2011年8月27日 A man

Over the phone I heard a friend talk to me about a man.

This man on his way back from a business trip in Europe, for some reason or another decided to hop a fence. What he did not know was that the other-side had a three-foot drop. What he did not expect, nor myself when I heard this from my friend, was the pyramid-shaped top of a rock that assisted in breaking and shattering his ankle as he lost his footing.

The drugs feel good and helped this man say things to my friend where quite entertaining, yet my friend told me that the devastating nature of this accident could inherently affect this man's quality of life for a long, long time. I listened over the phone looking at the ground, trying to avoid looking at my own leg. Oh, yeah. Yeah.

When the doctor came in he informed the man that he must not use his ankle, and that it could be up to a year or longer before he is allowed to walk on it. For a man on constant business overseas it is inconceivable that he will realistically continue his work as if it is done in a normal function or at all. A man, this man, who most likely takes much pride is in work, to be told that he will be unable to do such for a year or longer, is an emotional and intellectual prison sentence.

I don't know this man, we had never met, and I don't assume to know his personal circumstances, but when I looked out from shoddy office window I could not help but cringe for him. Losing such work. Losing oneself. I didn't have my own family like this man, nor did I expect to in the line of work I was involved with, yet unlike the man and his constant business, I could not imagine the emotional difficulties he and his family were going to face. If they've faced challenges like this before, they ought to know the drill by now. 

"Would you want to go back? [...]
No."

Glancing away from the window to my desk I only noticed the one thing that comes close to this situation, okay, maybe by a fifth. Actually I was out of bourbon at this point, with the exception of what was left in the tumbler I was holding. I hadn't had any significant progress with my current investigations, since a few weeks ago. And although I did meet with an old friend, and when necessary a client, I felt my reclusive side was coming out again. The corner of my eye caught the reflection on a picture hanging by my shitty, and obviously broken, bookcase. Just some friends from several years ago. We all had smiling faces. The same stupid ones you see on people in their early twenties with their invincible ignorance and pride. Will he get himself back? Would you want to go back? I said to the picture, hearing my own words. No.

I only know two things that would help this man and his pain: humor and if he does it, writing. If writing is too tedious he ought to at least enjoy conversation. I thought moving to sit. I wonder when he can go back to work? Will there work for him? Will he get his job back? I knew better than to focus on the unrealistic nature of the future, as that was something my clients get to do before, and sometimes when, they hire me. I don't know what I would say to this man, and I don't know what I would want to happen. But I know things aren't going to be the same. Nor do you want them to be, do you? Thinking of my own experiences, I could not help that even the worst of events somehow make us better.

How can you really believe that? What about the binding of Isaac?

What about it? Countered at myself.

Frowning, I refocused my attention. Nothing is solved without patience. And that goes for you too. I griped under my breath looking down at my bourbon in hand, using my open hand to stroke my hair back. I have you. We know the rules, and you won't leave me if I want you to stay. For a moment I expected the crow on the bottle's label to reply, but nothing happened.