The Old Man or "How a Soft Drink Made Me Cry"

It was when I lived in London. Years ago now. Walking down the Uxbridge Road in Shepherd's Bush, on my way home. I think it was probably summer. The sun was shining, or so I remember. I lived alone. A bedsit at the back of a large house. When I'd first seen the room, I was overjoyed: a separate toilet! a washing machine! a window onto the garden! I knew it would be home. Maybe I could even get a cat. Rescue a cat. Not be so alone.

But when I re-read the contract, it said no pets. No cat, then. Just evenings alone, cooking things which required only one pan. Shopping at the Sainsbury's Local, no more than a few tins at a time. Not much would fit in my bedsit kitchen.

When I saw the old man, I reckon I'd probably been alone all day. I'd popped to the shops, to buy...I don't know...a microwave meal perhaps. A bar of chocolate. Something for the evening ahead. Maybe I was holding a familiar orange carrier bag. Another one to be stuffed in the overstuffed drawer (save the world).

When I say he was old, he was old. That bent kind of back. A stoop. A shuffle. And in his hand, a tray. One of those cardboard trays they give you in coffee shops, or fast food joints. The Subway, in this case, on the corner of Uxbridge and some other side street I can't remember the name of.

I don't know what drink the old man had chosen. I just remember there was one. One cardboard cup with plastic lid and plastic straw. Coke, perhaps. 7up. A youthful choice. And just the one.

He was shabbily dressed, the man. And seeing him, shuffling home, carrying that drink, (it was the fact that there was just one drink that seemed so awful) I started thinking about being alone. About how when you are young, being alone seems exciting. An adventure. So it had seemed to me. I didn't want to be tied down. Held back. I wanted to be free.

But there, walking behind him, suddenly I was filled with a surge of longing to fall in love. To meet my soul mate. To become...unalone. It doesn't have to be about romance, I thought. He doesn't have to be Prince Charming. I just want someone to watch DVDs with. Someone to hold my hand if I'm ill. Someone to fill the empty holder in the cardboard drinks tray from the fast food outlet. Someone to shuffle home to.

But sitting in my bedsit, later that evening, it came to me:

He hasn't always been alone. Maybe he found his soul mate. Maybe she died.

There is no such thing as unalone.

And that was how a soft drink made me cry.