Mr. Rogers

There is a grim room in a grim building in which a lonely man sits and stares at his front door. The radio plays old classics but there is nothing old about them to the man. Acknowledging that these songs were old would be acknowledging that he’s old and he is not old. “I’m as young as ever,” the man would say and take another cigar from his silvery cigar box, “I still do crazy things.” Everybody knew this was not true but they did not dare to say so. They just nodded and went on with their lives. Time crept on his wife and she withered away. His children moved away and now have children of their own. “I would love to visit,” they would say, “but the kids can’t miss school.” “I would love to visit,” they’d say, “but Mary is sick again.” So the old man sits and stares at his front door hoping he would hear a knock. Maybe someday. Maybe someday.