The Waiting Game

The Ninth Letter

It was a dump. There were clothes and beer bottles and trash scattered through the entire thing, looking like the destruction of a tornado instead of just natural mess. I nearly gagged as I stepped over half of a moldy pizza still sitting in the box just laying on the floor, begging myself not to just lose it in the middle of all of this and leave.

I had to do this. He asked me to.

I wonder what he’s been doing.

Can you check up on him for me?

See if he’s okay.

I would want to know.

Norman didn’t look so good even as he stood there, waiting patiently for me to cross over his disaster area that was a house, hovering on his feet until I cautiously lowered myself onto the chair across from him. He slumped into the sofa, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands.

“I don’t know why you came here, girlie,” he told me slowly. A flash of irritation ran through me—I had met him before, but he hadn’t even bothered to learn my name. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know anything more than you do.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re here to ask why he would do it, right?” he demanded, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly close to him.”

“I know that,” I replied impatiently, visibly irritated now. “That’s not the reason why I came here.”

“Then why are you here? What could you possibly have to ask of me?”

I looked at him and I saw a bitter and broken man.

Norman was thin and a little gangly, noticeably taller than his youngest son but much closer in height to the eldest. Devon had his father’s dark hair and his eyes but there was something pale and gaunt about Norman now that wasn’t there the last time I had seen him, at the funeral so many days ago. He didn’t look good, but since one of his two sons had died forty-four days ago, I didn’t expect him to be cheerful.

He was right. He always had been. His father had cared—but even now, to this day, he didn’t look like he knew what to do with it.

Norman lit a cigarette, bringing it to his lips hastily. Like he needed the nicotine as soon as possible. He relaxed once he took a drag, letting his eyes shut for a long moment. He breathed out and that was when I realized that it wasn’t a cigarette.

His father might have cared about his son, but he still didn’t seem to care much for laws.

“Huh, girlie?” he asked me again, sounding like he was taunting me. There was a dry smile on his face when he said, “I don’t know why a good girl like you would take the time to come see someone like me.”

And for some reason, I pitied this man.

He had lost everything because of the ideals he had created inside of his mind. He had taught himself to behave one way and it had lost him everything in life. His wife, his sons, the trust of everyone in his family. This man didn’t have much left going for him now, and even though it was no one’s fault but his own, I felt what little I had left of my heart go out to him.

He was human, and he had made mistakes. Those mistakes were just worse than others.

He had nothing.

And now he was starting to lose that, too.

“I was wondering how you’re coping.”

He snorted.