He was a professional.
He made his espresso, and read a short-story in bed. The young man glanced at the .45 on the coffee table. It gave him hope.
He wore sweaters, so that he didn’t have to iron his shirts.
The commute was miserable, and the meetings were even worse.
When he tried to sit down, the assistant principal told him, “That seat is taken.” So, the young man sat across the table.
“Having trouble getting to your meetings on time?” The Dean asked him. The young man didn’t say anything. They were having a joke at his expense.
They were all slugs, and he didn’t care about their slime.
As he got closer to mid-life, his co-workers started to wonder about him.
“Don’t you think it’s time to get married?” The assistant principal asked.
A couple days later, the Dean told him about her daughter who was 33.
Was he imagining things…?
“Are you having trouble getting to work?” She asked him. He didn’t understand why she said that. He was two hours early, and hadn’t missed a day of work in two years.
After the job, he went to see his mother. “You are so handsome,” she said. “Now—when are you going to get married?”
“The last woman I was friendly to, called me a creep.”
“Oh—I’m sure she was a lesbian,” His mother said.
“Why don’t you get an administrative job?”
“It’s not what I want to do,” he said.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be a writer. I wanted to be a golfer, but that didn’t work out.”
“You can still play,” she said.
“I know, but it’s not the same thing. When I was in high school, I got lonely on the golf course—practicing. I wanted to be at a party. I didn’t know my loneliness would follow me for the rest of my life.”
She looked worried. “Let’s get some ice-cream, and watch our favorite pastor. This life doesn’t matter, anyway—it’s the eternal one that does.”
He went along with her—in the same way, that he went along with her, when she suggested he needed to go to college to keep living at home. Maybe, he should’ve dropped-out to pursue his dream?
The ice-cream was good.
When he got home that night, he thought about the last meeting he had. He was sidelined by the special education teacher who asked him a personal question. It was inappropriate—to say the least.
“I’m just doing the work thing,” he said.
He walked to the coffee table and picked up the .45. “This life doesn’t matter—it’s the eternal one that does.” He pulled the trigger.
It was empty.
He had forgotten to buy the bullets, so he went to his computer, and did the next best thing.
He was still lonely, but now his loneliness was his best friend.