A man in a wheelchair, on the edge of a park, facing the canal, is the saddest thing I’ve seen all day. I’m using the commas, to express, exactly, how sad, it made, me.
Tired from a night of dancing, the boys postpone band practice for an hour. So I take the scenic route on my bike, via the park, and I see this man in a wheelchair, the saddest thing I’ve seen all day.
His eyes dull like marbles. Cheeks sunken like half-moon biscuit cutters. Hands fixed to his lap, as if super-glued to his tartan rug. The only sense of hope leaking from his pale blue scarf.
I ride past him. On my bike, completely able, listening to The Hives.
I wonder how he’ll get home.
Whether there’s enough muscle left in his arms to push him there, or if it had all eroded. Waves of aging, crashing into his biceps over decades. Peeling away layer and layer, until all that was left were hollow caves.
I wonder how many days he has left. I wonder if I should push him into the canal. If that’s what he wants. If he’s waiting there. In his wheelchair. Begging for someone to do him justice.
But, it’s only 11am and too early to consider euthanasia.
I’ve eaten two baguettes, had two coffees and a cigarette. I’ve walked into shops and said ‘hello’. Thought about my girl, spoken to friends. Joked about Aaron’s forehand in ping pong, the way he holds a cigarette, the ridiculous colour of his bike.
It’s only 11am and I’ve seen the saddest thing I’m going to see all day.
