Just a Man

         Maybe Tom was just like any other middle-aged mailman. Likewise, he was afraid (not of dogs, though), but now he was lonely. His salary was barely twenty-thousand dollars a year due to the new system of electronic mailing and the low population of the town that he was employed in. It was no shocker that his wife, Anna had left him. Sighing, Tom closed the last mailbox of the day.

         But, what was he going to do now that his shift was over? He had no wife or kids to come home to. He had no friends, as all had alienated him somewhere down his slippery, sloppy slope. He made the decision to go the local tavern, a decision he had been making for three months every day after work.

         He sat on the bar stool, feeling empty while earning sympathetic looks from the bartender. He’d always held the universe responsible. It was the universe’s fault that everything he wanted in life was annihilated by some opposing force. Suddenly, he had a much-needed epiphany. It was not the adversarial people that destroyed his goals; it was he who did so. It was all on him because he could’ve fought to earn oh-so desired achievements instead of placing the blame on others. He never actually accused anyone of ruining his life, but he did in his mind. Not only that, but he allowed himself to be walked on his whole life; he trusted that being passive and dormant would somehow earn him companionship. You can see how that strategy worked out.

         Tom drunkenly staggered out of the pub and into his junky, miniature bozo-mobile. He pulled his grubby mirror down, seemingly in astonishment of how much time had passed him by. Running his hand through his receding hair, Tom felt the urge to slam his head on the driving wheel. Luckily, he repressed that urge.

         Tom slept in his car that night. One can only hope that he found a way out of that deep hole. First, he may have to realize that it’s not the hole he claims he fell in, but the hole he dug himself.