When you write it is best to be alone with your thoughts. That’s why years ago I decided to move into the mountains. Solitude was my greatest ally. Free from the distractions of others I was able to hone my craft exclusively. Technology had gifted me the ability to still send my manuscripts to my editor and go over her notes without having to endure the comings and goings of so many random people. It was easier for everyone this way. Nobody ever got me or felt all that comfortable around me anyway. Likewise I never got anyone else or felt all that comfortable around them.
I had just finished my morning routine of a bowl of oatmeal and two cups of coffee. I walked to my computer to begin my writing. I always felt more creative in the morning. I saved the editing for later parts of the day. I had just laid my fingers on the keyboard when I heard a knock on the door. No one ever knocked on my door so at first I ignored it as just my imaginative mind playing tricks on me. But it came again.
I walked to the door and called out. “Who is there?”
From the other side came a deep gravely voice. “Just a man in need of a favor.”
I hesitantly opened the door a crack and saw a well dressed but very elderly man. He looked as though he was easily in his nineties. “What is the favor?”
“My car broke down about a mile from here and I need to call AAA.”
“Don’t you have a cell phone to place that call?”
“Never owned one.”
“Well you should look into them. They are quite handy for situations like this.”
“Noted but can I use your phone in the meantime.”
“Very well”, I grumbled. I opened the door and let the man in. He thanked me as I showed him the phone. I noticed he walked slowly and wondered how a man at his age could make a mile trek.
“You said your car broke down a mile from here?”
“Do you think me a liar?”
“You must be in very good shape then.”
“I suppose you could say I get around alright.”
I overheard his call and then silence. I walked into the kitchen where he stood there staring at me. I felt all of a sudden very awkward.
“They said they won’t be able to get to the car for at least an hour. Do you mind if I wait here? My legs are quite tired.”
I fumbled in my mind for an excuse as to why he couldn’t stay. But couldn’t find one that didn’t make me seem like a complete jerk so I simply gestured my hand to the single kitchen chair I kept.
“Thank you”, the elderly man said between grunts as he seated himself.
“Would you like a glass of water or anything?”
“Please.”
I filled a glass and placed it in front of him on the small table I used to eat my meals. I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I had seen someone in the flesh. I even get my groceries dropped on my door step.
“Well, if you will excuse me I must get back to my work.”
“And what is it you do for work?”
I sighed heavily. I wasn’t going to let this guy drag me into a meaningless conversation. “I’m a writer and I have a deadline so if you will excuse me.”
“How do you write about life when you are so far removed from it out here?”
The nerve of this guy judging my abilities. I quickly became quite perturbed with him and regretted even letting him enter my home. “I get by just fine. Thank you.”
“Do you now?”
“Look here you, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I’m gracious enough to allow you to take rest in my home but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some stranger criticize my talents.”
The old man seemed unfazed. “I was an artist you know. Back before my hands became too weak to hold brush or pen steady enough.”
“Would I have heard of your name?”
“No. I had someone else claim my art as their own because I didn’t wish to have to deal with people. I just wanted to create.”
Suddenly I found myself feeling somewhat empathetic toward the man. Like maybe we were cut from more similar cloth than I initially felt. “Then we are alike. We both just wish to create without the interference of others.”
“Oh I spent much time walking silently among crowds or sitting on benches observing others. They were my inspiration for my art. I just never knew how to make myself known to them. They passed me by without notice but they always made a deep impression on me. That’s the only way I knew how to communicate with them through my art. Does that sound familiar?”
I said nothing in response and the old man continued. “Now look at me no one knows I even existed.”
“They know you through your art”, I offered.
“I suppose that will have to be enough but still it would have been nice to know more.”
“What more is there to know? I talk to people on the phone and the computer. I touch others with my words.”
“You will understand the meaning of touch when it is nearing the time of no longer being an option.” I looked in his eyes and saw a deep sadness and longing. It stirred something inside me that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. “Thank you for your assistance today. I think it’s best I get going.”
As he slowly made his way to the door I opened it for him. A pang of consciousness started to boil up in my gut. Perhaps this man was right. Perhaps I had pushed people away and would regret it when I looked back on my life like he was doing now. I didn’t own a car. Nowhere to really go but I felt at least I could walk with him. Ensure he got back to his vehicle safely. I reached out my hand for his arm as he walked through the door frame but to my utter disbelief it simply passed right through him. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. The old man turned to me and smiled.
“Thanks for the conversation.” He then walked down the dirt path and faded into the air.
I stood there for who knows how long trying to process what had just happened. Was I going insane? Had I imagined the whole thing? My stupor was interrupted by the ring of my phone.
“Uh hello?” It was my editor calling to ask me if I would be willing to set up a video conference with some other writers who wished to collaborate with me. I took a long time to respond.
“You still there or did I lose you?”, my editor's voice came over the phone.
“No. You didn’t lose me. But let’s do it in person.” There was silence on the other end for a moment. My editor surely stunned.
“You serious?”
I looked at the untouched glass of water sitting on the table and replied. “Deadly serious.”
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