The Old Man Around The Corner

The Old Man In The Corner

He was unlike anyone I had known. The lone figure was special in some mystical way that at that moment, I was unable to unravel. The ally along Seventy-seventh Street was his home and each night, he would be there in that little corner of his, tightly snuggled up on the rugged old straw mat. Yet, each time I past him, I would notice the vibrant smile on his face – that I was could never comprehend.

It was not easy for me to live with only a mother. Father had left the family when I was at the tender age of five. The reason I know not of but mother had told me that it was due to some financial problems. I had my doubts. Years past and I tolerated the mockery and teasing from my friends’ day in day out. Often, I would put on a brave front but deep inside me, I felt extremely hurt. No one, not even my mother, understood how I felt.

Somehow, the old man out there reminded me of my father. He had that receding hairline alongside with the skinny, malnourished looking figure. The only difference I could pick out was in the smile. It irritated me sometimes when I thought of how he could remain so happy in that little corner of his. At times, I would be so tempted to trade places with him. I just wanted happiness for a day. If only I could trade a portion of my wealth for a moment of joy. Mother was doing so well in her business that she has almost forgotten about me. All I wanted was just someone to love me.

Third October 2000, winter, I trudged down Seventy-seventh Street for what I thought to be my final time. I was exhausted with neither the strength nor will to go on. I wanted to end it all. I passed by several candy stores and saw little the children, tugging on to their father’s hand, begging for a lollipop. Towards my destination I continued, increasing my stride as I went along. I caught a glimpse of a father picking up his daughter in his arms, cuddled her and then kissed her on the forehead. It dawned upon me that I have never experienced the warmth of an embrace. I cried silently to myself as I accelerated.

As I passed the ally, I saw the old man again. He was smiling as usual, sitting cross-legged, and strumming away on his guitar. I did not know why, but I stopped dead in my tracks at that moment and walked over, slowly, towards him. I took out my wallet and withdrew the all the fifty-dollar notes I had, stuffed them into the metal tin that lay on the floor and attempted to leave. I guess that he must have seen the large amount of money that I parted with as immediately, after I turned around, the strumming stopped.

At that moment, I knew that I could just walk on and ignore the old man but strangely, as if some force was preventing me from doing so, I did not. I turned around abruptly and saw the old man gesturing for me to come over. It felt all so strange as he was a complete stranger to me. I had never spoken to him before – he only saw me walking past his ally in the night when I was on my way home. I decided to be a kind soul for one last time and strolled over to him. I was greeted by that friendly smile of his again and was instructed to take a sit beside him.

I did as I was told and snuggled up beside him. It was freezing cold. The old man then reached into his trousers pocket and with some difficulty, pulled out an old photograph. It obviously was a photo of him several years ago with a little kid beside him.

“My son,” he faintly whispered, “ten years ago.”

I did not know what to say thus, being friendly, just replied bluntly, “Ok. How is he?”

The old man slipped the photograph back into his pocket and for the first time, his smile died. The wrinkles on his face suddenly all became so obvious and I realized all of a sudden, that he was very old. I could faintly make out the “dead” that he whispered. I began to apologize profusely, knowing that I had hit a raw nerve.

“It’s alright,” he explained, “he was a fine young lad like you are but well, he died in a car accident several years back. I was left all alone then and did not want to carry on.”

I was disturbed by how he actually could read my mind. How did he know what I was up to? I remember reading about telepathic people but this was just too confusing.

“I knew your father,” he continued, “he was a friend of mine. He was a nice person. Friendly and ever so ready to lend a helping hand. I have never dared to tell you this because I was afraid you would not listen. I roughly know what you are going through. I see your friends bullying you and mocking you all the time.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. So, someone actually knew.

“Listen,” he said, “don’t end it all. Go back and think about it and come back to me tomorrow. I’ll pass you something then.”

He handed me the money and I left, in a daze, still trying to comprehend what I have just heard. He had known my father. I wanted to know more. I was going to look him up the next day but he was not there. Only the mat and the wooden box were left behind. I went over and opened the box – inside was a letter, addressed to me, from my father. I opened it.

The contents were explanations to all I had needed to know. He had left due to bankruptcy. He did not want to implicate us thus, bore all the weight and left. I had mangled him all these while. I turned over the envelope and saw the old man’s handwriting there. It read: “I am old. I have to move on. Please strive on and be just like your father. It would make him very happy.”

Until this day, I still have not figured out the mystery to the whole situation. Who was the old man and why did he only hand me the letter at that time. Nevertheless, I am thankful to him and will always remember him as the old man in the corner who had opened a new path in life for me.