The Next Corner

He spent most of his childhood with his grandparents. When he mentioned this while talking with people that didn't know him all that well, he could see the pity in their eyes since the first thing that they assumed was that he was orphaned at an early age. Most of the time he would use the same words to explain.

"No, no... I haven't lost my parents. My father was in the Army and he got transferred all the time. My mother was, and still is, a painter. They thought it best that I lived with my grandparents so that I would grow up in a constant environment. My father's father was also in the army, so my father often recalled how horrible it was, having to switch towns, houses, schools, friends every couple of years. They did come to visit the occasional weekend and I would spend the holidays at whichever house they lived in at the time."

The people he was talking with would then seem relieved because surely they would be at a loss for words had he told them that his parents had been killed in a horrible accident when he was still a baby; so they'd usually comment on the hardships of life in the Army and sometimes they'd ask him about his painter mom. In each such conversation he usually felt a numbness or a void of some kind, spreading throughout his entire body.

The same subject happens to be brought up as he speaks with the manager of the nursing home. The manager seems excited. She is a chubby woman, wearing glasses with a thick, black frame over her playful eyes.

"Well, that explains your devotion, dear! I've never met anyone else who comes to visit their grandparent once a week. Not even their own children come to visit. They're all so preoccupied with their jobs, their families, their lives. I don't blame them. It's such a shame though. Your grandfather doesn't remember you, but...", she starts coughing. She drinks a gulp of water from a glass that's on her desk and goes on... "What was I saying? Oh yes, senility. It's a pity. I wish he could remember you. Though the nurse who takes care of him says that he mentions your name. Will you be paying by check?"

She sees him taking out his checkbook and looking at his watch, so she realizes that he probably doesn't want to talk anymore. She starts talking about the weather, since she obviously can't breathe without talking, and asks her secretary to write up the receipt. He gives her a typical handshake because he doesn't want to get friendly with her and she says cheerfully, "Give my regards to your sweet wife". The void in his stomach turns into a sharp pain. He turns and leaves hurryingly, almost stumbling on his way out.

He always felt emotionally charged when he left the nursing home. His father would tell him that these visits were pointless, that the old man didn't recognize him anymore and that it's a waste of time and gasoline. He, however, sees it as an obligation that he can't disregard. When his grandmother died, ten years ago, seeing his grandfather turn into an old man terrifyingly fast, made him vow that he would not let him die alone. Lately, though, since his wife took their three year old daughter and left him, his feelings have changed, somewhat. He doesn't feel the love and affection that he used to feel for that weak, toothless creature that once seemed so strong, so wise and mighty in his eyes. He doesn't feel sad that his memories have all been erased or twisted, that his life ended up being three meals a day and a bunch of pills, he isn't even afraid of dying or growing old, not even slightly nervous about how his own last years will be and if his grandson will be asking him how he is without getting an answer. He feels a kind of grief, maybe even anger.

Yes, he is generally angry at everyone and everything. He's angry at his father who never understood how insecure he feels about his job, since he never had to worry about getting fired from the Army. He's angry at his mother because she only talks to him about art galleries and theater shows, at his manager who always expects too much, at his colleagues who don't work as hard as he does, at the clients who are late on their payments, at the bank which each month holds one third of his paycheck for the loan that he took out to buy his house, at the neighborhood grocer's because they stopped bringing his favorite brand of cigarettes, at the T.V. because it never shows the movies that he likes and the list goes on. Of course, he is angry at everyone because most of all he is angry at his wife who suddenly told him one evening that she couldn't stand him any longer and at that same night moved to her irritating mother's house, taking his daughter away from him. How could she do that to him, and why? Most importantly, how did it come to this, when he loves her so much? These are the questions he struggles with when he comes home tired from work every night, cooking each of the three meals that he knows how to cook in turn. And a bit later, when he sits in his living room, smoking at least ten cigarettes while drinking a glass of red wine. And even later, as he switches on the lights in the nursery and says goodnight to the empty bed. And then, when he lies down without feeling her by his side, and his house becomes so empty, so huge, so dark, ready to devour and swallow him.

However, why is he angry at his grandfather? He had never been angry at him before. He was his favorite person in the world. It was only with him that he felt safe as a child and he had been a good father to him. Truth be told, he never was very affectionate, but is any man ever? He had his quirks, but who doesn't? His neighbors used to call him "Mr. Grumpy", but they all respected him and thought him a good man. He never hurt anyone, though he didn't help anyone either. His grandfather was afraid of people and he was probably afraid of life as well. "The world is a dangerous place", he would often say to him. "Don't trust anyone completely and don't take any risks". He said these things because he had lived a hard life, that's what his grandma had told him. When he was young he was curious to learn more about his grandfather's life and why it had been hard. However, he was also afraid to ask. He needed him to be strong. Without his grandfather, the world seemed like such a scary place and he felt lost, just like he did when he would visit his parent's tiny apartments in rural towns for Christmas. So, he preferred to live in grandpa's dangerous world, as long as he was there to protect him.

These were his thoughts as he was driving back home from the nursing home. The streets were empty, but, as always, he drove slowly. He never listened to music while driving, fearing it would distract him. And he never rolled down the window because the air would bother him. There was something else that his grandfather used to say. "Don't feel happy in a hurry, you never know what's waiting for you after the next corner." He used to say this very often, but he was right. He will never forget the first time that his parents came back home after his father's first transfer. He was three years old and this was probably his first memory. He was so happy that he hugged and kissed his mother, pulling her to his side to play and draw. He thought that they would never leave again and he felt happy after worrying and wondering where they had disappeared to for a month. They did leave, though. He also felt happy the second time that they came back, maybe even the third. Then he stopped feeling happy and several years later they explained to him that they didn't know when their father would be permanently stationed to their home town so that they could live all together as a family. But he was used to it by now. He didn't want to live with his parents. Neither did he want to feel happy again, because there is no greater sorrow than the one that comes after joy, nor greater pain than the one that comes after joy, nor greater agony than the one that comes after joy.

"You're simply incapable of feeling happy", his wife had told him that evening before she left. "A good pay and a loyal husband is not enough to make a woman happy. I want us to live happy moments, to enjoy life. To listen to music in the car, to travel. You want to go to the same beach and eat at the same restaurant, always. There's something inside you that won't let you live. And you're unbearably suspicious. You think that everyone who calls for a phone research is a fraud. You think that all my colleagues want to sleep with me and that all our friends make fun of you behind your back and don't respect you. You didn't enjoy our marriage, my pregnancy, not even the birth of our daughter."

"But, you know that I love you more than my own life", he'd replied, taken aback by this sudden assault.

"I know. I love you too, but maybe that's just not enough." 

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid that you're harming her. Now that she's learning all about the world and life you're teaching her how to fear. You're constantly on top of her. If she strays a bit, you panic. If her tummy aches just a little you want to take her to the hospital, and I hate that you've been telling her to not trust anyone lately."

"The world is a very dangerous place", he said with a low, weak voice.

"Really? Says who?"

He didn't answer that question. A little bit later, his wife pulled a suitcase out of the closet and filled it with clothes. She told him that she needed time to think, she took their daughter and they left, leaving him numb, humbled and confused.

At first he was only angry at her, but also terrified at the idea of having his family broken apart. And he remained angry and terrified. However, during the last couple of days, he couldn't stop wondering whether there was some truth in her words. If their daughter was out of the picture, his selfishness would never let him admit that she was right. The thought that he was somehow harming his child was crushing him, while at the same time pushing him inexplicably to change. It hurt, not being able to make his wife happy, but he slowly understood that he wasn't happy either, and that's because he had indeed learned to avoid feeling happy.

"What if I gave it a try?", he thinks. With a trembling hand, he slowly turns the radio on. His heart is beating fast, as if he's trying to deactivate a time bomb. Music fills the car, making him feel good, somewhat. And then he sees the next corner coming threateningly at him. He grinds his teeth and grips the steering wheel tightly.

"Poor grandpa, who knows what you've been through, to teach me all these things", he says aloud and turns the radio off, hoping that someday he'll be able to break the invisible chain.