Six years ago, when I first moved to the UK, I had a lot of time on my hands before I got a proper job. I used to potter about the estate looking for something to do, someone to talk to, some semblance of something interesting - usually to no avail. Living in London without money or purpose is depressing and bleak. There are only so many times a visit to a museum will do, throughout the week.
Next door to me lived a man who was a bit old and crotchety. If I saw him out collecting his post from his entryway I would say 'hello' and he would invariably ask me if I had seen so-and-so lately, or whether I knew when the trash bins were going to be collected, or who I was and why was I living in London. It didn't seem that he was ever interested in my answers and he'd just totter back inside his flat, wave his walking stick good-bye and resume doing whatever it was that he did. Sometimes I would think that maybe he was lonely but he never accepted invitations for cups of tea, neither did he offer one. Eccentric, I thought. Anti-social, perhaps.
We moved to the seacoast a few years after that but kept the house next to Charlie, renting it out to two different couples. Moving back meant reacquainting ourselves with the neighbours. Charlie, it seemed, had suffered a stroke and been moved into a retirement home to recuperate. His brother, a dentist in a red Merc, always stopped by and we'd ask after Charlie (or 'Chaaaarles' as he referred to himself over the phone when he rang Jay for something). Charlie was hanging in there and hoped to be back in the flat soon, but his brother was a bit more realistic, we thought.
Charlie died not long after that, still in the retirement home, still in Twickenham. I found his obituary online. His agent came by to see whether he could put some of Charlie's stuff in the extra bins on the estate. I took out a sack of rubbish later that night and noticed that there were Christmas decorations stuffed to the top of one of them. I came back inside and told Jay and we both had a moment for Charlie.
Postscript: Jay just came in with a small boxing trophy, circa 1940, found in one of the rubbish bins. We're keeping it even though we were only offered his barbeque.
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2 comments:
Wow, that is so touching. I wonder what of my treasures will end up in the bin when all is said and done.
SML,thanks...I think the things people 'really' want of us are never the ones we imagine. I have a handkerchief that was my grandmother's and it's traveled with me through four moves and emigration from the US. I was offered other items but the handkerchief was the only one that was light enough for me to carry in my suitcase - I tend to travel light. I'm not sure what we'll do with the trophy. Stay tuned.
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