The man in the window

I saw an old man yesterday. He wasn't doing anything particularly remarkable or strange, he was simply sitting quietly at the bus stop.

At first I noticed him only briefly from the corner of my eye as I walked past my window carrying my washing. Just another traveler, waiting to be whisked away.

A few minutes later I walked past the window again. It was a 35 degree day, and yet with no shade and no hat, the man sat on the bench at the bus stop. I presumed his bus would be arriving soon, so I kept on with my day, hoping he at least had sunscreen on.

And yet, an hour later I saw a bus pull into the stop and he still didn't move.

I thought it just wasn't his bus, so I shrugged and went to take in my washing from the clothesline.

A few hours later I walked back past my window, I had almost forgotten about the man, but he was still there.

For a brief moment, I worried he was dead but after a few seconds, a hand moved to scratch behind his ear.

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned from the window, once again forgetting about the man as I finished my housework and sat down to relax with a book.

I settled by the downstairs window that overlooked the front garden. For the rest of the afternoon, my mind was occupied by the words on the pages, but eventually, my attention slipped and I looked up. There the man still sat.

The sun had started to go down, I wondered if he had anywhere to go. Uneasily I stood up, putting my book to the side, he had been there all day and while it wouldn't be cold tonight, it wouldn't be comfortable staying on the bench all night.

I debated for a minute but eventually walked over to my front door. Stepping out into the warm evening air I watched yet another bus pass by the man who still did not move.

I unlatched my front gate and walked out, closing it behind me to stop the dog from getting out.

"Are you okay?" I asked when I reached him.

The man turned his head to look at me. He had a kind face, it held a mouth that seemed to be unused to the sadness that appeared on it now. He seemed to think for a minute.

"If you were anyone I knew, I would have to say yes, but since I do not know you, I will be honest. No, I am not okay."

Not knowing what to say I sat down next to him on the bench. The last rays of the sun were reflecting on the clouds in the sky, turning it into a beautiful array of pink and orange.

"It's spectacular, isn't it?" The man asked looking at the sky with wonder.

"Yes," I said simply, continuing to watch as the sky got darker.

"You know, I must have seen over 30,000 sunsets in my life, and yet each time I see another I still feel the same way." The man said quietly.

"and how do you feel?" I asked, turning to look at the man.

He faced me, and smiled the light catching a slight shimmer of tears in his eyes. "I feel sad."

Once again unsure of how to respond I stayed silent.

The man let out a little huff of laughter. "I can tell you don't know what to make of that, not many people do."

"Do you mind if I ask, why they make you feel sad?" I asked hesitantly, not sure if he would share.

The man crossed his arms across his chest, "Now that is a funny story" he turned to face me, "when I was younger, I thought that when the sun set it was dying and in the morning a new one rose in its place. That's why I thought it was called morning because it was a time to mourn." He looked back at the darkening sky, "I guess I never really grew out of it."

"Huh," I said, "I've never thought about it like that."

The man smiled again, "Not many people do because it is quite a strange thought. The sun was here long before us and will be here long after, it is not us that should mourn."

I thought for a minute about the sun, how it rose one morning on an empire that was gone by the time it rose again. The endless cycle of life on the planet, living and dying while the sun watched on, eternal. It was a disturbing thought. I turned my mind to other things.

"If I may, can I ask why you were sitting on this bench all day?"

The man looked to the distance and a minute passed before he spoke "I was meant to be attending a funeral today. I was meant to take the 901 bus at 9.45 to get there by 10. I was meant to be there, but I could not bring myself to leave this bench."

"were they close to you?" I asked quietly.

"They were meant to be"

"Did you get to say goodbye?"

"No, I hadn't seen them in near 20 years when they died and I couldn't bring myself to go today..." he took a shaky breath, "because I couldn't face that they were really gone. That they were gone before I even tried to fix what happened."

I watched as the tears fell from his face landing silently in his lap.

"I am sorry," I said softly.

The man smiled gently, "you cannot be sorry for my own mistakes."

The sound of a bus rounding the corner caused us both to turn our heads, It was the 109.

I stood up and looked at the man for a sign.

After a second he nodded slightly, I smiled and held out my arm. The bus came to a stop before us and I held out my hand to help the man off the bench.

After sitting so long his joints creaked slightly as I helped him onto the bus. I paid for both our tickets with some spare change I found in my jacket pocket and guided him to a seat.

I sat down next to him and we both watched as the bus stop slowly faded into the dark behind us.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"It's okay," I said quietly.