seek pity; everything that has befallen me is my own making.
When others built families, I drowned my evenings in public houses with false friends.
When others set aside savings, I squandered them on mistresses.
When others planned for tomorrow, I chased only nighttime pleasures.
Now, when I long for my children, I dare not call. Perhaps I have grandchildren somewhere, but I shall die without ever seeing their faces.
A belated counsel for those who still can mend their ways
Do not repeat my folly. Do not assume youth lasts forever. Do not take family for granted. Love those who stand beside you, cherish your kin.
For one day you may find yourself in an empty flat where even the echo refuses to answer your Hello.
